#these characters aren’t made out to be villains

[moonahmay361]

I’m going to try and answer because I’ve been thinking about this too. And I think there are three main reasons for this (in no particular order)

One: because the reason their relationship is complicated after Jason comes back is Jason��s fault. And I’m not saying this as hate towards Jason because he’s genuinely one of my favorite characters but some people don’t want to engage with the fact that it’s not just Bruce who’s against murder. And not to mention that in fanon every thing bad Jason did was because of the lazarus pit. And sometimes people don’t actually want to villainize Dick so Dick can’t be mad about any of that stuff but they still want the sibling rivalry. So they make so Dick was a bad brother in the past and use his guilt complex to justify why they have bad blood but still get along sometimes/love each other

Two: It’s people projecting/they think it’s “realistic”. I saw someone say they don’t understand why Dick would hate being in the spotlight if he grew up in a circus. And I don’t yet know enough about his history to know if he likes being in the spotlight or not but the thing is, Dick Grayson is not your average grown up circus performer. He’s a very complex character who lives in a world nothing like ours, and there was way more to his childhood than just being raised in a circus. I think people forget this. Like, I feel like sometimes fanon gets so caught up in ‘is this realistic’ aka ‘would I or someone I know do this’ that they forget these characters are one: not realistic and two: they weren’t made to be projected onto, they were made to tell and continue a story. And yeah sometimes you need to add realism to stories. I guess what I mean is, yeah it’s pretty realistic for a previously only child to be upset if there father (who they’re fighting with) sudden adopted another kid and it’s realistic for the only child to take out their frustration on said kid. Heck that’s why I believed it for a second! But the thing is Dick Grayson is not your average ‘previously only child’ he’s a superhero who’s been superheroing since he was around 8 and he’s been mentoring other young heroes for years as well he’s mature enough to know it’s a bad idea to take out his frustration on a child. And really that’s realistic too. Because again, their world is not like ours, so their experiences are not like ours, and so they aren’t going to react to the world in the way you’d expect/are used to.

And three: …yeah it’s probably also just people who don’t like Dick so they come up with any reason to justify why they don’t like him to

I know I talked a lot about this idea in fanon that Dick was being resentful of Jason when Bruce fired him and how that's a pretty big misconception because in canon, Dick was mad at the right person at the time: Bruce. Dick and Jason were getting along when he died.

But the thing I don't really get is why ? Why do people need to do that ? Jason and Dick's relationship as adults is already complicated because of Jason's actions as red hood and Dick's guilt, not because he actually did something to Jason but because he died in his costume, the Robin suit that Dick more or less gave to him.

Why do people need Dick to be culpable for that relationship being messy when their relationship when Jason was Robin was genuinely fine ?

[thepanicinneedlepark1971]

I know it’s literally my URL but I just watched The Panic in Needle Park for the first time and it fucked me UP. I’m literally speechless right now. I have never seen a movie portray such realistic tenderness next to such misery in my entire life.

[thebitchbehindtheslaughter]

Day 2,569,364 of being called evil for liking Dottore, and having my favourite character be slandered because some are too big of pussies to just say “I don’t like the character” like normal people

[lady-ashfade]

Mha Men Reactions To You Thinking That Asking You Out Is A Joke.

—£ X Gn Reader

—£ Plot: Reader has been bullied and thinks that this is just another prank, they have been asked out before as a joke.

—£ Characters: Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku Midoriya, Eijiro Kirishima, Tamaki Amajiki

—£ Warning: Angst To Comfort, Reader Being Insecure, Reader being bullied, Reader Making The Boys Feel Bad, Crying, Bad Language, Fighting, Happy Ending.

Izuku

-He was so confused at first, then in disbelief and angry.

Izuku had worked himself up for mouths to finally ask you out. He’s been hinting at how he feels for you but you never seem to notice. All he could do each day was think about you, how he wanted to hold you in his arms and kiss you. He wanted to show you the world and all it could be.

So, he waited till you both got off of patrol and chased after you.

Hearing your name you turn around to see the green haired man running after you like a crazy man, flying so fast with a red tint on his face. Then to stop and huff in front of you, he laughed nervously.

“Deku? You okay…” you question and tilt your head. He couldn’t get enough of how cute you looked.

“Hmm, just want to tell you something.” He smiled and said it like a known fact. You wait for him to say something while you stand still, just waiting….Until he was just staring at you in silence.

You wave your hands in front of his face and he turned the shade of a tomato for a minute while jumping out of his skin. You were confused, he was acting strange? He hasn’t been this nervous in a while.

“Okay- Well” he takes a deep breath and then pours his heart out in a shout, “I like you- A lot. I have since you first showed me your quirk and flashed that smile. So, I want to ask you out on a date?”

Izuku came up with many scenarios of what could happen when he confessed. Like you laughing at him, rejecting him easily or harshly, even if you hit him! He planned for everything…

Expect to see you glare harshly at him, one that sent a chill down his spin. Your body tensed and your hands gripped on your bag.

“Real fuckin’ funny, deku. What? Did Bakugo set you up to this?” You spit at him. “Never thought you’d be the person to do this, is this for a prank show?” Your chest lets out a deep and angry chuckle.

He stared at you with his face drained and eyes staring wide. Was this his imagination? What are you even talking about. Did he say something wrong, he’s never seen you like this before. Cold and mean.

“Nothing to say?” You click your tongue and huff. “This isn’t a funny joke! It’s-” he watches you tear up and push a finger in his chest, “It’s cruel.”

“What the hell are you taking about?” He has no idea how much your words affect him. His chest was filling up with anger and his brows frown.

“Don’t act like you actually like me! You aren’t the first person to ask me out on a date as a prank! Or hell, even a bet!” You cross your arms and flare your nostrils.

Oh..

His eyes soften and swallow at your now trembling figure, looking so small now and shaking. Like he was a villain to make you feel worthless.

“You think I’m joking?” His hushed tone made you blink away some of the tears and whip them off quickly, nodding your head you bite your lip.

“You can tell whoever that you got me! Get your points or win, I don’t care.” You fix yourself and looked at the ground. You move backwards and turn around to walk away from him.

Izuku watched for a few seconds until he knew he couldn’t have you thinking this was for anyone else but himself. Grabbing your arm he turned you around and into his chest, coming face to face with his.

He had his serious and frustrated face, when he gets passionate. “I want you, I need you in my life. I don’t know who before made you feel like you were just a joke, but they don’t deserve anything. I want a date, a real one with fancy clothes and food.”

Your wide eyes stare in his, looking surprised. Your bodies were so close and he held you so tightly, his body was warm. “Just you and me.” He’s eyes flashed panicked as he looked between your eyes.

He heard your breath hitch and how hesitant you were to trust him. He wanted to know the battle you fought inside your head inside and out, so he could defeat them for you.

“Promise?” That small sparkle of hope made him smile.

“Promise.”

Katsuki

- He’s pissed off, man has no clue what the hell you are talking about. And how you could think he’d do something so stupid?

We all know Katsuki never half asses anything, like anything. If he didn’t want you around you simply wouldn’t. So when Katsuki knew for sure he was ready to be in a relationship, he wasn’t going to let it be half asses. You were going to be his, he would give you everything.

So, he asked you plain out. Invite you out to a restaurant and to walk around your favorite part of the city. He enjoyed how talkative you got when you were happy, so this would be just right for you.

Then you flat out yelled and him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Being so confused his loud voice rang through the empty park.

You roll your eyes, “You don’t think I know when a trick is played on me?” You ask with a pointed glare. “Look, you aren’t the first.”

Trick? You think he’s joke about this shit?

“Huh?! You think I’d take the time out of my day, but your ass food and do your favorite thing- Just to prank you?” He shouted.

“Don’t flip this on me! I know this is just a joke, ask out the “weird” person right? They must be so easy? Is that it? Want to seem so much better then everyone.”

Then he was completely enraged. He couldn’t help the blood pumping through his body as he gripped his fists.

“How fuckin’ dare you.” He stepped closer. “You think that low of me?” You matched his glare and stood your ground.

“I didn’t think you were the person to do it. But here you are.”

“Oh?” His tone growled out and tilted his head. His dark smirk sent chills down your spine. “And who are you to tell me what I feel like?”

You felt your self becoming sick and you tried not to let it get to you. But this wasn’t how you thought your relationship would go, him turning out like everyone else.

“I know that everyone always likes to pull this shit on me! Ask me out, not show or laugh in my face! Who set you up to this Huh?”

Clicking his tongue he turned away from you, “You’re so stupid.”

“No. I am just know when I am being tricked.” He looked back at you with a daring smile.

“Oh yeah?” He laughed and crosses his arms like this was so funny. Making you break.

“This isn’t a joke! And it’s not funny.” You stomp your foot and started to get so overwhelmed and tear up. How could he be so cruel? Why does everyone do this.

He yanked your hands and pushed you to the nearest bench, you protested and squirmed but he was stronger then you. “Sit still!” He demanded as his hands pressed down on your shoulders.

You sink down and just do as he says to make this situation go faster. “You listen, got it?” He stared at you seriously. You take a minute and nod your head, his sigh made you sink farther down.

“This wasn’t a joke. I first noticed how beautiful you were when you feel asleep on my shoulder after training. I like when your cheeks puff out when you eat, or that crinkle in your nose. I like how you look around if anyone notices when you fail in training. I like it when you call me “Suki” and how it makes me feel.” His cheeks heated up at admitting theses things but it was all true.

“I wouldn’t ask you out as a joke, and you thinking that is fucked up. I don’t deal with stupid people. Tell me,” he pulled out his phone and clicked around a few and then shoved the bright screen in your face. A picture of you asleep on his shoulder with drool on his shoulder and him looking so calm. “Would I let anyone do that? No, only you.”

You could feel your heart beat up and lungs losing air. Your head ran with thoughts as you looked at him. He was serious? And you just said all those horrible things to him.

“You mean- You actually like me?” Your voice and question made him laugh and shove his phone back in his pocket.

“Maybe I do hang out with stupid people.” Okay, you deserve that honestly.

You take a breath and cover your face. “Shit.” You groan and lean back without looking at him. How could you look at him again, maybe you just wouldn’t for the rest of your life.

“M’sorry.” The word muffled in your hands and he looked down at you. He loves how embarrassed you looked, hiding your face from him. But he didn’t want you to overthink anything.

His hands wrap around your wrist and pull them away from your face. You didn’t look at him at all still but he just leaned down closer, “Look at me.” His demand was soft and quiet, so unlike him. When he found your eyes again he felt himself at ease.

“I’ll bellow up those fuckers that pulled that shit on you. I don’t have time to play games. So, go on a date with me and have a good time.” There was that voice again. His loud voice to cover his emotions.

“If you’ll have me.” Your eyes looked so soft and sad. Like he would still rejected you.

“Be waiting for you. And i wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Kirishima

- Completely taken aback. He was frozen and confused, then sad and angry. His heart was broken.

Kirishima was a man, and a good man. He kicked himself for months because he wanted to ask you out but didn’t want to ruin anything. You were just so sweet and beautiful, his heart flattered when he saw you smile.

Of course he wanted to ask you out! So, he worked up himself like izuku and made sure to be on top of his game. He would style his hair, clean up after a long day and check himself out in the mirror. He had to look best for you, like a man!

He waited until you got done with your work and headed home to ask you for a date. He was waiting for you by the door with a huge but nervous smile. His chest was filling up with butterflies,

“Y/n! Over here.” He waves you down. You looked at him and smile as you march towards him. Your regular clothes looking amazing on you, he could tell the day was rough for you but you still looked as beautiful as aways.

“Hello, good work today kiri!” Your praise made him blush harder and scratch his neck. His ego growing. “Need to teach me some of your moves.”

Okay, he needs to cool himself down. You are just too cute and pretty, he finally had you alone and ready to ask you out.

“Actually, um.” He looked at you with a wide mouth before clearing his throat. “I was going to get some food, maybe I can tell you there?”

You thought about it for a minute. You have gotten food before with him so it’s not weird. So you nod. “Sure!”

“Actually, I had something else planned.” You watch him blink, he watches you tilt your head. “I wanted to ask out on a date. Right now, to any restaurant you want of course.”

Your body tenses and hand comes to clinch your chest, looking around for the hidden camera. His smile seemed real but you knew the truth, this was a cruel prank.

“Not funny kiri.” Your voice sounded different as you got angry. You turn your head and cross your arms, “Think this is funny? What kind of a friend are you!” You shout making him sink back.

He was now frozen with his face white and smile gone. He stared at you confused and unknowing what to say.

“I’m sorry..But, what are you talking about?” You only huff at his words and puff your cheeks and chest out.

“Don’t play dumb! I know what this is,” you turn around and look for someone, “He got me! Really funny.”

Kiri stepped closer and looked to where you looked, “Y/n, it’s just you and me here.”

“Oh, so you just wanted to see for yourself what i would do? Because asking me out is so fucking funny. Well,” you hit his chest. “It’s not!”

Your words and hands feel like knives. You have never seemed so loud and broken before or yelled at him before. He wanted to tear up with you.

