#I just really really like this one tho. I don’t know. I like the idea of first coming back as one of the first heroes and being like ‘yeah

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

hello! can you talk more about that vault(?) fic? the one where afo manages to bring his brother’s consciousness into Izuku’s body

Oh I love this fic. Trigger warning for discussion of suicidal thoughts/tendencies.

The premise is that AfO figured out decades ago that One for All likely held a copy of his brother, and that he could get him back if only he could get his hands on that Quirk. Gran Torino made the call that All Might needed to go to America for his own safety because of how desperately all for one was pursuing him, thinking he was trying to kill him before he got strong enough to stand against him. No, he was trying to do to all might what he eventually achieves with Izuku, which is force his brother behind the proverbial wheel.

And the thing is that in his dream world, he doesn’t actually want his brother in someone else’s body. That’s entirely too mobile. Too fragile. His brother can run from him and die again, and All for One wants to foreclose the possibility. He wants a world where he never loses his little brother again.

One for All cannot be taken by force. I know that canon made it more of a battle of wills when it came to this, but I like that rule as more of an absolute. He has absolutely no way to take his little brother by force. The person holding one for all needs to give it to him.

So he realizes he has two options 1) convince the current user to give up one for all, or 2) force his brother’s consciousness to the forefront, keep him safely contained (so fucking vaulted), and then wait him out. His brother is a bleeding heart who is likely to give in so this boy gets his body back. Or, he’ll force him to accept so many regeneration quirks that he’ll never die, and all for one will therefore never lose him, as long as he keeps him contained for his own safety (so so fucking vaulted). Either way, he gets his brother back.

Izuku gets kidnapped from the training camp. His arms are broken to shit from his fight with Muscular, he can barely access any of one for all when his body isn’t shattered, and he’s told, in no uncertain terms, that if he tries anything that Bakugou will be murdered in front of him with excruciating care. Bakugou gets the sales pitch, and Izuku is taken into a back room and strapped to a table.

All for One approaches him. His offer is simple. Give him One for All, and Izuku and Bakugou will live. If he refuses, things will get… extraordinarily painful for him.

Izuku refuses.

All for One doesn’t argue. He just places once hand to Izuku’s face, and there’s an odd sensation like a fish thrashing against a line coming from somewhere deep in his gut. The last thing he remembers is feeling like the fish had been pulled free of the surf.

First doesn’t wake immediately. All for One needs time to repair his new body, and his little brother also always reacted… strongly to things. Prone to irrational fits. Running. Harming himself. He truly was someone who needed to be protected from himself, honestly.

The heroes are coming. They’ll take his brother from him again, just like that horrible whorish vigilante from all those years ago. But All for One has prepared a safe, secure vault for his baby brother to help him with this transition. He knows Yoichi will react poorly. He knows he’ll be upset. He always was so sensitive about things like forcibly occupying a high schooler’s body. But they’ve been apart for two hundred years, and All for One is convinced that they can rebuild with time. This will be good for them. They’ll be happy again, eventually.

The heroes arrive. He arranges for some of twice’s doubles of Dabi and Compress, with the real Spinner, to secure his brother and take him to the vault he prepared for him. He is excruciatingly clear that if they hurt his brother in any way, he will skin them to make tasteless boots. They seem to be operating under the illusion that he is being hyperbolic. He is not. Here is the pattern he will instruct garaki to use when repurposing their husks, and it is fucking ugly. A single rash moment in battle that was definitely, absolutely not his fault deprived him of his baby brother for two hundred years. All for One will not lose him again after searching for this long. They will ensure he escapes this battle unharmed and alive or All for One will ensure that such terms can no longer be used to describe them.

Which is a strong energy to bring to your newly hired villains.

Based on how All for One speaks about his brother with the League, they’re expecting this delicate, sensitive little daffodil who needed to be coddled and may end up all snotty and weepy if he woke up while they were moving him.

First wakes up and immediately tries to kill every single person in the room including himself.

The last thing he remembers is what he thought was a very successful sacrifice play that ensured his husband and the rest of the resistance escaped and him succumbing to bittersweet death in his brother’s arms. Like, it was very dramatic. He promised his brother that he wouldn’t haunt him because no part of him would ever pick to stay by his side. Really pulled it all out for this one. Everything goes black with damning finality and then suddenly he is awake and In A Place. First is used to suddenly being In A Place. It is a universally bad thing for him. His brother is a fucking asshole kidnapper who has no respect for personal boundaries or autonomy or First telling him to his face to go fuck himself and usually if he wakes up and is In A Place, then his brother is the reason. His husband doesn’t pull this shit. He is considerate and sensitive to First’s instinctive distrust of Places. First gets to decide if he wants to be in a Place when his husband’s involved. Even if he had no choice, even if First passed out and he had to get him to safety, he’d be there or someone First knew would be there when First woke up, instead of these…

Literal clowns?

They’re dressed like fucking idiots. He doesn’t recognize them. Definitely not part of the resistance. Based on the Everything Else happening, he assumes they’re a new batch of the goons that his brother goes through like fucking disposable razors. Goons styled by colorblind clowns and possibly a ninja turtle enthusiast?

There’s a mirror. Now there was a mirror. Obviously these guys were not using it. First lashes out and breaks it with his own fist. He grabs the biggest shard and slams it into Compress’s neck. Clown #1 dissolves into a puddle of boiling black shadow

Spinner, was not expecting this energy: WHAT THE FUCK

They are surprised. This is good for First. He is also surprised but knows better than to let that stop him. He uses the opportunity to stab the one with the shitty fucking Matrix coat in the eye. He also dissolves into boiling black shadow.

Spinner, backpedaling hard: oh fuck no no no I’m real—

First does not see why this would stop him. Like. He is sort of trying to kill his brother’s men here. That’s like. Implicit in the war thing they’ve got going on. He goes for the eye again.

Spinner does not feel this is a safe environment for him to be in, suddenly.

All for one’s gentle soul and fragile disposition baby brother has a weapon and a willingness to kill. Spinner feels he was not adequately briefed on the situation. He is the only one who is not a copy. He can be killed for real. And he will be turned into a pair of ugly fucking boots if he hurts a single hair on this kid’s psychotic little head. Spinner does what he feels is his only option and flees the scene.

First was not expecting this but will take it. He gets off the table so he can get the fuck out of here.

Huh. That feels. Weird.

He feels like absolute shit, which isn’t a shock. But his body just feels weirdly different. Like everything’s been taken out and put back together incorrectly. He feels. Shorter?

First chalks it up to the disorientation of whatever the fuck his brother did to him. But there’s a window to escape with and it’s closing. Time to get the fuck out of here.

The way he sees it, he’s got some very limited options. He can escape, find his husband and the rest of the gang, and go back to trying to tear down his brother’s operation through blood, sweat, and tears. Or, he can try to escape and fail, in which case he needs to kill himself while he still can.

He just. He can’t go back in the vault.

He knows his brother wants him back in there. He spent like ten years in there the first time. He cannot end up back in there and just hope that his husband is alive and that he’ll find him again and save him again and that he won’t spend another fucking decade staring at walls. His brother kept him alive against his will the first time and he’ll do it again.

He made it clear to Kudo before they got married. He just couldn’t do it. If he had to pick between dying and being recaptured with a hope of rescue, he was picking dying. He is more scared of going back into that vault than he is of anything else in the world.

He makes it outside. It’s chaos. He doesn’t recognize the city. He doesn’t recognize any of the people.