“I don’t think it’s funny, what are you talking about?” His hands covered the yours that rested on his chest. “Did I say something wrong?”

You tear up fully and start to cry, “I know kiri, no use of hiding it. I know this is just some stupid prank to get me to feel bad about myself and you won! Just like all the others.” You try to pull away from him but his body moves on its own and keeps you from moving.

His blood starts to rise and his teeth start to show. You think this is a prank, that he was just doing this to make you cry? And what others? Oh, this was making him pissed.

“Who did it? I’ll talk to them, that’s so unmanly! Hurting someone like that?” He leans down to you, “Let alone you…that’s the most cruel thing I have heard.”

You blink up at him, your arms struggling to pull back come to a stop. “What do you mean? You did it to.” Your voice broke and didn’t sound as angry but disappointed.

“I would never. I’m not joking y/n, I want to take you out on a date. Even more now to show you that you can be loved, like I do! Please give me a chance, you are the only person I think about!” He backs away from you and bows his head to plead.

“Let me take you out on this one date and if you don’t like it, then I can deal with it! A man has to step up. I wanna go out with you so bad!”

You stare down at him in shock at his outburst as he begs you…no one has done that before. Kiri didn’t seem like the type of guy to ever joke about this..But why would he want you?

Sighing you look away, heat coming to your cheeks. He asked you out and you just made a scene. “You mean it?”

His head shot like a dog and nodded his head quickly, “It will be the best date you ever had! I’ll even buy you dessert.” He poked out his chest with pride and now a smile to convince you.

“Fine! But if you think-” your eyes wide and throat close up as he smashes his lips onto yours. You feel yourself growing weak and unable to move.

He pulls away quickly with a blush at his cheeks, “I am serious, did that prove something?”

“P-Point proven.” He smirks at his victory and takes you by the hand to show you a wonderful night.

Tamaki

-He’s so stressed and sad, he’s confused. This one might hurt.

Tamaki gets embarrassed so easily but when he is around you something just happens to him. He’s so fluster and can’t look at you but at the same time he’s calm and needs your company. Tamaki finds himself thinking about you and your smile, how soft you look to hold. But why would you want someone like him? Someone who hides and stutters all the time.

Until he was forced to ask you out by Mirio. If he didn’t tell you then mirio would have to tell you himself. And Tamaki almost fainted on the spot. How could he face you?

So he went to your office, stuttering already and panicked. When he knocked on your door he hoped you wouldn’t be there.

“Hello,” you greet the person with a smile that only brightens when you realize it was him, “Tamaki, come in.” You open the door for him and he walks In quickly.

Your office was just like you. He loved how you made this place just as your own, it made him feel safe.

“What’s up? Need another pair of hands on a mission?” You walk back to your desk and near your gear that you needed to take off. He cleared his throat.

“N-no, actually, I have something to say.” You turn to look at his tense frame. “Oh?” Then he turned his face around and took a deep breath.

“Mirio helped me with this. Close your eyes and say what’s one your heart. Um- Okay, okay.” He whispers to himself and tightens his fists. You arch a brow and watch him curiously.

He takes a deep breath then begins to stutter and trip over his words, “W-Wanna take you out- On a date.” His voice breaks loudly. “I hope I did it right..” I wishes to himself breathy and panting.

You stare at the back of his head and place your hands on your desk..Mirio must have set him up to this. Must have felt pity for you, or to do this as a joke.

“I can’t believe you both- I’m not a bet or a joke.” He jumps out of his skin at your shouting voice. His head runs quickly at what he must have said to make you yell at him.

“This isn’t- Oh no, not how I want this to go.” He closes his eyes and shakes a bit.

“Oh? Wanted me to say yes so you guys can laugh? Or, what? Get brownie points for asking me out? Out of pity!” There you go shouting again.

Tamaki has never heard you yell like this, unless it’s a villain…is he a villain? No, he can’t be. But his ears heat up and he sinks into his clothes.

“No…I just wanted to go out with you.” He spoke louder but still hesitant in himself. He stayed still for your next words but they never come.

Only a sniffle.

You lean down on your desk and sob while trying to stay quiet. You thought that Mirio and tamaki were your friends, and would never hurt you.

He turned his head around and something twisted in his stomach to make him feel sick. Seeing you with tears rolling down your face and sink into your own skin like him, made him feel horrible.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he walked toward. You grip on the desk and let out a soft chuckle, “That’s what happens when you pull a prank on someone.”

It clicked in his brain finally that you thought he wasn’t serious. Like he just treating you less and as a joke. It was harsh to think of him like that.

“Y/n..” he walks closer to you as you stiffen the closer he got, you sob harder.

“I get it, you can tell miriro you got me.”

“Y/n.” He said clear and without a stutter, his face and body now on the side of you. “I am in love with you.” Your breath hitched and he hears it.

“You make me wanna be brave. I can’t help but get flustered and shy around you because- Well because you’re so pretty and nice. But I want to take you out..” he leans closer as you look up at him. “I want..” he trails of and glances into your eyes with matching tears curl up in his eyes.

“I want you.”

You take a deep breath and stand up straight. You feel heat raise up in your body of embarrassment, “M’sorry.” You sob again and throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him closer.

And he’s back to being a melted mess as you hold him close. He blushes and softly wraps his arms around you and pats your back lightly. “D-Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?”

You chuckle and pull away from him and whip off your own tears as his hands stay on your hips. “If you don’t hate me.” You nod and sniffle one more time. He smiles,

“I Could never hate you.”

[unboundprompts]

Do you have any advice for a character who has a sort of sacrificial lamb complex? A savior complex but not as in a hero to save the day, but as in they don't believe they deserve to save themselves?

How to Write a Sacrificial Character

Backstory and Motivation

Traumatic Past: Explore the character’s history. Perhaps they’ve experienced abandonment, betrayal, or loss, leading them to internalize the belief that their worth is tied to suffering for others.

Family Expectations: They may come from a family that emphasizes self-sacrifice or has a history of martyrdom, teaching them that their own needs are secondary to others.

Guilt and Responsibility: The character might feel an overwhelming sense of guilt for past failures, believing that they owe it to others to endure hardship or take on burdens.

Internal Conflict

Self-Worth Issues: Illustrate their struggle with self-worth. They might dismiss compliments or feel undeserving of happiness, using phrases like “I don’t deserve this” or “I have to earn my place.”

Desire for Connection: While they may push others away, they also yearn for connection and love, creating an internal tug-of-war between wanting to be saved and believing they are unworthy of it.

Sacrificial Actions

Small Acts of Sacrifice: Show them making small sacrifices for friends or loved ones, like skipping meals or taking on additional work, which reinforces their belief that they should suffer for others’ well-being.

Dramatic Moments: Create pivotal scenes where they are put in a position to sacrifice themselves for someone else—physically or emotionally. This can highlight their motivations and lead to significant character development.

Interactions with Others

Supportive Characters: Introduce characters who try to save or help them, but the sacrificial character resists, believing their problems aren’t worth the effort. This can create tension and deepen their internal struggle.

Small Acts of Kindness: Have moments where others go out of their way to help them, reinforcing that they are worthy of care and support. This can include simple gestures, affirmations, or sacrifices made on their behalf.

Conflict with a Mentor or Friend: A mentor figure might challenge this belief, encouraging them to see their value and fight for themselves, leading to moments of growth and resistance.

Gradual Change

Moments of Clarity: Show them having fleeting moments of realization where they understand their self-worth, possibly triggered by a significant event or dialogue with another character.

Catalyst for Change: Introduce a scenario where they must choose between self-sacrifice and self-preservation, forcing them to confront their beliefs head-on.

Life-Altering Experience: Put the character in a situation that forces them to confront their fears, such as a near-death experience or a pivotal choice between saving themselves or others. This moment can act as a wake-up call to their worth.

Acts of Courage: Have them step up in a crisis, leading to a moment where they save someone else and realize their capability and value. This can help them see that they have something to offer.

Turning Point: Create a climactic moment where the character realizes they deserve to save themselves, possibly triggered by witnessing someone else sacrifice themselves for them, prompting a realization of their worth.

Final Confrontation: In the final confrontation (with a villain or personal demon), let them stand up for themselves, verbalizing their worth and challenging the beliefs that have held them back.

Symbolism and Themes

Recurring Motifs: Use symbols that represent sacrifice and self-worth, like broken mirrors (self-perception) or shadows (their past). These can help reinforce their internal struggles visually throughout the narrative.

Redemption Arc: If they ultimately find a way to save themselves or allow others to save them, showcase this as a powerful moment of growth, suggesting that self-worth and love are intertwined.

Emotional Depth

Show Vulnerability: Allow the character to express their fears and doubts, whether through dialogue, journaling, or introspection, making their internal battles relatable and poignant.

Balance with Humor: If appropriate for your story, consider moments of humor or lightness to juxtapose their darker thoughts, showing that they are more than their complex.

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 19/July/2024

Some really fun scenes to write this week!

One of them being a major villain POV, which I just had a blast with, hehe! :D

As I was writing, I wanted to make sure this villain’s main strength was obvious, and how much it contrasts with some of vampires, who definitely don’t have this strength. *cough*A, N, and M*cough*

Adaptability.

Having someone who can adapt and react to situations, especially ones they are SO unfamiliar with, incredibly fast is a surprisingly strong—and terrifying—trait for this villain and something a bit different! But they really do it very well :D

I also got started on the scenes for the different Units, and the MC gets to interact with a different Commanding Agent of the three available depending on which one gets rolled up in the random selection for that scene.

Writing the different ways those characters approach those moments—all different but with the view of a leader—definitely shows why they were picked from their teams to be the ones in charge! It was great fun writing the choice sets for the MC and working out how these characters would respond to that, especially some of the more intense choices!

I also FINALLY made the very last decision on the new stats that are going in that relate to your character’s new role as an Agent! It’s taken a looong time as well as a lot of reworking, but I’m finally happy with them and think they will have impact needed. Stats aren’t really my thing, so I wanted a selection that would actually add and enhance the choices and variations rather than just simply adding in things to add points.

Also got those coded in, as we’re coming up to the section where you start really pushing forward on those! The stats your character has gathered so far will still play into narrative, it’s just these will help add a different element for the more Agency-focused career your character is now a part of!

So yeah, a seriously fun week of really getting to some awesomely fun scenes with characters I can’t wait for you to interact with and meet, hehe! :D

It looks like we’re still on schedule for the late July/early August release of Chapter Two in the demo! Will keep you updated on how that is going too as I get comments/edits back.

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, so I’ll update you all again next week! <3

[heraxic]

Hello :o

I just wanted to say thank you (and also thank crumb) for getting me back into thinking about Karl Heisenberg 24/7.

I really love your artstyle, from the amazing expressions (especially the peeved/angry ones) to the scribbly lineart. As someone that’s trying to learn to draw more digitally, I really like to observe your stuff o.o

Your Moldy Family comics are funny, cozy, sweet and comforting all at the same time, and they made me discover and appreciate Eveline (oh man I love how much of a goth tween she is), and the way you draw Heisenberg (his physicality if that makes sense, his clothes, his hair, his everything) is just *chef’s kiss*.

As a former Greek Mythology child, that AU is so so nice owagh. I love all the monster adaptations/designs, it’s all so clever: I love that Kyril is scaley, hairy AND has wings (which I feel aren’t depicted often nowadays with gorgons), Alina is so majestic, with the black tipped limbs and the blood soaked dress, and the daughters being harpies/sirens(?) is also so perfect.

Idk if you’ve already said it, but what is it about Karl’s character that made him interesting to you?

I hope it makes sense (I’m a bit tired) and thank you again for the excellent food :]

Thank you so much!!!<<<3333

he lives in my head rent free…. his crusty-ass hair and barrel-shaped bod gets me every time

im glad you like my scribbly lineart! I tend to get concerned whether it really looks like anything haha

I miss drawing the mold family but i think my forte has always been fantasy, especially cause i love mythology more than anything. That’s not to say i wont go back to the modern mold family though

For greek au karl i wanted him to look like someone had haphazardly stuck animal parts to him so it’d look deliberately unnatural for him to have a relatively normal human body under all that-

I’m not sure i can fully describe why Karl is so interesting. Surface level, being voiced by Neil Newbon is always a big plus and his face model Joel Hicks is awesome-looking. His character design matches his abilities and personality really well, and speaking of personality, queer-coded villains who make a big show out of everything are always going to be my favourite. His gritty, masculine aesthetic is really inspiring in terms of gender as well. On a deeper level, in spite of all the terrible things he’s done, i find him sympathetic and relatable. After decades spent in a highly dysfunctional family, not living on his own terms, completely alone, I need him to finally be okay and get better for his own sake, with the support of people he trusts. It’s the same reason i love Eveline. Morally dark-grey characters who deserved better and could’ve gotten better with a good support system.