There’s a man there, fighting what appears to be his brother in some kind of fuck off ugly metal helmet thing. The man is tall, and he is golden, and he is dressed like the heroes from his comic books, which gives First pause, because he thought that only their resistance had started going for the comic book motif, and none of them looked like that. Their outfits looked like Red Dawn meets the dumpster behind a Spirit Halloween.

This man looks like a real superhero.

And that’s his fucking opening right there. Superman got a blonde dye job, moved to Japan, and was punching his brother in his dumb fucking steampunk headpiece that he now wears for some reason. That’s a fucking great distraction that First can now use to fuck right off and find his husband. No vaulting him today, no siree.

He can’t explain it. It’s like muscle memory. He sees his brother gear up to strike the man, and his body moves before he can think about it. He doesn’t even realize what he’s done until he’s already slammed his foot into his brother’s kneecap.

Oh. So. That’s different.

Using One for All now is sort of like finding out your Razor scooter got upgraded to an F-22 Raptor. He barely used any of it and he feels like he just feels like he did the superpower equivalent of huffing cocaine. What the fuck happened to it?

But he doesn’t have time to inspect that. He hasn’t been this close to his brother since he escaped the vault. He’s only seen him in the distance, once or twice, during close calls. And, you know, when he thought he was dying in his brother’s arms what feels like minutes ago, but he’s not counting that.

First, looking at his grunge fucking darth Vader headset: *flat as a board* oh no what ever could have happened

All for One: you’re awake

All Might, also here: my boy thank god you’re okay

First, ignoring the Superman cosplayer, really, really hoping his husband did that: does it hurt. It looks like it hurts.

All for one, taking a step towards him: you shouldn’t be up so soon

First, immediately putting his mirror shard to his own throat: dont fucking come near me

First feels weird. His voice sounds weird. He doesn’t recognize anything. And he’s really thinking he should have run when he had the chance.

His brother does that thing he fucking hates. That thing where he acts like First is a lunatic on a ledge and he’s the saint trying to coax him down. It was always like that with him. His brother acted like First was crazy and needed to be placated and confined for his own safety. And anything, anything he did got that treatment. He doesn’t like his brother fucking killing people and wants him to stop? First is just irrational. emotionally unstable. He doesn’t want to stay with him? It’s because of his Problems. He tries to kill himself after years of isolation and, and having nothing? Just the proof his brother needed that First was an mentally unwell danger to himself.

All for One tells him to put down the shard. He’s just disoriented still. He needs to rest. He needs to calm down. If he just goes with his men, they’ll take him somewhere safe, and they can talk about thi—

They’ll lock him in a fucking bank vault. No thanks. If he takes a single fucking step towards him, First is slitting his own throat.

All Might is confused. He doesn’t know why they’re acting like this. But his priority is getting Izuku the fuck out of dodge. He begs Izuku to run while he covers him. Everything is all right now. He’s here.

First:

First:

First: okay I’ll bite who the fuck is this guy

All Might, in dawning horror: Izuku?

First, squinting: who?

He must not have realized yet. All for One was hoping he could explain everything to him in… better circumstances, but he guesses not.

Yoichi has a mirror shard. Perhaps he should look at whose throat he’s holding it against he does something he can’t take back.

First looks in the mirror shard. Some random fucking kid stares back. He drops it in shock and it shatters on the ground.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

It’ll be an adjustment. All for One knows that. It’s—it’s been a very long time since they’ve been together. Longer than he thinks. Things will be different now, but they’ll be better. They can finally be together again—

What the fuck did he do. Is this. Did he put him in someone else? Who—Whose fucking body is this

All for One promises him that he was nobody. Nothing. He wasn’t important. And first just. Laughs. All this goddamn time and his brother still couldn’t get that whoever he is was important. They all had been important to First. That’s why he couldn’t fucking stand to stay with his brother.

And all mights just. Despondent. No. No, he couldn’t have—

First is so fucking sorry. He is so fucking sorry.

All for one insists it doesn’t matter. He got him back. All this time, and he finally got him back, and that is all that matters now.

First asks him how long it’s been. And all for one tells him that he lost him two hundred and thirty nine years, seven months, and eighteen days ago. He has missed him for every moment.

He knows how it ended between them. He knows. But it will be different this time. All those people who forced themselves between them are gone. They can be happy again—

First wants to know how he died.

All for One doesn’t need to ask who he means. He knows. That stupid, asinine, brother-stealing bastard from all those years ago. He always suspected that something happened between them. In those months his brother was being kept from him, he caught sight of them, once or twice. There were a few scant moments that made him wonder. A clip of panic in his brother’s voice when he called that bastard’s name that seemed too personal for comfort. Second letting his hand linger at the small of his brother’s back. He never could confirm it, but doubts lingered

All for One tells him that Second killed himself two weeks after First’s death.

First, immediately: you are such a fucking liar

All for One: he deserved it

First: you’re PSYCHOTIC

All for One: he took you from me

First: I LEFT YOU

All might, the other heroes, the fucking news, wondering what the fuck is going on: …

First is straying dangerously close to a panic attack. He’s in some random fucking kid’s body. This kid’s dad(?) is here and he is dressed like a fucking idiot and that feels really mean to think considering First is possessing his child. He admittedly regrets thinking that. It is two hundred years in the future and everyone First loves is dead. His husband is dead. His brother is still alive and he has not changed at all, thereby proving that he can and will keep this up forever and he will never ever fucking change or let First go. Actual, literal death was apparently not enough to save him from his brother.

And then All for One does that thing again. That fucking soothing placating voice bullshit that makes First feel fucking insane and he’s not crazy he’s not he swears he’s not. He’s not crazy or unstable for being upset that his brother put him in a boy.

It’s not going to be fucking different. It’s not going to be fucking better. He’s unhinged. First wants nothing to do with him. God, fuck, why can’t he ever get that? It is not that First is unstable or that other people got between them or turned first against him or however the fuck he lies to himself. First hates him—

All Might Detroit Smashes.

He’s just. He’s at his limit. His boy is not his boy. He needs his boy to be his boy again. All for one is right fucking there and entirely too close to his boy who is not his boy but who will be his boy again because All Might will move heaven and earth to get Izuku back. Detroit fucking smash.

Things get very tense after that.

First tries to help. He has no idea what the fuck is up with this Quirk but he’s a very dirty fighter who is willing to bite. All Might insists that First get to safety while he holds all for one off. First tells him that he’s not exactly doing hot on his own. he’s like. Literally turning to smoke. And he knows his brother—

All Might tells him that this is not for his sake. That’s his boy’s body. Please.

There are. Random fucking children soaring over head? Another child flying to them on handheld explosions? God, what the fuck is the future. And First thought his time period was weird.

They’re screaming at him to take their hand. And All Might begs him to take it.

First jumps.

The kids turn into another agonizing moment in what First is rapidly realizing is just his life now.

They touch down, and these kids hug him like he’s their world. They call him Midoriya and they ask him what happened back there and they never let go of him, not even for a moment. There’s a boy with red and white hair split right down the middle, and no one even bats an eye at that, even though in First’s time that would have been enough to get him killed in the middle of the city square, depending on the city. First’s hair had him on thin fucking ice more often than not and he could have just been like. Albino. One of these kids has fucking engines in his legs. Are engines in legs a thing now. First doesn’t remember seeing that in his time.

The kid with red and white hair never lets go of his hand.

And all he can tell them is that he’s sorry.

He ends up in a random, shitty, deserted ramen shop out of the way with these kids and the atmosphere is fucking tense. If he is not Midoriya and that is not his body then Todoroki wants him fucking out of it. They all do but Todoroki specifically is bringing an Energy. Where the fuck is Midoriya.

And First doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who this kid is. He doesn’t know what his brother did. Last he remembers, it was two hundred years ago and he was fucking dying. He woke up after it was already done.

Look. He. He cannot possibly be more sorry this happened. He’s going to try to find out what happened to their friend? Brother? Collective boyfriend? He doesn’t know, this is just an incredibly strong energy right now. He’s going for try to figure out what his brother did to him. If there is any way to give him his body back, First will do it.

But he needs to make tracks for right now. His brother is going to be after him.

It was on the news, playing in the corner of this ramen shop. All Might won, but it cost him everything, and all for one still escapes in the end. Some guy with a teleportation quirk gets him out of there while the other heroes are detaining him.

First needs distance to stay clear of his brother, and he needs distance to have an absolutely nuclear grade crash out, though he does not say the second part out loud.

First knows himself. He can admit that he was a very self destructive person, but only when he is feeling particularly self destructive, because it feels too much like admitting his brother was right about him.

They were sort of locked in a vicious cycle. His brother controlled every single aspect of his life and First started self destructing because it was the only control he had in his life. His brother then used his self destructive tendencies as proof that first needed to be protected from himself, and then he controlled him more, which made First more desperate, which made him more self destructive, which made his brother control him more. It was all very chicken and egg of them.

He was reckless. He had suicidal tendencies directly correlating to his ability to open the door of whatever room he is in at any given moment. He goes very south very quickly if he feels trapped. He was an asthmatic smoker in shitty post societal collapse Japan where he had no reliable source of inhalers. He took his first run at vigilante justice when he first escaped his brother and he was like a buck ten soaking wet and had no special powers and was very physically below average and it involved a lot of hitting people with pipes in shady back alleys and culminated in him getting shot in the fucking chest and his brother finally catching up to him and putting him in a fucking vault for ten agonizing years “because look at what happens when you’re on your own, you end up homeless and shot, this is for your own good”

First is, frankly, horrifyingly self aware of the fact that he would have killed himself in a flame out in like two weeks max post-vault had it not been for Kudo. He doesn’t like this about himself. But he is aware of it.

His husband is not an option right now. His husband is dead. He was alive an hour ago, and now he’s been dead for two hundred years.

They’re all dead. His husband. Bruce. Their entire team. His brother probably fucking murdered them horribly and if First ever confronts him on it he’s going to act like First needs to get over it because it was so long ago

But it wasn’t long ago for First. It was an hour ago. They were alive an hour ago. Two hours ago? He hadn’t even realized that his brother had found him. He was happy. They were all together, First and his husband and Bruce. They were laughing about something. He can’t remember what. He forgot in the panic. It was the last time he ever heard them laugh and he can’t fucking remember what it was.

First needs to get the fuck out of here.

He cannot launch himself into a self destructive spiral. He cannot. This isn’t his body. This is some kid’s body, and he’s obviously very loved based on how much everyone fucking hates first for this.

So he just needs space. He always does better when he knows he can get space. He gets worse when he feels like a rat in a cage. He just needs to get space, and breathe, and then maybe he’ll figure out how to stop feeling like the universe ended around him and forgot to take him with it. It blinked into nothing and he’s left suspended in this sucking, agonizing void of nothing.

His husband was alive an hour ago, and now he’s been dead for two hundred years, and First is used to losing everything so he doesn’t know why he isn’t any better at it by now. It hurts so goddamn much every time.

He just needs a minute. He just needs to cry, and break down, but not the kind of breakdown that ended up with all those wanted posters of him that made him look like the unabomber. He needs to get the fuck out of here. He’ll—fuck, with any luck, he will never see these kids again. He’ll figure out how to make this kid’s life his own problem again and the kid will see them around. First is out of here.

It is then that he realizes those sirens were coming their way.

Huh. Did they. Call the police on him?

He sort of. Huh. He sort of forgot they could do that.

First was in shitty post societal collapse Japan an hour ago. Police stopped being an option when he was like, fuck, sixteen or so? Hard to remember, what with how the crippling stress and hopeless depression and also his brother secretly fucking with him with a weird psychic quirk in an attempt to “improve their relationship” sort of ate holes in his own memory. Very fuzzy about his own life at times. Police haven’t been an option for a long time, is the moral of the story. And he. Huh. Sort of forgot that they could do that. He’s honestly impressed at the foresight that would have taken them. They really called the cops on him in advance?

Iida, blustering: no, don’t be ridiculous, we didn’t—

Todoroki, vitriolic: yes

That is NOT his fucking body and he needed to get the fuck OUT of it. And since it’s not his fucking body then if he walks off with it Todoroki is treating this like another kidnapping and he is not fucking around after the last one. Which is exactly what he told Mr. Aizawa while texting him under the table to send fucking swat because no one was going anywhere until this shit was fixed

Aizawa has had a long fucking day. He had to be airlifted here to find his fucking students. Midoriya is apparently possessed. The Symbol of Peace has fallen. His fucking students went rogue and ran an illegal rescue mission in the middle of a goddamn war zone. And Todoroki Shouto just sent him his location with a phone book of information that can all be boiled down to “I need you to get this guy out of Midoriya’s body right fucking now.”

He sends himself. He sends police backup. He sends EMTs. The HPSC sends Hawks, who is existentially exhausted.

First needs a fucking cigarette that he can’t have because this isn’t his body.

Todoroki, the second he gets out of the car: *jabbing a finger at First* there he is sensei erase him

First: *laborious sigh*

Aizawa:

Aizawa:

Aizawa: give me a second to catch up

Aizawa cannot just fucking erase him. He wishes it was as easy as simply erasing him. This doesn’t work like that. He could have erased whatever Quirk All for One used on him while it was happening. But all for one (fucking hopefully) is nowhere near them and isn’t like, actively projecting his brother into Midoriya. His brother is just there now. Aizawa’s quirk is just a pause button. They need to hit rewind.

Todoroki thinks they should try it anyway just to cover their bases.

First eyes the incoming cop cars. Yep, a lot of them. And more adults dressed like fucking cartoon characters. He is plagued by the suspicion that this is his fault.

He asks to clarify that this all means that they will not let him bounce.

Todoroki, advancing on him: you are not taking that body anywhere you son of a bitch

Iida: *has to hold him back*

Hawks is tired. He is eyeing the intolerable amount of camera phones recording this from the edge of the police line. He claps. He says they should take this somewhere private. First looks at him with a withering exhaustion and asks him why he’s dressed like a fucking boy band member. Hawks says that everyone needs to find a car and get in it.

First ends up in room with Aizawa, Hawks, some weird talking bear-rat(?), a guy actively on fire, an old man, and a collection of other people who dress like fucking wizards. Wizards with bad taste. And, hauntingly enough, a completely normal man wearing a trench coat and a tasteful hat. This horrifies first, because it means that dressing like a normal fucking person is still acceptable in the future and all of these other outfits are choices. First is again tormented by the suspicion that this is his fault.

The kids are gone. They were not allowed to come in for many reasons, including how Todoroki kept trying to start shit with him. First feels like he’s appearing before a fucking wizard counsel.