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ switch antihero x switch villain male reader  ꒰ kinktober: hate-fucking ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ 781 alessio / switch villain male reader ꒱ you and the mercenary have quite the history together. from intense fights to hours of heated fucking. a constant fight for dominance. one night, you decide to steal him away to your base in an attempt to get back at him for 'last time' 

𖹭. content warnings◞  explicit content . sooo much switching . degredation . dumbification . hand job . fingering . dirty talk . penetrative sex . bondage . creampie . multiple orgasms . 5.4k

𖹭. receipts◞  had to sacrifice my first born child for this but nevertheless hope you enjoy!

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

“Not every day I find myself a cute little mercenary.��

The roll of his emerald eyes only brings a chuckle from your lips. That’s rare. The mere idea of annoying him brought shivers of excitement over your skin as you duck your head closer to his restrained form.

Indeed, to get your hands on The Reaper - or as you know him, Alessio Arias, is quite the impressive feat. Even more so to have him bound and helpless in a chair. The sight urges your tongue to wet your lips.

His brow raises. You can already see that smirk at the corner of his lips — if it weren’t for his black half-mask concealing it. While you might wish to rid him of it, a part of you finds it ever as attractive to keep him fully geared. Would feed into the humiliation of it all. Wouldn’t it?

“Getting a bit too excited over there?”

Perhaps you should curse the fact that you neglected to restrain his legs fully. Damn him - all manspread and simply showing off like that. It made it difficult to beat the allegations of your. . . arrangement.

“Can you blame me?” No, no one could. Not even when you swing a leg over and settle into his lap. Hands reaching out for the backrest of the chair so that you might crane over him. In turn, he is such a doll to lean his head back so that you have the perfect view of his face. His exposed neck that thrums a pulse you oh so wish to sink your teeth into.

You cannot help but cup at his face. He’s too pretty to be your enemy. And you are simply too obsessed with him to pretend as though you are his.

Pretend? No. You aren’t pretending.

This whole shtick is what makes it all the more fun.

The click of his tongue is what brings you out of your mini swirl of fantasies. “If you needed a good fucking s’bad you could have just called me up, querido.” His croon is less than affectionate.

Still, you bite your lip and muse in turn. “Who said anything about fucking me? Maybe I just wanna get back for last time.”

You dare to roll your hips. Slowly. Tantalising. In a way that will nurse that bulge in his black leather pants that you already anticipate. It never takes long to get him up and going — that’s the difference between your lovely enemy and the other eyesores you’ve brought to bed.

Not that you would admit that to him, however.

“Aww but your pretty little ass certainly wasn’t complaining when I stuffed it full last time.” He doesn’t hide his groan when your hips begin to move into his. Neither does he attempt to grind back, however. “Always begs for it. Try to act as tough as you want - we both know you’re already clenching round nothin’. Slut.”

His words spark irritation through your entire form. Even more so when you imagine that stupid grin behind his mask. If there is another thing that Alessio is good at - it is getting on every last one of your nerves. So much so that you discard the whole grinding agenda and immediately set sails at fumbling with his jean’s front button and zipper.

“Yeah?” Your face cranes closer. The only downside to that damned mask is that you do not have the ability to shut him up with your lips. It swells more irritation in your abdomen. Yet - that all bubbles away at the sight of his already, blatantly hard cock in the bulge of his boxers.

“I’m the slut?”

Your fingers stroke along the curve of fabric. You bite on your grin at the sound of his low groan. The sight of his throat which bobs with effort to keep his noises on the low. Restraints scratch into the chair and the sound reverberates through your base. It follows your short snort of laughter as your nails hook into the hem of his boxers and drag it down.

“Would you look at that.” The tut that falls from your lips is nothing short of mocking. And so you swipe your tongue to sate yourself of the need that dries your mouth. Your hand wastes no time. It wraps around his pulsating cock and gives it a little squeeze.

Oh, what a delicious sound he makes.

Alessio throws his head back. Dark hair tousles and dangles. Thick lashes flutter and at last, his hips steer into yours. In a stuttered buck that is enough to have you chuckling.

“Yeah. Slut.” Your hand makes a small, jerky motion that has a grunt of similar nature vibrate from his throat. The vein on his underside throbs against your palm and it’s enough incentive to flush your hand along the sensitive skin and rub with purpose.

The man swallows down the lump of pleasure that forms in his throat, mixed with agitation and the slightest of need. Which he denies heavily. You deserve to know nothing of what he’s thinking nor what he wants.

. . . What is the point though? You already know. You always know.

“H-ahh,” he breathes out, you anticipate his attempted words to be the usual ones of sass and clapbacks. And you are ever right. You roll your eyes as the man, despite the heavy strain. At the linger of a moan that threatens to come forth.

“Fanculo a te. Tu — tu mi guardi sempre. I tuoi occhi mi implorano di scoparti. E sono io la puttana? F-nnhgh.” ( Fuck you. You... you always look at me. Your eyes beg me to fuck you. And I'm the whore? )

Any further comment on your behaviour vanishes, as your fingers wrap to squeeze around his cock, hard. Pushing your finger down the one vein and moving it upwards.

With a slight twist of your hand. While keeping your thumb in place. A pace begins to build, and quick enough that previously restrained moans all flutter out of his throat. What a symphony swirls around the room. What a creation of such splendid music, is his voice.

With each moan that falls from his lips, it gets harder to ignore the tightness in your own pants. The bulge grows quite obvious. Oh, what it took to keep your hand moving around his cock and not simply switch places and shove his face into your crotch. You weren’t too sure. But the will was strong enough.

Perhaps it was spite.

Spite from all of the time he has berated you and called you a desperate whore. He’s the desperate whore, it is something he has been since the time you met him.

A swipe of your thumb across his tip. You breathe out quietly. The digit moves across the soft tip to smear the precum out on it. Only to press down on the slit and spread a smile of delight on your face.

“Awwww, pobrecito- was that too much?” The croon echoes into the room, but you, with your merciless heart. Keep working your hand roughly at the twitching dick in its hold. All attention honed on him. On his whines. His desperation. Those bucking his hips and cusses he throws at you.

“Hhhah— Ngh- shut-th- — Shut the f—fuhhngh.” Well, that certainly was an attempt.

An attempt that calls your cackle, while shivers rush up and down his spine. If there is one thing he despises more than the fact you make him feel all sorts of pleasure. It is the fact that your laughter is so very addicting.

It didn’t matter in what the laughter directs to. Your laughter is beautiful and he gas wished many times before to sit and just listen to it for fucking hours. He hates it.

It is rare indeed to make The Reaper break into a sweat. Yet here you are, as he ever so slowly began to reach his orgasm. All because you kept going so slow.

A loud groan emits from his throat at the pace. It felt too fucking good to be this slow. Your hand makes shallow jerks against his dick, and then slowly moves its way up to the tip with long strokes.

“Fuck- Hurr- Hgnh ahngh, Hurry it up.”

The audacity to gasp at the demand that you are given. His brows furrow as you look almost offended. “You truly are an absolute whore, aren’t you. Arias?” You chuckle. Squeeze a bit harder than before and watch as a jolt shakes straight through him. Hips bucking in desperation while his fingers drag along the palms of his hand.

If only you’d noticed that the binds had fallen off long ago. But he liked to play these games. Wondering what he’d get out of it.

“Repeat it hm?” The frustrated demand from you spits towards him and earns the smallest of chuckle. The nerve of this man.

“Hurry. it. up.” He groans and bucks his hips once more.

So close, he’s so close. Just a bit more. Fuck if you think he’s a whore, he’ll get back at you.

And as though his prayers are answered. With the spite and need to have him back at his quivers and whines. You dig your thumb against his tip and rub a few tight, merciless circles. Before you are at it again. Quick, tempered pumps and jerks to his spasming dick.

“So fucking demanding. I’ve got you bound and whimpering - yet you have the nerve.”

A swell of spit aims at the head of his cock. One that your thumb catches and swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves. As if you need any more lubricant with the way he spills precum like a fountain. The messy action, however, bursts a tremble of a moan from his throat. A series of pants and needy bucks follow close behind.

You are unsure of the slew that leaves his swollen lips. Whether they be begs or a string of curses - maybe both. All you can focus on is the warm feeling that spills onto your hand. The surge of pride through every fibre of your body.

Still, you glance down to view the fruits of your labour. The beautiful sight of his cum shooting thick, sticky strings all over your palm. A mess to both himself and you. One that sparks a wide grin to your lips.

“As I said earlier.” Your croon meets his ear as you dare to give a few more pumps to his twitching dick. Kisses pepper against his reddened ear. Another badge to your pride. All while you murmur in a way that you know he’ll make you pay for if he were not restrained at this very moment.

“Slut.”

A flick to his tip. Like the cherry on top. You would be a liar if you say that it is not a sight for sore eyes. One that moves your muscles and urges you to change position immediately.

Your knees find the floor right before his chair. Hands still eagerly cup around the clearly pulsating cock. Your grin only widens at the strained pant that he lets out. To add onto your satisfaction - you’ll tell yourself that he is trying his utmost hardest to not spill all over your grasp once more.

“Might as well have a taste while I’ve got you like this, eh?”

Your thumb nurses at your favourite vein. The groan he releases. The way his head hangs back. Oh, it should be a sin.

Lashes kiss at your cheeks as you shut your eyes to savour the taste of his cum that still stains your tongue. The taste that you think of an embarrassing amount of times when you should be working on your latest schemes in the middle of the night.

And yet -

To your displeasure. The taste remains a fantasy.

All you can let out is a yelp at the skid of the chair. A pressure circles your wrists and you meet the cold surface of metal before you can even so much as shoot your eyes open. Restrains especially designed for your beloved enemy now clamp around you instead.

Bound. To the very seat you so proudly hoisted him onto.

With that damned grin right above you.

“Might wanna work on your restraints next time, hermoso.”

Leather bites into your skin as a gloved hand grips at your jaw. Tight. It wrenches your head back so that your body is forced to arch at the back. Suddenly, you really regret not installing those leg restraints. For the way in which he stands between your thighs halts any motion to squeeze your legs shut.

A mechanical chime fills your ears when he presses at a button behind his jaw. The mask dissipates to reveal that stupidly handsome face you have longed for night after night. Longed to kiss. Longed to fuck to tears.

Of course the bastard is grinning. Who wouldn’t when they now have the switch on their enemy?

“Oh and you were so fuckin’ confident -” Alessio huffs a laugh. His head dips low and for the first time tonight - you taste the sweetness of his lips. Tinted with a flavour of coffee and cigarettes that you love so much. To have his lipstick stains on yours should be considered a blessing.

Alas, you are a bit too sour to care. A bit too wounded in pride at the realisation that you restraints failed.

“Fuck o- ah,”

You should have expected him to immediately stick a hand down your pants. Stroke at your own dick that has been begging for attention since you slipped into his lap.

Your lips press together as the mercenary wastes no time in undoing the fabric. A firm yank leaves you bare like him - wait — You pout at the realisation that he’d pulled his pants back up. How boring. You wanted to see the evidence of your handiwork.

Well. You had other issues to worry about. Especially when two of his fingers press through your lips and apply pressure to the back of your tongue.

A whine, deep and full of annoyance. At the reactions that you grant the man.

With the loss of control, your mouth all but falls open. Tongue sticks out, with a droplet of saliva connected to the tip of your tongue making its slow departure and landing on the seat.

“Ahhgh—”

“Tryin’ to speak huh? Yeah, good luck with that.” The mental roads his words lead you down. The feeling of his hand pumping away at you furiously.

There was no time to register that your hips were bucking against his hands, fucking into it like a rabbit. A harsh spank meets your ass cheek suddenly. His fingers pull out of your mouth and steal a loud squeal from the depths of your lungs.

Vibrations rush all the way down to your cock, and all you do is whine pathetically once more. You moan and spill into his hand. How helpless.

Your erotic noises slip out into the room, reverberating through the walls. You suck in a deep breath. Sigh shakily at the growing desperation to cum. Your throbbing cock is already sensitive enough from the previous sight of the mercenary’s emerald green eyes so full of lust and rolling back into his skull.

All because of you. He knew how arousing he was.

How he got to you.

Another grave thing you despised the man for is his incredible understanding of your body. It as though he knows you like the back of his hand. As if he’s known you for years now.

Well maybe the two of you have been messing around for a few months now — but still. Your cock weeps with pre-cum each and every time you lay your eyes on him. When he touches you. Everything felt like absolute bliss. As though you float in zenith.

Small grunts break through your throat, betraying the restraint that you so stubbornly attempt to put back into place.

“Stop fuckin’ holding the pretty noises back. Wanna hear ‘em.” He whispers into your ear. Only to grin at the look that you give him. It’s filthy. The pure look of spite and anger. Hatred.

You really are adorable aren’t you? So adorable. Earning your little prize of the pace speeding up. A rough hand squeezes hard at the base of your cock, while the burning tip of it is squeezed in between his thumb and index.

“F— Fuck! Offf— ngh, you don’t haah— hnghn, you— ah. Don’t deserve, a-ah-ny, of them.”

A single roll of his eyes is all you receive. Black eyelashes, feathery and heavy as his eyelids, brush against your left brow as Alessio leans down against your back. This follows a few rough and tight pumps.