This admittedly reminds him of being rescued from his fuck ass brother’s vault and meeting with the resistance leaders for the first time. He recognizes this bit. These are the people who have assembled to fight his brother who are seeking to combine their collective pools of information. First is, however, a naturally unhelpful person, so he’s gonna let them go first.

They do not say anything. Fine. Okay. He actually has a question.

Why do these kid’s bones fucking suck?

No one was really expecting that question.

First is really not trying to complain about the body he is occupying against everyone’s will including his own. He is neither a beggar nor a chooser and is sensitive to the fact that some of them knew him. He asks this out of growing concern. From the bottom of his heart: What the fuck. Does this kid have extremely early on set arthritis or something? First legitimately thought this was some underlying injury he didn’t know about or a side effect of whatever his brother did but the longer it’s gone on the more he’s started to suspect that this kid just walks around like this. He has constant, chronic, and unbearable pain. Please know this about him and put him on some kind of industrial grade pain killer when he’s no longer possessed. Actually please tell first that they already knew about this and that he was already was because this is legitimately terrible and he’s hoping this kid wasn’t walking through life like this.

Aizawa was not aware. He is now. He’ll address it with Midoriya when he returns. It’s not surprising. First should actually be aware that Midoriya’s body suffers severe backlash when his quirk is used. So first should refrain from using it and damaging his student’s body further while he’s in control.

Oh. That was his next question. Why the fuck does this kid have his Quirk?

It’s definitely his. It feels exactly the same, just… dialed up by a million. Like the same song being played on the radio versus played over concert speakers. But it doesn’t make sense that he has it again. First gave it away before he died. Even if his brother somehow brought back his Quirk with him, he shouldn’t have it—

Wow, lot of blanks stares. First reevaluates what’s happening. You people don’t know anything do you.

Okay, how about everyone else tells him what they think is happening right now. First still needs to decide how honest he is going to be.

Bear-rat man cuts in to say that on that note, he believes protocol dictates this meeting be postponed. All Might is the designated lead on this case, and much of the information is obviously confidential. It shouldn’t be discussed or disclosed further without him there to… moderate.

First decides the bear rat definitely fucking knows what’s up.

The other heroes are like. Fuck that. what the fuck just happened. Who the fuck was that guy. How the fuck did he have multiple quirks. A city ward is destroyed do they get that. Kamino ward was leveled in large part by this fucking fight. They were so outclassed it wasn’t even funny and they feel like they got sent in blind. Did all might know about that fucking guy before they went in

In the end, it turns out to be a nonissue. All might forces his way into the meeting against medical advice. He is still sort of bleeding. An extremely disgruntled doctor followed him from the hospital and is trying to reapply gauze with great distress.

All Might ignores everyone. He just looks at First. He asks him if Izuku is still in there.

First wishes he fucking knew the answer to that. This kid was obviously loved, based on how fucking angry everyone is at him. And he wishes. Fuck. He wishes his bullshit with his brother hadn’t ruined another host of lives.

He really is sorry, for what it’s worth. And don’t worry. He already knows it’s not worth anything.

First is going to try to get his kid back. He just… is a bit dry on ideas about how to do that in the instant moment.

First knows the look of a man who knows exactly how far his brother will go. This is the guy who has been after his brother. He asks All Might if they’re doing this here or getting a room.

The heroes are empathic that they’re doing this here, except for Aizawa, who is emphatic that they are getting a room that he will also be in. He needs to know whatever secrets these are for his student’s sake but no one else can know them until he decides it’s safe for his student. It is not a popular stance.

All Might doesn’t care. The secret of All for One is out, and the secret of one for all is so compromised already… and it’s going to get worse from here, based on what he’s heard. If All for One recovers, he will be increasingly aggressive from this point forward. He’s going to come looking for his younger brother. Is that right?

First laughs. It isn’t funny. Yeah. Yeah, he’s gonna start razing cities to the ground the second he manages to patch together enough lung tissue back together to take a full breath.

Nice work on that one, by the way. Really. He means it. And was the helmet All Might’s work too? Impressive. Did more damage to his brother than First ever managed.

The secret of one for all cannot become public. But all might can no longer help in the fight against all for one. Yagi won’t recover from this. Responsibility will fall to the people in this room. So it’s only right they know what’s happening.

Aizawa has to be restrained.

He’s furious. Yagi gave a two hundred year old power of apocalyptic potential to a fucking fifteen year old and now that fifteen year old is fucking possessed. He broke all of his fucking bones with that power. He broke all of them. And he didn’t tell Aizawa anything.

Yagi could not care less about anything happening around him. He cares about Izuku. Thats his boy. He can’t have been too late. There has to be a way to get him back.

Maybe. First doesn’t have a clue. He just woke up like this. He doesn’t know if his brother buried the kid or just.. scooped him out. Like evicting a fish from a tank. He doesn’t know where Izuku went.

Yagi tells him that he didn’t know. He didn’t know that all for one was still alive, and he didn’t know he’d do this to Izuku. He wouldn’t have—he’d have done better, if he had known.

Gran Torino blames himself. He should have known.

Gran Torino had the dubious honor of bridging the gap between seventh and eighth when it came to managing all for one. After Nana’s death, but before Yagi was grown.

All for One tore the country apart looking for who had inherited the Quirk. He had been desperate to find them.

At the time, Gran Torino had thought it was a bit strange. He figured he wanted to kill Yagi before he became a threat, but. All for one wanted the next One for All alive.

There was nothing official about Nana’s tie to the boy, and they had been careful when they met with him. Yagi was one face in a crowd, and All for One spent years spinning his wheels tearing through Nana’s old allies.

All for one once became convinced that nana had passed it to one of their old buddies. He went after him, but before he could capture him or Gran Torino could warn him, some two-bit villain looking to collect on the bounty killed him.

All for one had him vivisected for it, then floated the video of it through the criminal underground to make a point of what happened to people who showed initiative with All for One’s marks. If he wanted someone alive, they’d better be fucking alive.

Gran Torino forced Yagi on a plane to America after that. It shook him too badly. He was barely holding it together, and there Yagi was just bleeding grief over Nana, Gran Torino knows he did a shit job at helping him through it. Yagi kept trying to help. He wanted justice for what All for One did to his mentor. And Gran Torino was so terrified of fucking up the last thing nana left to him that he just… came down on Yagi like a sack of bricks for it. He shouldn’t have. He knows it hurt their relationship.

He should have realized back then that this was about more than neutralizing a threat. All for One was acting too oddly after that. He was too desperate. And it makes sense now, knowing that he was searching for his brother. One for All was his link to getting him back. If the Quirk was lost, his brother finally slipped from his grasp.

The meeting devolves quickly.

First is on edge. The more this goes on, the more he’s certain that he’s not going to be free to leave at the end. They’ll be nice about it, sure. They’ll say it’s for his protection. His brother loved that line himself.

He’s boiling in anxiety over it and trying not to show it. He hasn’t had the time to process anything that happened or his grief over losing all his loved ones. And he was kind of an abrasive person in life, frankly? He was physically pretty weak and spent most of his life under someone’s thumb. Verbally lashing out is one of the few ways he could push back.

He can tell the heroes are sort of disappointed by him.

The bullshit he and Kudo and Bruce and the rest pulled to fuck with his brother, apparently, turned into the model for a society. He doesn’t know. It wasn’t ever supposed to become this. They didn’t even think of themselves as superheroes, really.

They started just. Putting little fucking flares on their outfits. Doing some more visible, showy rescues of random people. Thats it. It wasn’t. It wasn’t a full super hero thing.