With heavy and hot breath against your ear. His next sentence is what sends you into orgasm. “Yeah, you’ve always been fuckin’ boring. Gonna force the sounds out of you huh? Fuck you rough, show you that you’re the dumbest slut I’ve ever known.”

With a small tut, he shakes his head and continues: “I mean, come on. Can’t even make proper restraints. Look at you now. Where are you huh? You stupid whore.”

Dick cumming and crying, his hand clamps down tighter. Pulling hard a few times before he slaps the tip of it. It draws cries of pain and pleasure out of you with demanding touch. What a cruel, cruel man that holds your heart. What a cruel, blissful man.

You wish to splutter a slew of curses at him after your orgasm sizzles out - yet all that leaves your lips is a whine. The quiver of your lips. Similar to your pretty little hole that takes two of his fingers before you could so much as speak.

“Fuck. Little hole’s still so tight?” His grunt finds your ear. “With the way I fuck it? What a damn surprise.” Fingers curl with emphasis against that one, damned spot that has your eyes looping. What more can you do than buck into his hand and spill your pretty noises?

His degradation stings your heart. Pulses at your dick. It’s always been something of his that makes your heart race and your breath hitch. You always feel spurts of pre-cum when he begins his train of mockery, embarrassingly enough. Tonight is no exception.

Long fingers piston without mercy. Alessio’s free hand shoves your thighs up onto the arms of the chair so that he might excess you better. Your vulnerable position has him grinning. His eyes twinkle. His low whistle fills the air.

“Look at that baby - fuck what a sight.”

Fingers curl and torture the spot that makes your body quake. Curse him and all his experience. Sure you have been around a bunch yourself - but he is on something else.

His digits shallow. Fuck into you at a quick, messy pace that urges keens from the back of your throat. It does not take too long before you spill all over his hand once more. This time with a squirt to your cum that arches his brow. As though he is impressed.

The deep tuts that fill your ears tell you so as he slowly withdraws from your throbbing hole. All with a tilt of his head and that grin ever present.

Poor you. Left sprawled out on the chair. Tense and shaking. The thrums of pleasure still cascade through your body. It is what you hoped for out of tonight - but you cannot help the bitter taste at the back of you tongue. Oh if only your design on those restraints had been stronger.

For crying out loud. Even you crack the code within a few minutes. What a waste of material.

“Pobrecito,”

Alessio returns your words with a click of tongue and brings a thumb to stroke along your jaw. Your head is tilted up to meet his warm lips once again. This time you enjoy their taste and the heat that pours into your mouth. A delightful contrast to the chill of his tongue piercing that grazes your pink muscle.

The kiss almost distracts you from the familiar shuffle of fabric and buckle. You crack an eye open to peep at his skilful hands that already fumble with his pants.

A part of you wishes to chastise him. Hadn’t you already gotten those off? Such a waste of time.

Nevertheless, you play the pathetic little villain about to get their ass pounded into next week while he undoes his pants. Your thighs quiver - but you’ll let him believe it is from the way that his large hand grabs and squeezes at it. Rather than from your own excitement.

His lips trace your neck. His hands hoist at the hem of his black boxers - an opening.

Perfect.

Using the same window of opportunity, you stun him with an abrupt shove to a pressure point. A strike to his side with hands free of those disgraceful excuses of restraints. The motion surprises even you. A part of you still had doubt that you could sneak a fast one on him.

Yet when his wrists are in your grasp. His hair tight in your other and his body bent over the table you often hatch your newest schemes upon - well. You knew that you had struck luck.

A pant leaves you. A grin follows. The sight of his rapid blinks followed by wide emerald eyes makes victory return in bubbles through your heaving body.

“Well would you look at that,”

“Oh for fucks sakes.”

“What?” Your lips meet his ear. Your hips shove against his ass. “Got a bit too confident, querido?”

You are no fool to his strength. It’s what wounded you in the chair in the first place. Which is why you steered him to this very table where the rest of your tools and gear scatters about.

You act fast in the snatching of your newest device. You are not dubbed his enemy for nothing after all.

A nanite-infused metal that wills a clamp around his lower back. Magnetically fixing itself onto the table to trap your beautiful rival against it. All bent over and ready for you. Locked. Helpless.

There’s no stopping your hand from landing a spank on his bare ass. Now it is your turn to spit. Smear the mixture of your saliva and remanets of your cum on his awaiting hole. “Oh and here I thought you’d given me a challenge.” You sigh dramatically. Pressure builds around your hand in his hair and you promptly shove his face down further into the metal.

“Well aren’t you a fucking boaster.” The man mutters, as he clenches his fists and groans.

There is a particular wish to wrap his hands around your neck. Squeeze at it and watch the cross eyed look he knew you would give him. To shut you up. Take the smart words out of your mouth.

Alas, the cursed binds he now wields are stronger than the last pair. You always are prepared. After all.

Oh that sweet voice of his, annoyed that you won, all over again: “You bitter, Arias?” It’s all you can say, laughing out at sneer that befalls the man’s expression

Such a breath-taking face, with such a beautiful expression on it. But not prettier than the face you are about to make him have. Fucked out and at your mercy. You are very much planning on keeping him here, even when you are done fucking him. Until he figures out a way to break out of the binds.

“Why don’t you just lean back and enjoy hm? Might be a while until you even get out of here anyways.” The mock goes straight to his leaking dick. Promises of a night he know will leave him in a state of blissed-out numbness.

All he can do is limp his head into the table and groan when he feels two of your fingers mimic his earlier actions. Press through the ring of tightness and slowly, agonisingly stroke along the soft walls. You lean your head over him and tower his body. Flush him further into the metal as your fingers continue their strokes.

He’s always been a bit on the louder side when you have either your fingers or dick inside of him. Lips part and spill the prettiest of sounds that have your cock pulsing at the tip. The way your precum spills is a clear indicator of needing to be inside of him.

Soon, you withdraw your fingers when the need becomes too much. Here you are teasing him for being a slut - while you are here, leaking and eager to get inside of him.

Your hand reaches down to take your cock into your grasp. Slap the head a few times against his thigh. The noise of frustration he lets out has you chuckling. Before you ever so slowly begin to press in. Feel his walls tense. Tremble.

“Fucking hell,” you hiss through clenched teeth. “And you said I was tight? You’re fucking clenching baby,” you murmur. Before you give a few testing rolls of your hips against him.

His eyes flutter. Lips press together in a thin line as he squirms around in the slightest. His pants fan the table and you cannot help the evil desire to patronise him a few times.

Your fingers flex around his dark hair. Squeeze at the strands and yank his head up as you simultaneously snap your hips into him. Now it is your turn to grunt at the sight of ripples that ease over his ass at the impact. It causes you to continue the motion. Once. Twice. Shallow and hard until little whines ease out of his throat.

“What was that about being a whore?”

You huff out a laugh. The pride and taste of victory quickly gets to your head. The once shallow thrusts become tempered. Quick. Until you are fucking into him with an intensity that makes the table skid across the floor every now and then.

Of course your lips find purpose too. They trail heated kisses up and down his neck. Teeth join the mixture with rough bites to sate the burning desire that coils within the pit of your stomach. Every thrust plaps against his ass, creating the most beautiful of noises to pair with his choked moans and whines.

“F-Fu- hhngh - a-h - wait -”

“Wait? Oh you don’t want me to wait, hermoso. You want it harder.”

And so your hips begin to slam. Angle at that one spot that has him gasping. To further feed into the intensity - you yank on his hair and force an arch to his neck and back. Slip a hand down to grab onto his cock and give a few merciless pumps. As though you are not already doing his head in.

“Right?” Another snap. Another choked whine. “Right. Arias?”

It’s spoken through clenched teeth. The sudden anger of earlier and previous counters spill out of you like a tempered waterfall. You cannot stop the way that you begin pounding his tight little ass against the table. All while he sprawls out and drools. Unable to do anything but part his lips and whine every time you hit against his prostate.

It is quite funny. He’s got such the big mouth when he is here. Beneath you. Taking your cock as well as he always does; he’s nothing but a whining mess. One that drools all over you table. Attempts to strain his moans have long since died. All he can do is submit. To you and your manhandling.

You dig your thumb against his dick again. Swirl at it until you feel it spilling. The sensation huffs another laugh from your throat. Harsh and metallic, much like the table your poor enemy thumps against with each sharp movement.

“Cummin’ already? Where’s that mouth of yours? Huh?”

Another emphasis when you shallow your thrusts. Time them in slow yet hard pounds that have his body keening. His mouth falls open and his eyes flutter a little.

You tighten your grip. Tug on his hair. So that you might witness the pretty sight of his eyes rolling back and his black lips that part in a moan that riddles with all sorts of sinful melodies.

“Qu-Querriddooo - h-anh- fuck please -”

“Begging.” You aren’t sure whether the noise that leaves you is a snarl or a laugh. Maybe a combination of both as you feel your own orgasm begin to bubble. Judging from the wetness on your palm - you can only assume he’s squirted more than one.

Your teeth dig into his red ear. Despite shallow thrusts you pick up in pace again. Skin slapping against skin creates a sinful, high-tempo through your base as you draw climax after climax in only the cruel way that you can. Until he is shaking. Whimpering.

“Wh-What a pitiful - mess.” You grunt into his ear. It takes all of your restraint to bite back your own whine when you feel yourself cream him full. You draw back only to see the mess of your cum trickling down his thighs.

What a sight.

Another spank to his ass reverberates through the room and you waste no time pulling out to the tip. A grin settles itself on your lips at the sound of his whine. Needy despite his deep voice - albeit a little pitched from pleasure and overstimulation.

“Yeah? You miss it? Work for it.” Another spank to his thigh has him gulping. And oh, how pathetic does he look in his attempts of pushing his hips back. To take you back in and fuck himself onto your dick once more.

It’s a cruel want. One you cannot watch for too long. Not with the way that you leak. Throb. Beg to be back into him — and here you are. Mocking him for pleading with you.

With a tap to the metal band - the nanites disperse and scatter to his wrists instead. A synchronised motion flips him over onto his back and you use your strength coupled with his slack to shove his body into a sitting position.

The metal splits in half and forms cuffs around his wrists instead. They hold him firm to the table once more. So that you might bear witness to his red face. Teary eyes and messy hair. All while he stares up at you with panting, whining lips.

“Know you miss it, slut.” You mutter into his red ear. Grip at his side and press back into him. Balls smacking into the back of his thighs with heavy thrusts that you quickly bleed back into.

A combination of your groans fill the room. You reach back down to palm at his squirting dick while your lips pepper all sorts of affection along his neck. And bites along his collarbone.

He left such evident marks of his claim on you last time - why not return the favour?

“You feel that?” You huff. Your face draws near to his. Lips but a breath away as you press your tongue to his lower. Your groan vibrates through the both of you.

Your thrusts weigh out. Shake his body in a way that has a little - ah ah ah - leave his throat. All while you heave out a chuckle.

“Feel the way you take me? Like you were made for it? Yeah?”

Your lips tease a kiss at his. The way that his head chases after is too much to resist. You push your face closer and clam your lips onto his. Easing kiss of utter heat and feralness onto him. All while you fuck through both of your orgasms. Again and again - and again.

“P-Pretty boy - pretty, stupid boy - ngh.”

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. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[gatorbites-imagines]

Mark grayson x male reader with the powers of john Constantine? Maybe Mark on a mission involving demons and after some trouble Cecil reluctantly decides to call the reader for help

Mark Grayson x Constantine Male Reader

Headcanons

Guess who’s been ignoring his exam prep and watching YouTube instead? This guy. Reader is also a little older than the other characters, but how much older you can choose for yourself.

Demons weren’t something completely out of the norm for the heroes of this world. Way too many so called villains would summon low grade demons and imps to wreak havoc. Very few were actually able to summon sentient and powerful beings.

Invincible had been sent in since theyd just thought it would be like every other weak magician who thought they could take over the world. That was until the demon that appeared was actually one of the well-known demons from the bible.

Other heroes were called in, like the newer guardians of the globe. But even they didn’t stand a chance against this demon, who was getting a little too close to civilization for the GDAs comfort.

As much as Cecil hates it, he knows he has to call you. You’ve never had any respect for the GDA, for the government, and had always insulted heroes to their face, calling them government bootlickers and the likes.

Cecil would have locked you away a while ago, if you weren’t so damn good at what you did. There was also the fact that he, and the magicians he had on hand, were pretty damn sure you could unleash hell itself on earth if you wanted, so they were cautious.

You also just happen to be kind of a dick, though mainly to Cecil. For some reason you’ve always gotten along well with Donald for a reason the GDA doesn’t understand. You just know he’s a great guy though, which is why you’ll treat him a little better.

So with great reluctance, since he knows youre gonna be rubbing this in his face and ribbing him, Cecil contacts you. He would most likely have to use some kind of spell or sigil, since there’s no way you’d share your number with this guy, or pick up if he called.

The guardians of the globe and Mark aren’t really sure what to expect when they hear Cecil sigh over their earpieces. He sounds more exhausted and agitated than any of them have ever made him, which says a lot.

Cecil barely gets to explain who you are before you swagger out of a portal in your trench coat and a to-go coffee cup in your hand with your preferred drink.

Immortal and Robot are probably the only ones who know who you are. Immortal cuz hes worked with you in the past, and Robot cuz he’s a creep that knows too much, and there’s no way he wouldn’t know about someone as powerful as you.

The heroes would already be over your shit, since you paid way too much for this drink to let it go to waste. So, you are gonna stand here, and you are gonna finish your drink, and then you are gonna help.

Mark must acknowledge that you are pretty hot, with your exhausted features and the tired but knowing look in your eyes. Its like you know exactly what you are looking at, and like you know exactly what to do.

The heroes get thrown around a bit more, just for your own humor and cuz you know they can take it. them yelling at you in frustration just makes you pick at your nails and sass them, telling them you came here out of the goodness of your heart, and you feel so attacked right now?

Its only when Mark crashes into the ground right beside you, and this cute traffic light yellow guy with cracked goggles and a bloody nose politely asks you to help that you decide, sure, why not. It’s also definitely because of the cute pout on his lips and the puppy eyes he’s giving you form the crater he’s in.

You give him what’s left of your too expensive drink, telling him some flirty comment about “watch and learn, invincible”. You make air quotes with your fingers when you use his hero name, since nobody is invincible, even viltrumites. You know this since you’ve stumbled across quite a lot of them in hell over the years.

His small blush is very cute though, which makes you decide to wrap this up real quick.

To none of Cecil’s surprise. You know this demon, and it owes you a pretty big favor. You don’t use your favor obviously, why would you do that? Theres better things to use a demons favor for. Instead, you just use a good chunk of spells, sigils, and other magic arts to cast them back to hell.

Cue some complaining from multiple members of the guardians of the globe. If you could do that from the very beginning, why did you keep watching them get thrown around like that?

As they complain and argue around you, you just swagger back to where Mark was sitting cutely and sipping on your drink. It shouldn’t shock you a guy like him likes whatever sweet monstrosity you bought. Fits his cute smile at least.

Immortal doesn’t even argue with you, knowing its like talking to a damn wall. Except the wall claps back, and will be petty enough not to help you next time.

It also doesn’t shock Cecil when you ask Mark out for lunch, since you’re a known flirt. You also may be a flirt, but you are damn loyal, so he can’t even say to Mark you’re a bad partner.

Marks eyes widen comically, sputtering around the drink he had been nursing when you just dropped that on him. His face goes bright red, since no one has ever actually asked him out, especially so boldly.

He fumbles for a bit, but he does end up stuttering out a yes. He doesn’t know you too well yet, and neither do you know him, but what could lunch together hurt? So he ends up clutching your number, and sigil, on a piece of paper in his hand, as you portal away again.

The place is still a damn mess from the demon’s rampage, but Mark feels extra weightless as he helps clean up, not even really paying attention to some of the others complaining about how you left without helping clean up.

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing #4 (100 Follower Special!)

Have you got any that deserve to be on these lists? Don’t be shy! Send ‘em over.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

*This list contains mentions of assault, #4

1. Zero cursing is better than censored cursing

I made the mistake in the early days of writing a self-censoring character, and every “curse” she said just took the teeth out of the rest of the statement. I’m talking gosh, darn, dang, etc, not world-specific idioms a la “scruffy nerf herder” or “dunderhead” instead of “dumbass”.

Look to any American TV show that so, so badly wants to use f*ck or sh*t but has to appease the sensitive conservatives who still somehow believe strong language is worse than graphic violence and horrifying psychological damage. For shame! Your characters can be angry without expletives, so rework your sentences to include equally damning insults that don’t resort to potty mouths if you’re concerned about ratings.

Or go full-throttle into the idioms of the world or the time period like Pirates of the Caribbean. Or just… don’t. There’s zero modern cursing in the Lord of the Rings adaptation and not a single sentence that censors itself. The dialogue is above vulgarity and feels more *fantastical* that way anyway.

2. “Yeah, you aren’t the target audience.”

It’s kind of hilarious seeing the range of reader reactions to two characters I intend to have a romantic relationship. Some will go “I ship it!” after the first page of them together… and another will go “wait, I thought they were just friends” up until they kiss. Sometimes you might be too subtle, other times it might be better to just accept that you can’t rewrite your entire book to please one naysayer.

When I’m pitched a fantasy adventure book that turns out to be a by-the-numbers romance where no one is allowed to be a peasant and every important character is royalty in some way, with a way cooler fantasy backdrop, I get severely disappointed. That doesn’t mean the book is bad, it just means I’m not the target audience.

3. There is no greater character sin than making them boring

Unless you live in the wacky world we find ourselves in where any flaws whatsoever are apparently harmful depictions of so-and-so and not at all written with things like ~nuance~. I will gush over your heinous villain committing atrocities because he’s *interesting*. I will not remember Bland Love Interest who’s a generic everyman with zero compelling or intriguing traits or flaws.

There’s another tumblr post out there that I cannot find that says something like this, and I believe the post goes “his crimes are fiction, my annoyance is real”. Swap annoyance for boredom and you get what I mean. So, I don’t care what your character does so long as they’re memorable. I will either root for their victory or their doom, but I do need *something* to root for.

4. The line between “gratuitous” and “respectful” is actually very thick

Less what no one tells *you* about writing and more what no one tells screenwriters. Y’all do realize you can write a character who experiences assault without actually writing the assault, right? Fade to black, have them mention it in their backstory, or have the horrific aftermath as they come to terms with it. An abrupt cut to this devastated character when it’s all over and they’re alone with themselves can be incredibly poignant and powerful. This goes with anything sensitive, especially if it’s not coming from experience.

If you want to write it or film it respectfully, romanticizing assault, for instance, is when it’s framed as if either character has earned or “deserves” it. If the narrative in any way argues that it's justified. The victim might have "earned" it for any of the BS reasons we use in the real world, or the perpetrator might've "earned" it because of temptation, desire, pressure to assert dominance, etc. Representation is important, but are you “representing” to shed light on a misunderstood and maligned topic, or are you doing it to satisfy a fetish or bias in yourself?

5. Don’t let your eyes get bigger than your stomach

Fantasy has no limitations, which means you can dig way deeper into the well of your worldbuilding than you realize, until you look up and realize you’re stuck down there. I have never seen a more obvious inevitable disaster looming than the pilot of GoT season 5. Why? Nobody has any plans. They’re all just led around by whatever side quest the writers throw them on, twiddling their thumbs until the writers deign to pull the trigger on the White Walkers.

To the point that what should be a major character can skip an entire season because his arc is meaningless. Everything in the last half of that show was one big “eventually” while the story toiled around in an ever-expanding cast of characters and set pieces (seriously, it’s hilarious how jarring the extended version of the theme music became compared to the pilot episode to fit all these locations).

When you have too many directionless characters, too many plot elements, too many ideas you want to fully mature and get their due spotlight and then somehow combine them all together for a common foe in the end, writing can get tedious and frustrating very quickly. Why, I imagine, the book series remains unfinished. Fantasy is great for being able to create such complex worlds, but don’t be the snake that eats its own tail trying too hard.

6. No one cares about your agenda if you insult them to push it

This deserves its own post but here we go. Peddling an agenda is a paradox: those who agree with you won’t need to be preached to, and those who you want to persuade will instead reject you further because they feel belittle and disrespected. This is why so many recent “strong female characters” fail on both sides of the aisle. Feminists see an annoying caricature of the movement they’re passionate about. Antifeminists see an insufferable, shallow, liberal mouthpiece when they just want to be entertained. You have failed both sides, congrats.

The answer? Write a strong, nuanced, well-developed character. Then make them a woman. I know this has been said before but this BS keeps happening so clearly the screenwriters aren’t listening. Entertain me first. Entertain me so well I don’t even realize I’m learning.

7. Today’s audiences won’t react the same way as tomorrow’s

Sometimes genres or tropes get oversaturated and need a few years to cool off before audiences are receptive to them again—teen dystopia, anyone?—that doesn’t mean your story is inherently bad because it’s unpopular (nor does it mean it’s amazing because it is popular).

You should always write the book you want to read, not the book that chases trends. I can pick up a well-written teen dystopia I’ve never read before and enjoy it. I can continue to ignore Divergent because it has nothing to say. Write the book you want to read, but then accept that you might make no money because no one else wants to read it, not because they think it’s bad. And, who knows? You might get a boom of chatter months or years down the line when readers stumble upon an uncut gem.

8. Your characters don’t age with you

Depending on how long you’ve been working on your world and what age you were when you started, the characters, concepts, morals, and story you set out to tell might no longer reflect who you want to be as an author when all is said and done. Writing can take years, some of which can be incredibly turbulent and life changing. I wrote the first draft of my first original novel in my freshman year of college. Those characters and that draft are now unrecognizable and has left a world I’ve poured my heart and soul into in limbo.

I’ve slowly creeped up my characters’ ages. My writing has matured dramatically. The themes I wanted to explore in the height of the 2016 election are just demoralizing now. That book was my therapeutic outlet and, as consequence, my characters sometimes reflect some awful moods and mindsets that I was in when writing them. But nothing in that world grows without me tending to it. It’s not alive. Despite all the work I’ve done, there’s still more to be done, maybe even restarting the plot from the ground up. When I think of what no one told me about writing, staring at characters designed by someone I’m not anymore is the hardest reality to accept.

—

If you think I missed something, check out parts 1-3 or toss your own hat into the ring. Give me romance tropes. Mystery, thriller, historical fiction, bildungsromans, memoires, children’s books, whatever you want! Give me stuff you wish you’d known before editing, publishing, marketing, and more. 

Also, don’t forget to vote in the dialogue poll!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dm Tip: Playing the Villain/ Guidelines for "Evil" Campaigns

I've never liked the idea of running an evil game, despite how often I've had people in my inbox asking how I'd go about it. I'm all about that zero-to-hero heroic fantasy not only because I'm a goodie twoshoes IRL but because the narrative-gameplay premise that d&d is built around falls apart if the party is a bunch of killhappy murder hobos. Not only would I get bored narrating such a game and indulging the sort of players who demands the freedom to kill and torture at will (I've had those before and they don't get invited back to my table), but the whole conceit of a party falls through when the obviously villainous player characters face their first real decision point and attempt to kill eachother because cooperation is a thing that goodguys do.

Then I realized I was going about it all wrong.

The problem was I had started out playing d&d with assholes, those "murder and torture" clowns who wanted to play grand-theft-auto in the worlds I'd created and ignore the story in favour of seeing how much unchallenged chaos they could create. They set my expectations for what an evil campaign was, and I spent the rest of my time developing as a dungeonmaster thinking " I Don't want any part of that"

But what would an evil campaign look like for my playgroup of emotionally healthy friends who understand character nuance? What would I need to change about the fundamental conceit of d&d adventures to refocus the game on the badguys while still following a similar enough narrative-gameplay premise to a hero game? How do we make that sort of game relatable? What sort of power/play fantasy can we indulge in without going off the deepend?

TLDR: In an evil campaign your players aren't playing the villains, they're the MINIONS, they're mooks, henchmen, goons, lackeys. They're the disposable underlings of uncaring overseers who have nothing but ill intent towards them and the world at large.

Where as in a hero game the party is given the freedom to challenge and overthrow corrupt systems, in an evil game the party is suck as part of that corrupt system, forced to bend and compromise and sacrifice in order to survive. The fantasy is one of escaping that corrupt system, of biding your time just long enough to find an opening, find the right leverage, then tossing a molitov behind you on the way out.

Fundamentally it's the fantasy of escaping a shitty job by bringing the whole company down and punching your asshole boss in the face for good measure.

Below the cut I'm going to get into more nuance about how to build these kinds of narratives, also feel free to check out my evil party tag for campaigns and adventures that fit with the theme.

Designing a campaign made to be played from the perspective of the badguys requires you to take a different angle on quest and narrative design. It’s not so simple as swapping out the traditionally good team for the traditionally bad team and vis versa, having your party cut through a dungeon filled with against angel worshiping holyfolk in place of demon worshipping cultists etc. 

Instead, the primary villain of the first arc of the campaign should be your party’s boss. Not their direct overseer mind you, more CEO compared to the middle managers your party will be dealing with for the first leg of their journey. We should know a bit about that boss villain’s goals and a few hints at their motivation, enough for the party to understand that their actions are directly contributing to that inevitable doom.

“Gee, everyone knows lord Heldred swore revenge after being banished from the king’s council for dabbling in dark magic. I don’t know WHY he has us searching for these buried ancient tablets, but I bet it’s not good”

Next, you need a manager, someone who’s a part of the evil organization that the party directly interfaces with. The manager should have something over the party, whether it be threats of force, blackmail, economic dependency… anything that keeps the antiheroes on the manager’s leash. Whether you make your manager an obvious asshole or manipulative charmer, its important to maintain this power imbalance:   The party arn’t going to be rewarded when the boss-villain’s plan goes off, the manager is, but the manager’s usefulness to the boss-villain is contingent on the work they’re getting the party to do.  This tension puts us on a collison course to our first big narrative beat: do the party get tired of the manager’s abuse and run away? Do they kill the manager and get the attention of the upper ranks of the villainous organization? Do they work really hard at their jobs despite the obvious warning signs and outlive their usefulness? Do they upstage their manager and end up getting promoted, becoming rivals for the boss-villain’s favor? 