A lot of it was to fuck with all for one. First knew how to get under his brother’s skin. And his brother hated superhero comics. He thought that they were ridiculous. He thought they were impractical. He thought they gave First too many bad ideas.

But it was also a bit of a PR move? Society fucking sucked when he was alive. There barely was a society. Japan had dissolved into a fractured mess. They were basically living in fucking city states by the end of it.

People were afraid. They didn’t have anything to rally around or trust. They didn’t have a government they could really rely on.

Superheroes were just a familiar image they could use as a reference point. Comic books, manga, the fucking marvel movies that blew up right before it all went to shit—people recognized superheroes from them. They could use that familiarity to build trust and support.

Apparently the PR campaign did too well, because he’s getting the impression that they viewed the first heroes as these upstanding, reasoned forces of justice and first is just a some guy with a bit of a foul mouth trapped in a kid’s body.

It just. He’s not his best self in that meeting. At one point he asks endeavor if his flame mustache is involuntary or if he’s just compensating for something. It. Is not taken well.

First does recognize that his emotions are more unstable than usual. He assumed it was a side effect, and then he has a horrifying realization

First, stopping dead: is this kid in puberty right now

Aizawa: … I assume so

First, burying his face in his hands: oh my god

Aizawa: are you okay

First: i had a fully developed brain this morning and now I’ve got the cognitive skills of a toddler. You don’t think you can feel when you don’t have a fully developed frontal lobe but you totally can. No I am not okay. I thought I was concussed. Oh my god I feel like I just got downgraded from windows 10 to windows 1.

Aizawa:

First: I think it’s only fair to warn you I think I’m like 900% more impulsive now and I was already very impulsive before this

The meeting ends. Hawks tells First that they have a safe house for him. He’ll be safe from his brother there. Hawks will escort him personally.

Ah, first thinks. This is not an optional activity.

He’s very cooperative. He gets in the car. He makes a few nervous comments about his brother and if he’ll be able to find him at the safe house.

He then brute forces open the locked car door and flings this kid’s mortal body out of it at 75 mph before fucking off into the night.

WHAT FIRST IS DOING:

It was an impulse move okay he warned them he was more impulsive than usual okay if anything this is on them

WHAT FIRST IS ALSO DOING:

He’s not doing captivity okay he’s just not. These guys suck and he’s not staying with them. He doesn’t trust them and he won’t do it

He has a loose set of priorities. The number one priority is getting this kid back in his own fucking body. He doesn’t actually trust those guys to make that their priority.

Okay like. He trusts some of them to prioritize that. Guy who fucked up his brother and keeps looking at him like he’s gonna cry, sure, this kid is his priority. The kid’s really angry teacher. Whoever that red and white kid with all the aggression was.

He doesn’t fucking know about the rest. But he’s pretty good at reading the writing on the wall. His brother just permanently injured their main fighter. This kid’s body holds that guy’s Quirk. Out of the two of them, one of them is all for one’s brother who has insider information on him, who has an emotional advantage, and who has experience fighting him. Meanwhile the original kid has been doing this for like four months and has chronic bone pain.

He’s the more strategic option. But he’s not going to fucking abscond with this kid’s body. Like, yes, admittedly that’s what he’s doing right now, but it’s so he has better odds of ultimately getting the kid back. He doesn’t trust those guys to do the right thing so he needs to fuck off and stay free long enough to get the fuck out of this kids body and go back to being dead.

This is frankly very long already so a more loose outline of the rest:

Throughout this all there are flashbacks to first growing up at the dawn of quirks. Except they’re not flashbacks. They’re Izuku, trapped in the depths of First’s memory.

First is in a diner with his brother, before it really went to shit. Before society completely dissolved and before he ran the first time and before his brother locked him up. They were fighting, like they always were now. His brother stomped off to the bathroom. A man sits down in the booth across.

But it’s too soon. He’s not supposed to meet him yet. This isn’t how it went.

All the patrons are frozen around them. You can’t change memories, after all, and this isn’t how it went. Second didnt meet First until the vault, more than a decade later. But this isn’t really the past, and he’s not First. He’s Nine. And he needs to concentrate on what Second is telling him.

Existing in One for All is wonky. It just collects everything. It’s a wad of gum stick to the bottom of your shoe picking up dirt with each step. Every memory, every feeling, every person who’s ever imprinted on it is still in here. And it’s all mixed together and it’s easy to get lost in the memories.

It’s hard to navigate. You have to fight to maintain a sense of self. Imagine every person is a glass of water. One for all has nine of them all dumped in the same bucket. It’s so easy to get confused, and it’s slippery to navigate. If you think of something, you risk getting sucked to the memory and slipping back into it. You forget it already happened. You live it all again. A lot of them just get trapped in a loop when they die and join the rest. Third thought his life was flashing before his eyes until first and second found him and pulled him out of it.

First was better at navigating it than the rest. He had the most practice. But he’s not an option for obvious reasons. Nine needs to focus now. He needs to remember who he is. They need to get out of the memory before Nine forgets again. What’s his name? No, he’s not Yoichi. He needs to remember his nam—

His brother calls his name. And First is sitting in the booth alone.

All for One just fucking tossed Izuku’s consciousness into the collective. He could have been in any of millions of moments that any of them lived. It was like trying to find a specific pebble thrown in a fucking ocean. The past users just started combing through everything trying to find him so they could get him back in charge of his body.

Third falls on the fucking grenade that is searching through all the memories of First and Second being disgusting together. Someone has to, and Second fucked off to go do whatever the moment he realized what All for One had done. Second has been. Not okay. He wants his fucking husband back.

First and Second were so goddamn repressed about it the first time around that Third honestly didn’t know what he was going to walk into. Watching them dance around each other was like watching two aliens who learned how to be human exclusively from bbc period pieces try to imitate human courtship. He had no idea what the fuck they were doing in the moment. He asked second one time if there was anything going on that he wanted to talk about and Second responded with a singular and unyielding “No.” and you know what? Third was fine with that answer.

Whatever the case Nine is like five years old and Third cannot have him personally living Third’s idiots reenacting the hand flex scene from pride & prejudice 2005 on infinite goddamn loop. He cannot even begin to conceptualize the developmental damage that would do to him. Second took off in a fit of manful emotion before Third could force him to go search the memories of those repressed fucking finger grazes before the memory of their bullshit did permanent damage to this kid’s ability to form relationships or experience healthy emotions. Oh okay. No it’s fine Third can do it.

Third always joked that those two assholes could have either never gotten past charged eye contact and suffocating tension or they could have fully gotten married and simply never told anyone. He still somehow did not genuinely expect that they got fully married and never told anyone. What the fuck guys.

Okay so they didn’t legally get married but laws had an iffy relationship with “existing” when they were alive so it wasn’t so much an option. Also they were both considered terrorists by the majority of the people claiming to be the Japanese government back then so legal marriage wasn’t so much an option. But still he did not expect to stumble on a memory of those assholes deciding that they were married and doing their own private vows thing which they did not invite Third to. He was like their only friend. Come on guys.

Admittedly he sort of gets it? Like. He doesn’t. That’s actually insane. But he also knows First and Second are so fundamentally fucked in the heads that he can kind of see how they got to that point. Both of them lived like they were in deep cover hiding from their own fucking lives. They played things so close to the vest that they had fused with the vest. He wishes they lived in a time where therapy was an option because no one has ever needed it more than those two.