Building this tension up and then seeing how it breaks makes for a great first arc, as it lets your party determine among themselves when enough is enough, and set their goals for what bettering the situation looks like. 

As for designing those adventures, you’ll doubtlessly realize that since the party arn’t playing heroes you’ll need to change how the setup, conflict, and payoff work. They’re still protagonists, we want them to succeed after all, but we want to hammer home that they’re doing bad things without expecting them to jump directly to warcrimes. 

Up to no good: The basic building block of any evil campaign, our party need to do something skullduggerous without alerting the authorities.  This of course is going to be easier said than done, especially when the task spins out of control or proves far more daunting than first expected. The best the party can hope for is to make a distraction and then escape in the chaos, but it will very likely end with them being pursued in some manner (bounties, hunters, vengeful npcs and the like).  Use this setup early in a campaign so you have an external force gunning for your party during the remainder of their adventures. 

Dog eat dog:  It’s sort of cheating to excuse your party’s villainous actions by having them go up against another villain who happens to be worse than they are. The trick is that we’re not going after this secondary group of outlaws because they’re bad, we’re doing it because they’ve either got something the boss wants, or they’re edging in on the boss’s turf.  This sort of plotline sees the party disrupting or taking advantage of a rival’s operation, then taking over that operation and risking becoming just as villainous as that rival happened to be. This can also be combined with an “Up to no good” plot where both groups of miscreants need to step carefully without alerting an outside threat. 

The lesser evil: This kind of plot sees your party sent out to deal with an antagonistic force that’s a threat not only to the boss’s plans but to everyone in general. In doing so they might end up fighting alongside some heroes, or accidentally doing good in the long run. This not only gives your party a taste of heroism, but gives them something in their back pocket that could be used to challenge the boss-villain in the future.  

The double cross: In order to get what they want, the party need to “play along” with a traditional heroic narrative long enough to get their goal and then ditch. You have them play along specifically so they can get a taste of what life would be like if they weren't bastards, as well as to make friends with the NPCs inevitably going to betray. This is to make it hurt when you have the manager yank the leash and force the party to decide between finishing the job , or risk striking out on their own and playing hero in the short term while having just made a long term enemy. This is sort of plot is best used an adventure or two into the campaign, as the party will have already committed some villainous deeds that one good act can’t blot out. 

Next, lets talk about the sort of scenarios you should be looking to avoid when writing an evil campaign:

Around the time I started playing d&d there was this trend of obtusely binary morality systems in videogames which claimed to offer choice but really only existed to let the player chose between the power fantasy of being traditionally virtuous or the power fantasy of being an edgy rebel. Early examples included:

Do you want to steal food from disaster victims? in Infamous

Do you as a space cop assault a reporter who’s being kind of annoying to you? in Mass Effect

Do you blow up an entire town of innocent people for the lols? in Fallout (no seriously check out hbomberguy’s teardowm on fallout 3’s morality system and how critics at the time ate it up)

I think these games, along with the generational backwash of 90s “edge” and 00s “grit” coloured a lot of people's expectations ( including mine) about what a "villain as protagonist" sort of narrative might look like. They're childish exaggerations, devoid of substance, made even worse by how blithely their narratives treat them.

Burn down an inn full of people is not a good quest objective for an evil party, because it forces the characters to reach cartoonish levels of villainy which dissociates them from their players. Force all the villagers into the inn so we can lock them inside and do our job uninterrupted lets the party be bad, but in a way that the players can see the reason behind it and stay synced up with their characters. The latter option also provides a great setup for when the party's actually monstrous overseer sets the inn on fire to get rid of any witnesses after the job is done. Now the party (and their players) are faced with a moral quandary, will they let themselves be accessories to a massacre or risk incurring their manager's wrath? Rather than jumping face first into cackling cruelty, these sorts of quandaries have them dance along the knife's edge between grim practicality and dangerous uncertainly; It brings the player and character closer together.

Finally, lets talk about ending the villain arc:

I don't think you can play a whole evil campaign. Both because the escalation required is narratively unsustainable, but also because the most interesting aspect of playing badguys is the breaking point. Just like heroes inevitably having doubts about whether or not they're doing the right thing, there's only so long that a group of antiheroes can go along KNOWING they're doing the wrong thing before they put their feet down and say "I'm out". I think you plan a evil campaign up until a specific "there's no coming back from this" storybeat, IE letting the Inn burn... whether or not the party allows it to happen, it's the lowest point the narrative will allow them to reach before they either fight back or allow themselves to be subsumed. If they rebel, you play out the rest of the arc dismantling the machine they helped to build, taking joy in its righteous destruction. If they keep going along, show them what they get for being cogs: inevitably betrayed, sacrificed, or used as canon fodder when the real heroes step in to do their jobs for them.

Art

[wreckingtickles]

Ruffling Their Feathers

Bakugo and Todoroki are captured by the double-crossing Hawks, and they happen to have the second half of a code he and Dabi want. Hawks has a very... unconventional idea on how to get them to talk.

Characters: Lees Baku + Todo, ler Hawks (minor ler Dabi)

Words: 7,312

Couldn't find a similar picture for Todoroki (I need an archive of MHA characters looking might ticklish), so Bakugo's footer will have to do.

That frown's going away real soon.

Very intense and barely SFW foot tickles below the cut!

“It’s your fault!”

“It’s no one’s fault. We couldn’t have known that there was a traitor in the squad.”

Bakugo and Todoroki’s latest one-sided argument, a staple of their relationship since the provisional license course, was caused by their capture at the hands of the League of Villains.

It had all begun with a typo. They were supposed to be at the agency by 15:15, but the message they received instructed them to be there at 14:15. So they’d arrived just in time to see Hawks download the codes to the heroes’ secret communications channel, only half of which was given to each team.

They didn’t remember much else prior to waking up in that square, empty room, seated side by side facing the door that would usher in who knew what horrors.

The irritation at being taken out so easily was compounded by their inability to access their Quirks, which had them more than a little worried, as did their restraints: their wrists were fitted through two holes in the middle of a set of stocks that also held their ankles, one at either side of their hands, so they were hunched forward with their knees bent. The most concerning part, however, was the fact that on top of every part of their costumes that could be used as a weapon or contain hidden gadgets, their boots had also been removed and each of their toes pulled back and restrained individually, just barely out of reach of their fingers. It didn’t need a genius to surmise that if they couldn’t break out soon, they would be tortured.

Bakugo badly needed someone to blame, and Todoroki was the perfect anvil to his hammer. But the half-and-half hero wouldn’t need to wait for his crabby companion to run out of steam as Dabi and Hawks walked into the room.

“Hello, boys!” said Hawks cheerfully, greeting them as if they’d just come across each other in a shopping center.

“Fuck you, you disgusting two-faced piece of shit!”

“Traitor,” greeted Todoroki.

“I appreciate you’re angry and disappointed, but understand that, from my perspective, your good intentions are getting in the way of true justice,” explained Hawks, mostly to Todoroki, as Bakugo’s barrage of epithets made conversation with him impossible.

Dabi leaned against the wall next to the door, both glaring at Todoroki.

“Now, let me reassure you that your Quirks aren’t gone forever. We only take drastic measures if they’re strictly necessary,” explained the feathered villain.

“Your father will still have a use for you,” uttered Dabi with a venomous grin. “That is, unless we choose to ruin you for good.”

“Come on, Dabi, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar!”

“And you kill more moths with fire.” A blue flame appeared in his palm, the sight of which finally silenced Bakugo. “So?”

“If my methods don’t work, you’re free to have your way with them,” conceded Hawks. “But I know it will. I tested them. Leave this to me.”

“Forget it. You’re an idiot and you’re wasting everybody’s time. The only reason we’re doing it your way for now is that Shigaraki put you in charge of their interrogation, and that’s only because he doesn’t know about your ridiculous plan.”

“Shouldn’t you have had this discussion before coming in here?” interjected Todoroki.

Dabi glared, taking a step towards Todoroki, who gave a start.

Bakugo gave him the side eye. He shouldn’t be showing fear. But Dabi had stopped his advance, a nonplussed look on his face, while Todoroki kept fidgeting next to Bakugo.

Before Bakugo could wonder what was happening, his head whipped forward with alarm as he felt something on his right foot. A light, insistent pressure moving up his sole, heel to toes, then back down. He hafted in place, but no matter how much he stretched his fingers, he couldn’t even reach his toes.

What was that?!

“As I was saying,” resumed Hawks, stepping closer to the captives, wings beginning to unfurl, “I need the second half of the code for the agency’s comms, and you guys will give it to us.”

“Or?” spat Bakugo, Todoroki growing more restless next to him. He saw a red feather detach itself from the top of Hawks’s left wing and fly through the air towards him, specifically towards his left foot, where it began to move erratically, dragging its plumes across his arch. But even though Bakugo now understood what the pressure on both of his soles was, it didn’t click for him until Hawks said, “I’ll tickle it out of you.”

Bakugo should have been relieved. They weren’t going to hurt them, at least for the time being. But all he could feel was outraged, outraged that Hawks seriously thought that they’d sell out the pros over something so childish, so insignificant. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Just because it’s so easy for you to sell out, do you really think--"

And then he heard it. A chuckle. Not from Hawks, not even from Dabi. From Todoroki. To his left, Todoroki was jerking his legs, his face scrunched in an attempt to stifle an obvious smile and the sounds of mirth that were trying to spill out of his mouth.

Bakugo felt betrayed for the second time that day. “You gotta be shitting me.” 

Todoroki could feel every plume, every tiny barb on the tip of each of those two feathers as it bent to fit the curve of his sole, dozens, hundreds of them being dragged up and down the bottom of his straight, slim feet.

Hawks smirked while Dabi looked transfixed, almost as speechless as Bakugo. “Well, well, look at Endeavor’s prized spawn now,” he commented as he allowed the corner of his lip to curl up ever so slightly.

“Dude, for real?!” whined Bakugo, but Todoroki couldn’t answer, as he kept squirming and whipping his head side to side, his eyes scrunched shut.

“I, I cahan’t h-hehelp it!” whine the half-and-half hero, instantly regretting trying to speak as he had to double his efforts to prevent any even more embarrassing sounds from coming out. Having grown up with a criminally abusive father and having been separated from his siblings, the only person who had tickled him for most of his life was his mother, and a long time had gone by since the last time. Then, when he began attending UA, first Deku and then Kirishima allowed Todoroki to discover that he was, in fact, still ticklish, and very much so, as if he had never been inured to it, which also led to another crucial difference between him and Bakugo: while the latter wouldn’t allow himself to laugh unless his very worst spots were targeted (though his poker face was terrible), Todoroki was completely unable to cope with the sensation and stifle his reactions.

And the two feathers were barely trying at all.

“Your ‘method’ doesn’t seem to be working on the other one,” observed Dabi. Sure, watching Endeavor’s son squirm from something so silly was entertaining, but they were supposed to move out as soon as Shigaraki called them, and to have the information by then.

“Of course it doesn’t fucking work, who do you think you’re dealing with?!”

Hawks shrugged. “I can also do this.”

“Like this stupid fucking thing is going to work oHOn--!” 

Bakugo bit his tongue when the plume ends of the feathers were replaced by their sharp quills.

“That silenced him? Good,” remarked Dabi.

“D-Don’t be an idiot, t-this is nothing!!” protested Bakugo, wincing when the feathers scratched at the ball of his foot.

Next to him, Todoroki went on eeping with his eyes scrunched shut. He didn’t have so strong an opinion as Bakugo on which method was worse yet, but both were proving quite effective, especially when the feathers trailed up and down his arches.

“I think you heard him,” Dabi told Hawks, suddenly appearing a lot more into it than before.

“I sure did,” claimed Hawks as he grinned at Bakugo a moment before a flock of feathers flew off his wings and swarmed the captives’ soles.

“TCH!!” escaped Bakugo’s lips, his cheeks puffed up and becoming a deeper shade of red every second.

Todoroki skipped the giggling phase entirely. “Noahahahahahahahahahahahahhaaha!!!! Iihihihhihit tihihihicklehehehehehsss!!!!” he protested, a surprisingly innocent expression of mirthful suffering on his face that would have melted anyone’s heart. Anyone’s, but his current tickler’s.

“You really should have kept your mouth shut,” commented Dabi as he shot the beet-red, thrashing Bakugo an amused grin, voicing Todoroki’s thoughts while the trainee was too busy failing to cope with the onslaught of sensation.

Hawks was thorough. There was a feather sawing between the heroes’ toes and swiping at the stems, while the tip of another ran left and right across their base. There was a quill scratching at the center of the ball and spiraling outward and another outlining the underside. Plumes teased the inner part of the instep while another feather ran up and down the arch, and two more focused on the heel and its conjunction with the arch.

The feathers on Bakugo’s feet all used their quill end, save for the ones sawing between his toes, while the ones working Todoroki over mixed and matched approaches. It was the weirdest and most humiliating display of masterful control over one’s Quirk that either trainee had ever experienced.

Unbridled laughter spilled forth from Todoroki, the variety of methods and the multiplicity of spots under fire subjecting him to a sensation that he’d only started to reacquaint himself with a few months prior thanks to his classmates, who’d been delighted to discover that the serious golden child was super ticklish and didn’t know how to handle it in the slightest. 

His left foot was proving to be once again more sensitive than the right, though even just the latter would have been enough to turn him into a hysterical mess. The colder sole was not as vulnerable to the plumes as the left, upon which plumes and quills wreaked twinned havoc.

Seeing the trainee writhe like he was experiencing actual torture sparked a miasma of disgust in the pit of Dabi’s stomach. “Endeavor’s son just gave up, uh,” he mocked. “I’m kind of disappointed.” Yet the amused twinkle in his eye gave the lie to his bored tone.

“He really laughs like he’s never been tickled before,” chuckled Hawks, effortlessly multitasking while putting the two aspiring heroes through their paces. “Guess his home life wasn’t the best. Well, we’re going to make him real happy unless he fesses up.”

The miasma began to lift as Dabi contemplated Todoroki’s helplessness in the face of the ridiculous torment. But if his laughter sparked conflicting feelings of contempt and morbid fascination in the villain, Bakugo was far less ambivalent about how he felt about it.

He loathed it. He truly did. He wanted to punch the hero for letting those degenerates think that… that preposterous, humiliating method would work. Todoroki’s hilarity was peer-pressuring him into giving in as well, surrendering to the overpowering invitation of the over a dozen quills searing his nerves, loosening the locks on his lungs and lips from which a cacophony of grunts, snorts, and even embarrassing yelps slipped out, but no laughter, no, no laughter, it if was the last thing he did!!

What Dabi and Hawks saw was an extremely ticklish guy bellowing and writhing like he was being electrocuted.

“He really hates it,” deadpanned Dabi.

Having an already solid grasp on what made the short-fused trainee tic despite having known him for a few days only, Hawks took that chance to say, “I don’t know if I should be impressed that he’s not laughing his head off despite being so ticklish, or pity him for thinking that he’s fooling anyone.”

“KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! GHHHHHHHH!!! SH-SHHUUUUUUUTTT-- NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Nope, no talking.

Hawks’s smirk grew a little wider. It’d be so easy to crack him. But… “It would be healthier if you let it out, you look like you’re about to pop a vein,” he recommended as he had his feathers move slightly faster. Dabi didn’t notice the shift except through the rise in pitch in Todoroki’s laughter and Bakugo’s pointless struggling growing even more desperate.

If only they could reach their feet, shield them from the pesky feathers, they were right there, just out of reach!!

Suddenly, the tickling slowed down. None of the feathers left their post, but they eased up enough that the terribly ticklish captives would be able to understand Hawks’s next words.

“M-Motherf--" Bakugo tried to say while catching his breath, allowing some of his contracted muscles to relax, but he couldn’t risk getting the entire word out.

Todoroki’s laughter decreased to a steady stream of breathless giggles. The tears at the corners of his half-closed eyes, the blush on his cheeks, the forced yet carefree-looking smile… Hawks had to admit that he looked precious.

“Now, let’s practice loosening your tongues a little,” Hawks started, pacing around them like a drill sergeant. “I assume neither of you wants to spill the beans yet?”

Bakugo lunged at him with a bite, but Hawks was out of reach.

“Baby steps. So I’ll make you an offer. If you tell me where it tickles the most I promise I will be nice…r.”

Dabi quirked an eyebrow. Really?

Hawks nodded back confidently, stopping in front of the two trainees. “You don’t want me to find out on my own.”

Bakugo and Todoroki glared as well as they could under their present circumstances.

“Any takers?” Hawks asked nonchalantly.

Even Todoroki made a show of clenching his jaw, although sputtering giggles soon leaked out.

“Too bad,” sighed Hawks. “For you, I mean.”

Without warning, the eight feathers tormenting each foot converged on the heel, scribbling madly at and all around the mound.

“Nohohoht agahahahahaahhaahinnn!!!” giggled Todoroki, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried and failed to pull his feet back through the stocks, scrunch up his soles, cover them with his hands, anything.

“TCH! F-Fuhuck t-thihis!!!” snarled Bakugo, his restlessness mirroring Todoroki’s but with a more irate tinge.

“Hey Dabi, wanna compare and contrast?” asked Hawks.

“Leave me out of it.”

“I thought Todoroki was the most ticklish of the two, but I’m not so sure anymore,” said Hawks, knowing how to push Bakugo’s buttons.

“GGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!”

“I can’t really tell. Let’s try the arch.”

The avian congregation climbed a little higher, up the slope of the arch. About half of the feathers harassing Todoroki switched to sawing their plumes up and down his arch, left and right, while Bakugo, whom Hawks knew to be less responsive to this method, got the full sixteen quills.

“Ohohohohohoh nohohoOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHA!!! NOOOOHAHHAHAHAAT THEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEREEEEE!!!”

Todoroki’s giggling once again morphed into full-blown laughter, the loudest as of yet. Though the strength behind his attempts to break free seemed to have waned before, he redoubled his futile efforts, pulling at his wrists and ankles as if it would save him, or somehow make the sensation more bearable.

“Looks like I’ve found a sweet spot,” gloated Hawks, but he wasn’t content with that apparent victory. He carefully observed Todoroki’s body language, noticing that every few seconds, he would lean to the right, until his energy ebbed and he slumped forward again, only to repeat the maneuver moments later as the feathers completed another pass. He didn’t seem to be trying to lean closer to Bakugo, no, there was something else… afoot. And Hawks thought he knew exactly what that was.

But that wasn’t all that he noticed. Bakugo had lowered his head, no doubt to prevent the villains from seeing his expression - as if his body wasn't eloquent enough. That position would only hinder his breathing, depleting his stamina faster and making it even harder to endure a prolonged attack. Hawks wondered if he was even aware of the high-pitched whine, like the wind-up to a scream, that he was emitting as he desperately tried to keep his mouth closed. But the most interesting part was how Bakugo would occasionally freeze up for a moment when the quills hit the very top of the arch, only for him to kick with both legs an instant later.

Hawks tested his theory by having the feathers linger on that spot a couple of seconds longer than they did during previous passes. Sure enough, Bakugo’s purple face shot up for a moment, the curses he wanted to utter dying into a defeated growl.

Hawks knew he could have broken him simply by staying there, but he had a flair for the dramatic. So he moved the feathers to the center of the arch, renewing Todoroki’s hysterical fit, before abruptly moving all the feathers to the balls of the heroes’ feet.

Bakugo’s head shot up again, this time to hurl a fiery glare at Hawks, equal parts incredulity and betrayal, but really, a recognition that breaking had always been inevitable.

“Three…” chanted Hawks, smiling at Bakugo, whose face looked like it was about to burst open.

“Tw--"

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!! IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLL KIIIIIHIHIHIILLLL YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUHUHUHUHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!!”

“Oh wow. When he breaks, he breaks hard,” remarked Hawks, pretending to cover one of his ears. Dabi ignored him, though he caught him sneaking glances at Todoroki, whose hysteria was eclipsed by the violence with which Bakugo’s damn had burst, but ever-present nonetheless.

There was no overselling the all-encompassing loathing that Bakugo felt at that moment, having fallen short of his own self-serving standards. It simply did not compute that a traitor who had everything Bakugo wanted would torture them in such a childish way, and that Bakugo would be unable to shrug it off.

The quills pricked and scratched at the sensitive pads, with a special regards for the very center as Hawks had immediately figured out it was one of the most sensitive parts, lavishing plenty of attention on the underside too, the perfect recipe to keep the resentful laughter flowing.

“FUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHCCKKK!!! YOHOHOUUHUHUHU BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASTAHAHAHAHARD!!! ILL KIIIIII-- STOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAPPPP THAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHATTTT!!!”

“This is great,” chuckled Hawks.

“You’re weird.”

Hawks shrugged. “Eh, it’s just fun to take them down a peg. Especially that one. Hey, are you laughing too hard to hear me? ‘Cause later, we’re spending plenty of time on that spot that you seem to like so much.”

Sadly, Bakugo could hear him, but any retort he tried to cook up got swallowed by the involuntary gales that those tiny, harmless feathers kept pumping out of him.

Though the journey from the ball of his foot to the toes was a very short one, Bakugo could tell Hawks was trying to drag it out as much as possible, slowly dragging the quills as well. There was an understanding that he wasn’t done.

The feathers then began sawing between and across the trainees’ toes. This method proved especially effective on Todoroki, the obvious jolt running through him confirming that that was a more sensitive spot than the ball, so Hawk kept five feathers per foot swishing between and along his toes while three more scratched at the base, occasionally poking the tips too.

But Hawks knew that he could do better with Bakugo, so he kept one quill poking and scribbling under the base of each toe, with the plume end of just one feather swishing across the stems, one quill planted firmly in the center of his big toe, and one more poking each of the other tips in turn.

The trainees didn’t have the chance to marvel at Hawks’s unmatched coordination, the combination of precision and effectiveness he was unleashing on them, but they certainly did feel its effects.

“Hahahaha HAHAHAAHAH!!! Nohohohohhoho moHOHOHohohahahahahaharrEHEHEHEHE!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHhahaahahahahahahhaahahahahahahahaha!!!” pleaded Todoroki, ticklish tears pouring down his cheeks and collecting on his seat between his legs. He felt as if he’d been abducted by aliens, unable to comprehend what was happening to him or why. Part of him probably felt embarrassed, but the shock, the absurdity of it all, removed his ego from the equation, leaving him alone before a sensation he’d only experienced a handful of times through his classmates, and through his mother so many years prior.

Bakugo wasn’t faring that much better. He was naturally louder than Todoroki, but for the first time in his life, he was trying to keep it down, and failing. Hawks couldn’t have devised a better method to tickle that area.

“HAHAHahahaahahahahaha!!! FIHIHIHIHght mehehEHEHEHE liiiihihihiKEEEHEHEH AAHAHAHA maaaahahahahahahahAAAAAHAHAHAHANNN!! OHOHOHO hahahahahahaha!!!”

“You want to fight me?” Hawks snickered. “I don’t fight widdle tickly babies.”

“SHHUUUUUUHAHAHAHAHAT!! UUHUHUUHAHAHAHAHAHHAPPP!!!!”

Oh, the sheer frustration Bakugo felt at his own ticklishness preventing him from discharging his anger was immense, but the imposed hilarity sapped even that.

Hawks walked around to his side. “It tickles less than before, right? I’m sure you can stop laughing if you really try. Come on!”

Bakugo was trying, he was trying so hard, and Hawks’s mockery messed even more with his concentration. But the genie was out of the bottle.

“HaahahahaHAHAHAHAHAH!!! ………….PPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HAHAHAahaahahahahahaha!!! NNNNNNNNGGGggggghhhhhh…………. ggggghAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Hawks began to circle around them, removing his black leather gloves as he did so. “Remember that this all will stop if you give me the code.”

He stopped in front of the stocks, throwing his gloves to Dabi, who reflexively caught them in mid-air and then dropped them.

He wiggled his fingers mere inches away from their feet. He waited long enough for them to see it, his left hand approaching Bakugo’s left sole, his right nearing Todoroki’s right, only to drift further to the side, to the left sole he’d determined to be more sensitive.

 “Don’t forget, this hawk has talons too.” And he struck.

Dabi nearly gave a start as the room got a lot louder than he’d expected.

“NOOOAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAHAHAAAAAAA!!! IHIHIHIHIHITT TIHIHIHHICKLEHEHEHESSSS!!! DOOOHOHOHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHN’T!!!”

“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIHIHIHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHTTT!!! KEEHEHEHP YOUHUR FUHUHUHUHCKING HAHAHAHAHANDS… NAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!”

True to his word, Hawks had chosen violence. His short, dull nails scratched expertly at the ball of Bakugo’s foot and at the arch of Todoroki’s, having identified them as their weakest spots.

The volume and desperation of their laughter was all the confirmation he needed.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAH!!! STAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHPPP!!! YOUHUHUHHUHU CAHAHAHAHAAAAHAHAHAHANNN’T!!! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“BWAHAHAHWHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! IHIHIHHILL KIHIHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!! CUHUHUT THAHAHAHAHAT OOOOOHUHUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!! I SAHAHAHAHD-- NAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!”

The feathers didn’t remain idle either. He left five on Todoroki’s right foot to complement the motions of his fingers, so they’d target his toes when he was busy with the arch, and the arch when he was busy with his toes, while the eleven on the left flitted back and forth between those two spots, skidding up and down the ball as well as they changed posts.

Hawks was no kinder to Bakugo, his wiggling fingers focusing on the ball and the base of his toes together with three feathers. The remaining fifteen ravaged the same two spots on his right foot, especially the center and underside of the pad. Naturally, all used their quill end.