First once told him, in a profoundly uncharacteristic moment of genuine and honest vulnerability, that he tried to never let it show when he loved something because his brother would find out and take it from him. It always went that way. His brother had decided, years ago, that First would have no choice but to love him again if he was all that First had. And so he wasn’t allowed to have anything but his brother for the longest time. There was a reason why the room they found him in was fucking empty.

Third always sort of counted that confession as one of the biggest honors of his life because he’s never seen someone with trust issues like first and it meant something when he gave you even an inch.

He was closer to Second than any other person alive (or dead, he guesses) save First, and the closest Second ever got to an emotional confession with him was after First died. He told him, out of the blue, that he was so goddamn lonely now. Then he was dead by the end of the week.

Third always sort of assumed that First and Second still held back from each other because that's what they did with everyone, and maybe that's why Second took his death so bad, because he regretted not going for more. But the more Third intrudes into the memories of just the two of them, the more he realizes that they didn't hold back. It didn't make sense. They didn't even make it a year before First died and Second followed. And Second would not tell Bruce his name for the first year they knew each other. After three years together he confessed that he had lied about what his name was because he wasn't sure if he could trust Third yet.

It's somehow worse to know that they let themselves be reckless with the other. That they'd been open with the other. Because Second was cold and calculating and impenetrable and First was like a feral dog who bit. Like. Third's life had not been a walk in the park but if he thought about Second or First for too long then he risked actually crying. Second appeared to assume that every single person in his life would sell him out until thoroughly proven otherwise and it was very clearly a learned behavior. Third asked First what his name was on the day they met and he did not fucking know. His brother only ever called him little brother, and he wasn't allowed to see anyone but his brother while he was in the vault. He hadn't needed it in so long that he guesses he forgot.

Neither of them ever seemed to want anyone close enough to stab them in the back. They both made themselves so alone in life, and then to catch glimpses of them as open and vulnerable and happy--

Second really must have been so fucking lonely after First died. Third understands why he did what he did a little better now.

Second had some kind of serious damage in his past that he never told anyone, except maybe first, considering they were fucking married. Third didn’t know what happened and was not going to ask. Five once slipped (he claims accidentally) into Second’s memories and saw something, though he never said what. But he looked at Second kind of sadly after, and Second then refused to acknowledge him for an entire calendar year. And third is talking about real world time. They exist in a weird dream logic mind scape. Time moves differently here. Five was intolerably moody about Second icing him out and First had to intervene to put an end to it which makes more sense now since First was his secret fucking husband—

Third, when he finally finds Second: you got MARRIED and didn’t TELL ME

Second:

Second:

Second: it never came up

Third: oh FUCK OFF

If Third is being very, very generous, he gets not telling anyone while they were alive. All for One had some kind of psychopathic control freak sixth sense for when First had literally anything good in his life. He remembers that after All for One caught sight of the two of them one time for maybe three and a half seconds and suddenly shit got weird

All for One had a habit of getting ahold of one of their comms units or finding a way to get one to them just so he could be a freak about his brother. He knows it made First uncomfortable. All for One would always demand to speak to him and Second absolutely fucking refused to allow that unless First wanted it, which he never did. So the calls would always descend into extremely explicit threats about what would happen to them if First was hurt when he came to collect him. It was never about giving him back, because all for one was killing them all for this no matter what. Returning him wouldn’t save them. But there was room to negotiate on how painful it needed to be.

This would go on until Second would get fed up and shoot the fucking comms unit, which usually was like three minutes in tops

Anyway after the one (1) time all for one saw them together suddenly all for one felt the need to include threats about what would happen if anyone had been inappropriate with his brother or he if he found out that Second specifically had taken liberties with him. Third never found out what the actual threat was because second immediately fucking shot the comms unit and refused all questions.

Second got a lot of side eyes after that.

Okay but after? After?? They have had several hundred years to bring this up. What the fuck guys.

Second feels they are getting off topic. The point is finding Nine and getting him back to his body and First back with them. (Third: yeah I bet you want your husband back with—) Why was third even in those memories.

Uhhh Third was saving Nine from the irreparable fucking trauma of remembering what it’s like to date and apparently be married to Second. Nine’s slipping around all over the place. No direction. Total crapshoot about what memory he’ll end up in. They can afford to miss him slipping into one of the million fucking times First tried to fight some bitch with a pipe. But they seriously cannot have him stumbling around in First’s marriage. Like. For ethical reasons.

Second: *profound silence* there are some moments he should not se—

Third: I KNOW

Third is really taking a fucking bullet here. God he does not want to see this shit. He has to live in Nine’s bones with these assholes.

It also just feels really weird? The three of them really were friends, but Second and First had so many goddamn issues that they just struggled horribly to ever really talk about anything. Except with each other, apparently, because he knows way more about them from glancing furtively at these memories than he’s learned in like two hundred years of friendship. Their romance was sort of like when the really angry feral shelter dog got inexplicably attached to the quiet neglected one. It was kind of sweet, and also the weirdest goddamn thing Third has ever seen

First is in their makeshift gun range. Second is helping him learn to shoot. He steps up behind him to help him position the gun—

Third: And that’s where we call time folks. God that’s not even proper gun handling they sicken me. Nine trust me you want to follow me out now

It takes them a couple tries to get Izuku to remember himself long enough to shake free of the memories. It’s not that unusual, honestly. Most of them spent a while after they died slipping. The rest of them have to constantly go fishing for them while they’re still new.

Second and Third explain to Izuku what happened. Third separately explains to Izuku that he needs to swap back with first asap because second is so pathetic and sad without his husband that it’s hard to watch. The last time he was this visibly upset was after First died.

Third: god look at him. He’s a wreck

Second, in the distance: *emotionless, unmoving*

Third: i don’t know if ive ever seen him so emotional

Izuku:

Second: *scratches his nose, still emotionless*

Izuku:

Third: ugh it’s hard to look at

Third tells literally everyone First and Second were married by the way. They all live together in this kid’s bones and the fact that two of them are married is relevant to the group. Everyone was very upset by the news, except nana. This means she won the bet.

Izuku: so uh. What do you think first is doing with my body

Third, knows him too well: oh he is having a nuclear grade crash out right now

Izuku, eyes wide: oh

Second:

Second, clipped: probably.

First is and he’s making it everyone’s problem. Fundamentally he has spent his entire life trapped in a profoundly abusive relationship with his brother and it reached such levels of toxicity as to have societal impacts still felt centuries later. He and his brother have not improved or changed and they are in fact doing what they have historically done and escalating their relationship problems to an issue of national security.

He’s back on his vigilantism bullshit. He feels obligated to be the one going after his brother because of the everything. Besides, it’s bad enough that he hijacked this kid’s body. If he can do something to handle his brother so this kid won’t have to then he owes it to him. So he’ll do what he can while he’s figuring things out.

The league is so fucking distressed by this fact. What was expected in First’s time is not what is expected in the modern day. They’re operating in two different genres entirely. Fundamentally the league thinks they are in a slightly edgier version of Megamind and First thinks he is in the Vietnam War.

Shigaraki: which one of you fuckfaces ordered pizza to our fucking hideout—oh my god it’s a bomb

It does not help that all for one is a delusional freak on main about his little brother. The league has borderline developed a psychic link with one another just from the amount of uncomfortable and charged eye contact they are making.

It’s sort of like when you realize halfway through the story that your friend sincerely was the problem the entire time. Like there is something profoundly wrong with All for One and it fucking shows when his brother is involved.

First is trying to carve a path through whatever criminal underworld he encounters because he is a man on a level 900 crash out who was just handed a cataclysmic trigger for all his trauma, like all of it, and the superpower equivalent of a hydrogen bomb. He doesn’t have time to figure out what of this bullshit is his brother’s fault so he just adopts a razed earth approach. He’ll fight all of them, honestly

All for One: my brother has always been very emotionally sensitive. He upsets himself so easily.

Dabi, distressed: he fucking stabbed me

All for one: yes he does that sometimes. It’s how he handles is emotions. He isn’t well. He needs to be in an enclosed space with soft lighting and low levels of stimulus to manage his mental health

Dabi: are you talking about that room with no windows and a bank vault for a door. wait are you saying you put him in that thing for his mental health?

All for One: I took care of my brother for many years I know what he needs

The issue with this is that all for one will kill everyone if First dies in a terrible passion again and he needs people to understand this. The first time someone actually manages to land a serious hit on First, All for One decapitates him and sends the head to his wife and the body to his child. There was no reason for the separate shipments. They lived together. The behavior is simply unhinged.

During this time First is the vigilante equivalent of an endangered owl on a golf course that the criminal underworld is trying to safely and gently capture before they get in trouble with the game warden, who is his insane fucking brother. Meanwhile he’s an adult man from two hundred years ago who thinks he’s at fucking war and is trapped in a body ravaged by puberty. He’s running around doing the most out of pocket shit and screaming at his brother to fuck off. Absolutely everyone is profoundly disturbed by first and his brother’s relationship and would like to be less involved in it. But this is not an option.

The League is trying to quiet quit their own criminal enterprise. They are so profoundly uncomfortable by whatever it is that All for One is doing now that they feel like they just need to do the villain equivalent of going out for milk and scratchers and never coming back. Except they feel like all for one will take that poorly so they found a new hideout and are just slowly moving their things over there. Every time they leave to do something they just fill their pockets and bags with anything they can and move it into the new place. They’re gonna do a hard rebrand into the Coalition of Villains and try to distance themselves.

Meanwhile first is hitting a bump in his vigilante career because this kid’s friends appear to be hunting him for sport

Class 1-A wants Midoriya back. Whoever is in his body appears to be working through… a lot of things. But he can’t do it in Midoriya’s body.

First does not fucking want to he wants to be dead with his husband and also he cannot emphasize the chronic pain enough. He has been trying to find a psychic quirk that could help he has been breaking into this kid’s apartment to talk to his mom he binge watched the entire mighty movie franchise trying to spark something and he is getting shit. Can someone please believe him because he feels like he’s made his overwhelming desire to not be here super clear. He is so sad and generally despairing and he misses his husband so much

Leading the charge is the red and white kid and the explosions boy from before. They both appear to be dealing with a lot of personal things. Not that first has any room to judge, but.

Both appear convinced that They Hold The Secret To Reawakening Midoriya and the secret is to scream at him that they know he’s still in there before confessing shit that they should be telling their priests. He just. He doesn’t know. First has been generally tired for most of his life. This is not an exception. This all feels like really private information that he should not have and does not want.

The spiky haired kid appears to have carried a lot of guilt around like a cross that he is trying to lay at First’s feet. Something about how he was there too and didn’t save him and wasn’t good enough and regretting everything that happened between them. First isn’t sure. He’s getting the sense that there was something up between him and this Midoriya kid and he thinks that helping him reclaim his body is the road to absolution. Something about a river? First is begging people to stop trying to achieve emotional reconciliations with him he does not know the lore

Todoroki meanwhile is gay

He’s had a lot of time to think about Midoriya and what he means to him. More time than he’d like. He’s had to live without him these past few months and he doesn’t want to. He wants to spend every day together. He wants to be heroes together. And they’ll never be able to do that if Midoriya doesn’t wake up

Todoroki sleeping beauties him

It does not fucking work

First was honestly not expecting that and less than thrilled. Like yeah he’s running on fifteen year old hardware but metaphysically he’s an adult and he’s married and his husband is dead and he’ll never be over it. Um. Let’s never talk about that again.

First is pretty sure this is not an emotional actualization thing. He’s tried that already. He voluntarily subjected himself to like 9 million of these kid’s baby photos while his mom cried and tearfully told him how much he meant to her. He let fucking All Might cry on him on a moonlit beach and tell him that he thinks of him as his own so son please come back to him. If there is a single emotion that could bring him back to the surface surely First has sparked it by now. He needs a Quirk to get this kid back a Quirk he is begging people to stop trying to connect emotionally with him he’s very skittish about that kind of thing it feels like a trap

Izuku also thinks he needs a Quirk and knows which one it is. And, great news: they already have it

He slipped into Six’s memories by accident. Once, Six was patrolling the streets and ended up chasing a bag snatcher. When he caught her, he grabbed her arm, and in that moment he felt the same thing Izuku felt when all for one did this to him. All for One took her Quirk and used it to swap him with First

In the memory, Six exploded with his own smoke.

Six tracked her down later. Her quirk let her activate and manipulate other people’s quirks. All for one didn’t use some psychic quirk to swap them, because he didn’t need to. He used One for All.

One for All is a stockpile Quirk, but not in the traditional sense. Stockpile Quirks usually required a stockpile to work. Yaoyorozu required a stockpile of body fat; it didn’t build up fat to begin with. But one for all was actually stockpiling everything it came into contact with. It had a perfect copy of First already stored inside of it. All for One just activated what was already in its stockpile. And if he used one for all to do it? They could use it to reverse it.

They just. Don’t know how yet.

One for All is just really goddamn weird. They’ve clocked up two hundred years of experience between them and still are surprised by it. Seven was the first one to realize that the emotions of past users lingered. Eight was the first one to turn into a different fucking person with one for all. He was the only one who got a Hannah Montana form and honestly none of them know how he did that. Five and Six are convinced that Nine will be able to use their Quirks and they want him to try as soon as he gets his body back because it will be so fucking sick

So they’re trying to figure out how to swap out consciousnesses. It is. Going slow. Like this shit is difficult. It is weird dream logic bullshit. The human mind was not made to exist in harmony with eight others. And it was not made to exist purely in a mental state. Learning how to navigate one for all is like learning how to swim in a pool without buoyancy. It took them years to figure out how to make chairs. They were really gearing up to try and contact nine through his dreams, dramatic style, sitting in the chairs. It was going to be sick. But that’s the culmination of 200+ years of work. Chairs and spooky dreams. They need more.

Izuku can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t going to work without First. He’s at the wheel right now. He’s in control of their Quirk. Part of the reason why it’s so hard to navigate OfA is that it’s infinitely more difficult to activate it or use it at all when you’re in it. Literally the only time they managed to trigger it from the inside was during the sports festival with Shinsou, and that was only for a moment. He thinks for this to work, First needs to do it from the outside. And for that, they need to talk to him or Izuku will never wake up from this

Oh look. Izuku's awake.

The LoV and the Shie Haissaki still end up collaborating, but its even more tense right now, because All for One is out and a grade a freak and the League is in the process of trying to leave before all for one realizes that’s what they’re doing. Dabi does not want to fucking be here okay they would have left already but shigaraki and twice got into a three hour argument about whether they could practically smuggle their beds out or if they should just get new ones and now Dabi has a piece of baseboard strapped to his leg beneath his clothes and it feels like a wingnut has fallen into his sock. He doesn’t want to be here he just doesn’t

First was doing something unrelated and one of the Shie hassaiki clobbered him from behind and only realized who he was later and took him to Chisaki in a panic for the damage to be fixed before all for one found out about it and honestly it’s the most stressful thing to happen to them in a long time. He woke up after he was brought down there and his instinctive distrust of waking up In A Place kicked in and he started biting immediately. Then one of them shot him in a panic with a quirk destroying bullet and he dropped like a sack of fucking rocks. No one can remember if the gun was loaded with the temporary or permanent kind and they are absolutely begging the league to be cool about this and not tell AfO. And honestly? Dabi doesn’t want to tell that guy. He’s sort of team psycho biting little brother. Like holy fuck Dabi’s a villain but he’s not that kind of villain. Every time he sees that vault he feels like a creep by association. AfO has such a rancid family dynamic that it’s making Dabi rethink his own. Should he call his mom.

Izuku wakes up

And he locks in

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He doesn’t know where he is. There’s a man here who has paired his feather boa lined fur coat with a plague doctor mask and Izuku feels profoundly judgmental about that and inexplicable responsible for it.

He does not ask questions. He does not hesitate. He has a lot of memories in living in a much more hardcore time and has inherited first’s profound distrust of being In A Place. Plague doctor mask has a highly destructive five point contact quirk he is not afraid to use and Izuku knows where first likes to hide his knives.

From the Shie haissaki’s perspective all for one’s freak of a baby brother lunged up from being dead unconscious and immediately started cutting off fingers. What the fuck

At around this same time the heroes launch their raid to save Eri

For the moment Eri is just fine because Izuku is riding on fucking instinct. He stole a gun, shot some people with god knows what because these are NOT bullets, sprinted off down a random hall, and found a little girl obviously being abused who was locked in a random room

Izuku has very strong feelings about this for all of the old reasons and several new ones

He offers her his hand. He asks her if she’d like to leave this place. He promises he won’t let anyone hurt her

Eri takes his hand

Now they’re escaping together. From what, Izuku doesn’t know. This compound seems to have a lot going on right now. He can’t access One for All, which makes sense. It must be erased somehow if he’s awake. He just. Really, really hopes it wasn’t permanent

Dabi, stumbling on them: oh fuck which one are you

Izuku: *wild eyed, has a gun*

Dabi: you know what? I don’t want to deal with either of you. Do whatever the fuck you want *walks off*

Lemillion led the charge into saving Eri. He ran off ahead of all others, and he encounters Izuku first. He recognizes him immediately. All Might has been coming to Night Eye for help getting him back into his body and he has a picture in his wallet of Izuku that he keeps showing mirio while crying. But he thinks First is still in charge, so he approaches the situation like a horse girl attempting to soothe a wild stallion

Izuku, squinting at him, profoundly confused: don’t you go to my school?

Lemillion: oh my god Midoriya is that you??

Izuku: yes??

Lemillion: what are you doing here???

Izuku: I DONT KNOW I WOKE UP AND I LOCKED IN

Lemillion, immediately and instinctively recognizing that they have the same soul, tearing up slightly: fuck yeah little man let’s get you two out of here

Izuku’s confused but enthusiastic about whatever this is. He doesn’t know this little girl but he would die for her. He shoots people and their quirks stop working. He’s a great shot now. Second was a great teacher when Izuku wasn’t being hurriedly ushered away from the gay bits. Fuck is that Kirishima??

Izuku: KIRISHIMA

Kirishima, immediately recognizing his homeboy is back: YOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Mr. Aizawa is here too. Mr. Aizawa looks at him with such a profound exhaustion that Izuku assumes it’s about something he did. He’s sorry, Sensei.

Aizawa: fuck Midoriya??

And I genuinely was going to try to get this to a decent stopping point but this post is so long now that it is crashing tumblr. It has taken me five minutes to get this sentence to type. So we end here before I lose this whole post and cry

[dailyhtfboards]

Day 47

Today’s board is:

It’s been so long since we’ve had a Giggles board!! Here she is, quite well rested.

(From TV episode 12A I’ve Got You Under my Skin)

[padfootastic]

hohoho i am writing a remus & sirius confrontation that is ending up a little too mean and it’s verging on the edge of not fitting into FoD but by god, is it satisfying 😈😈😈

“Oh, stop pretending, Remus.” There’s a part of Sirius, not insignificant, that tells him to shut the fuck up. To bite back the words as he’d always done. They don’t expect it of him but he is perfectly capable of maintaining a civil tongue when needed. He just doesn’t want to, today. “You’ve always resented us, haven’t you?”

“Padfoot, do you even hear yourself—?” Remus’ amber eyes are bright, almost feverish, and Sirius knew that all he had to do was push.

So he did.

- brought to u by ‘i’ve been thinking about remus and i also recently read a fic that blindsided me w commentary on james’ and sirius��� social positions intimidating remus into compliance as an excuse for his cowardice and general temperament and got incredibly annoyed at how he is, yet again, victimised so i shall now endeavour to turn that idea around on its head using the ‘ol ‘u cannot help someone who does not want to be helped’ adage so help me god’

[courfeyracs-swordcane]

[pointing towards you emoji] favorite blaseball team. go

(if you want to practice drawing in another style, then draw yourself as a transformer OR as a human character)

WE ARE FROM CHICAGO

[seventh-district]

“Why’s he call you Darlin’?”

on my knees begging my brain to stop trying to associate this song with Sam

[picklesthenonbeanary]

‘ight, i think my sickness and burnout are finally (actually this time) gone :]

Gonna try and get back in the grove of posting stuff! Yippie! Yay! I know that’s what I said last week but like literally right after I was hit with the burn out from my finals catching up to me so like I think I’m final feeling better now. Stay tuned! Gonna try and draft some posts and then post something later today. Excited! I’ve got a few months of backed up draws and art I wanna share that has been haunting my head so yay!

[authenticcadence18]

I honestly think the final update of chfil will be my last posted phinbella fic

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[honeyvenommusic]

❗️NEWGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSAN-

[penitenteyeball]

Dum de dum dum

Gonna add max tags and max characters to each cause who cares

[mqonlighting]

real talk in the tags for a second because i have a crush on a girl and i. a hehe. ahehehe.

will be burying this in reblogs and never touching on it again

[narugen]

got another hoshimina fic idea… it takes them four people and nine years before they get their shit together.

[starbuck]

trolling my intro to the humanities class by talking about things I actually care about.

[picklesthenonbeanary]

Have you considered making a neocities?

hmmm, can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind but I don’t think I’ve ever actually actually considered making one. That might be fun, I have dabbled with html in the past (albeit mainly just for frankensteining together a profile for my spacehey) and it would give me sm more freedom then strawpage.

Might have to revisit this idea, that would be fun to make! :D

(I’ll have to wait until I get ideas for what I would wanna do with it but honestly you’ve got me considering it now, thanks anon <3 /gen)

currently I just got a strawpage but having a neocities page doesn’t sound like a half bad idea either :]

[syluses]

𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[lesbianlenas]

had an adhd zoning out moment where i was trying to mix this paint bc one of my paints dried out bc i haven’t worked on this painting in a yr lol and i got paint all over my hands and for some reason used my leg as a palette which wasn’t that helpful bc when i was like ok that looks right it was too yellow in the end 😔 right at the end i added a little more of the bright orange bc i thought it wasn’t yellow enough but it prob was & my dumb leg didn’t show it right…..but anyway i did that for like 2 hrs by accident 😭