It was pinpoint torment neither trainee knew how to deal with, Hawks’s dexterous touches appearing to raise the temperature and depleting their stamina and sanity alike while they felt their dignity slowly but sonorously leak out in the form of laughter they couldn’t control, the traitor having completely hijacked their ability to express themselves.

“As you can see, I’m a man of my word,” began Hawks. “Am I not?”

“EHEHEHHNOHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHGH!!! PLEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHASEEE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! GHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHHA!!! FUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHCK!!!”

“You gotta say it if you want me to stop. I’m a man of my word, am I not?”

Todoroki wasn’t completely opposed to indulging villains in case it made them complacent, while Bakugo’s ego was bound to get in the way of any concession. However, Todoroki’s reply was not the result of a calculation, but mere reflex.

“HAHAHAHAHHAHA!!! YEEEHAHAHAHAHAHHASSSS!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAA!!!”

“He needs to say it too,” hummed Hawks, nodding his head toward Bakugo while his fingers picked up the pace.

Bakugo too was operating on reflex alone, and his instincts were inimical to their predicament.

“GHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!! EHEHEHEHHAT SHHAHHAHAHAAHHAAHT!!! FUUHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAAHHAHHAHAHAHACCCK!!!!”

“You hear that, Todoroki? My hands are tied. Well, yours are. And your feet too. Which makes it so easy for me to do this,” he explained as the feathers also began to move faster and the motions of his hands grew more unpredictable.

Todoroki all but howled. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!! BAHAHAHAHAHAAHKUUUUGOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! PLEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHASEEE!!!”

“SHIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAATTTTT!!! FUHAHAHAHAHAHAHCKIHIHING TRAHAHAHAHAHITAHAHAHAHHAAR!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAPPP!!!”

“Listen to your friend. Help him help you.” His nails moved to the ball of Bakugo’s right foot, the feathers instantly moving to compensate. 

Bakugo arched his back with such force the stocks creaked. “GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAH!!! SHIHIHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHTTT!!!! STAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAAPP! YOOOHUHU GOOHAHAHAHAHAHTTTTAAAAA STOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPPP!!”

“I don’t gotta do anything. Say it. I’m a man of my word.”

“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!!”

“Suit yourself. I’ll try again in 10 more minutes.”

The horror in their teary eyes and strained laughter was instantly apparent.

“SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAT!!! YEEEEEEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSSSS!!! YOHAHAHAHAH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAAHHAHHAHAREEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! GHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! STAHAHAHAHHAHAHAP STAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAPPP!!!”

And Hawks did. He stepped away from them while the feathers floated to a safer distance.

The trainees heaved and panted, their lungs burning and their throats parched, Bakugo slumped backwards, Todoroki forward as if he was collapsing in on himself.

“This is pathetic. The whole thing,” remarked Dabi.

Hawks shrugged. “I don’t enjoy needless violence. And pathetic or not, it seems to be working wonders.”

“If - no, when you fail and Shigaraki hears this is how you’ve been wasting our time…”

“I won't fail. Just look at them,” claimed Hawks, though one corner of his smile was frozen. He clapped his hands, addressing the flushed heroes again. “Now, listen close. I’m going to start tickling you again soon.”

Bakugo winced and shot a feeble glare at hawks, a pitiful attempt to disguise fear as intimidation, while Todoroki’s shoulders slumped as he prepared himself for the inevitable.

“That’s the stick. Now, here’s the carrot. I’ll stop tickling whichever of you gives me the code. The other gets these,” he announced as he began to rummage in his costume, a ruse to give both trainees time to focus on him once again and grew more apprehensive.

He then pulled out two mundane items: a fork, and Bakugo’s orange hairbrush.

“I got these while I was waiting for Dabi,” he said, moving the two items slightly, the trainees’ eyes following them with wariness. Too easy.

“The one who spills the beans doesn’t have to find out how much they tickle. The other…”

He put the two tools back inside his utility belt.

“Anyone got anything to say?”

Bakugo and Todoroki looked at each other. Todoroki looked like he’d been running for an hour, endurance having never been his strong suit, but Bakugo begin to wonder whether he would actually cave. There was something in the half-and-half hero’s stare, some kind of request maybe. He couldn’t be about to come clean, could he? Or… was he trying to encourage him to resist?

The thought made Bakugo’s blood boil even though a rivulet of sweat already drenched the back of his costume. Did Todoroki really think that he might call it quits? That he was that weak?

But Bakugo didn’t have the energy to fight, so he just averted his gaze, fixing it on the stocks on the other side of which were his all too tender feet and useless hands.

Hawks tutted. “Too bad. Hawks, would you set a 10-minute timer? We’re getting serious now.”

He didn’t give the trainees time to brace themselves before striking.

His fingers got to work on the same spots as before, though he targeted Todoroki’s right foot rather than his left, and the sixteen feathers he’d been using on each trainee struck at every vulnerable part of that same foot as two horrifying new implements joined the interrogation: Hawks’s wings.

Todoroki shrieked. The amalgamation of feathers which Hawks could animate at will was an ebullient blanket of ticklishness, the plumes coming alive to tease the entirety of Todoroki’s sole in an all-encompassing attack that effortlessly reached between his toes and the sides and even the top of his foot as well. Hundreds or thousands of feathers, exponentially more barbs, and Todoroki could feel them all.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

Hawks had threatened the trainees with the hairbrush and fork, but he knew his wing would be just as if not more devastating to the criminal No. 1’s son. He also stiffened the feathers of his left wing since Bakugo was not as sensitive to light touches, and he lacked the bandwidth to remotely control any more feathers without sacrificing accuracy…

Which is why, not even a minute in, the hawk turned 90° and swished at Todoroki’s soles with both wings, while both of his talons pounced on the balls of Bakugo’s feet.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! YOU FUHAHAHAHAHHAHACKHEHEHHEHR THAHAHAHAT’S UNFAAFAFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Bakugo’s unprecedented cackling was met with Todoroki falling into a choked silence. Sensory overload.

Not even that was able to shut Bakugo up, but the dedicated fingers, accompanied by the sixteen that had been hounding him for a while plus the extra sixteen that migrated over from Todoroki, melted his protests into desperate incoherence, about half the quills matching the movements of Hawks’s fingers to crowd his weakest spots as much as possible.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!! YOOOOOOOHUHUHUHUHU!!!! SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-- I CAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! HAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Despite what he’d told Dabi, Hawks couldn’t believe how well the two trainees were responding. He was relieved that this harmless method might actually buy him enough time. He just hoped--

Todoroki’s own laughter returned as a whine, which only served to remind Hawks to divide his attention more equally between the two of them. Though by virtue of being the only one he could see from his position, Bakugo was bound to get the shorter end of the stick. He could stand to be taken down a peg, Hawks told himself as he looked into the young hero’s bulging, tear-filled eyes, fractured babble interspersing the hysterical peals.

Those eternal ten minutes weren’t simply meant to break them, no. Hawks’s Quirk wasn’t merely about moving his feathers: he could feel through them. He noticed that Todoroki’s left foot was warmer than usual, and his right colder, which gave him an idea; and he also noticed that Bakugo’s feet were getting damper and slicker the more he tickled him, which gave him another. He’d keep them safe from Dabi even if he had to tickle them into unconsciousness to do it.

“Time’s up,” muttered Dabi, more invested than he’d ever admit.

“Is it? Eh, I’ll just keep going,” yelled Hawks to give the trainees a chance to hear him. Todoroki let out something that vaguely sounded like a sob, while Bakugo was too preoccupied with the fingers and feathers to respond.

But when he noticed Dabi getting more impatient, Hawks did finally take a step back and allowed the trainees to breathe. Their chests heaving, their hair weighed down by perspiration, the fight had been tickled out of Bakugo, while Todoroki looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

“You know, I’ve gone about this all wrong,” he announced. “Dabi, I’m going to need your help.”

“Forget it.”

“I need your Quirk.” He pointed his thumb at Bakugo, who made an effort to listen and was rewarded with a shiver. “I need you to keep his feet close to the fire.”

“Finally,” huffed Dabi as he began to stride toward Bakugo, who recoiled in horror.

“You aren’t hurting him. There’s one last thing I want to try,” explained Hawks. “See, I remember that his Quirk is based around sweat, and he seems to keep getting more ticklish over time. So I just need a little bit of heat.”

“You’re joking.”

“They’re about to cave, and I’ll give you all the credit. By the way, I suspect your Quirk would also do wonders on his right side,” he added, pointing at Todoroki this time.

“Unbelievable,” scoffed Dabi. Yet, sure enough, two small blue flames appeared in his palms. Bakugo winced.

“Farther,” commanded Hawks. Dabi rolled his eyes, but complied again. 

It was warm, very warm, but not painful. Bakugo had followed a word in three, but he knew he shouldn’t be too happy about the heat displacing the phantom tickles that still tormented his soles.

“Now, where was I? Right. I’ve gone about this all wrong, because there’s two of you, and one code. I’ve been splitting my attention, but I only need to break one of you. So…”

He rested a hand on the top of Todoroki’s shoulder, the exhausted hero regarding him with… Bakugo hadn’t expected it, but there were embers of defiance left in Todoroki’s alarmed scowl.

“I’m going to focus on you, and only you, until one of you fesses up or, frankly, you pass out. Would be a first, but I kind of want to see that. And if that happens, luckily we have a spare.”

“You’re not… going to get… away with this,” panted Todoroki. Bakugo had definitely underestimated him.

Hawks gave him an empty smile. “You’d better hope I do, ‘cause if I don’t, Dabi gets to have fun with you, and he likes his meat well done.”

He clapped a hand on Todoroki’s back, who recoiled under his touch. “If you’re worried about saving face, maybe your friend will speak up for you. He looks like the empathetic kind,” jested Hawks.

Todoroki glanced at Bakugo, currently in the process of glaring at Dabi. He took a deep breath to brace himself.

Hawks walked around him, a solid half of each wing detaching itself and floating to the other side of the stocks. “Last chance,” he whispered in Todoroki’s ear.

“Drop dead,” spat Todoroki.

So Hawks struck. Not with the feathers, however. No, while Todoroki was distracted by the wings positioning themselves right in front of his feet, the tips of the feathers already grazing his soles, Hawks’s hands slipped under Todoroki’s jacket and find purchase in the skin of his sides underneath.

Bakugo saw a look of utter bewilderment cross Todoroki’s face before hysteria overwrote his features completely.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! THAHAHAHHAHAT’S NOHOHOT… OH MY HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!! THAHAHAHAHAT’S NOHOHOOOOHOHOT FAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAAIIIRR!!!” he screamed, accidentally echoing Bakugo.

“I thought I remembered this!” said a self-satisfied Hawks. “Two for two, uh? Man, did the doctors just take the two most ticklish halves of you and glued them together?” he teased as his fingers kept kneading into Todoroki’s swimmer-like flanks, the thumb pressing deep into the soft tissue and discovering the muscle underneath that stretched all the way to his toned stomach.

“GHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHPPP!!! EHEHEHEHENOOOOOOOOOOOOOAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHGHHH!!!”

He squirmed in his seat with newfound vigor, though he wasn’t getting away from Hawks’s prying fingers, sometimes digging hard into his sides, sometimes gently brushing his nails up and down. He leaned so hard to the left that for a moment Bakugo worried he might dislodge his shoulder.

“Look at you trying to squirm away,” cooed Hawks. “Is it because your right side is more sensitive? I think it is. Let’s see if I can find another jackpot up here on the left side,” he continued as he began clawing at the left side of Todoroki’s stomach ,who sucked it in and remained breathless for a moment, but just a moment before laughter poured out again.

“Umh, maybe a bit better, but not a homerun… How about here?”

He spidered his fingers up and down the trainee’s ribcage, a view that despite being partially concealed by Todoroki’s jacket, which rode up to show the lower part of his stomach, caused Bakugo to instinctively lean forward to shield his own ribs with his elbows.

Todoroki’s laughter was still positively frantic as Hawks’s other hand never left his right side, but he didn’t seem satisfied. “Maybe here?” he ventured as he pushed his fingers further up, squeezing his way into Todoroki’s damp underarm.

The trainee recoiled.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAAHAHHAHAAHT THHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHHEHEHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHRRREEEEE!!! TOOOOOOHOHOHOH!!! GHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAH!!!”

“And here it is!” gloated Hawks, Todoroki trying to clamp down his arms and only succeeding in trapping the offending fingers where he really didn’t want them.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAAHAHHAAHHAHAHAAHA!!!”

“That’s close enough, I’d say!”

“You’ll pay for this,” hissed Bakugo, undeterred by the heat that lapped at his soles, making them more sensitive by the minute.

Without looking away from his handiwork, Hawks retorted, “You should worry about you, because I think he’s about to get smart.”

“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!! IIIIIIIIIIII WOOOHOHOHOHN’T TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHHEHEHEHLLL!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHSEEEE!!!”

“What use is begging? You know what I want. Or maybe you’re asking for more?”

“GHAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOAHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH PLEEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHSE PLEEEEHAHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAASE!!!”

“I have been neglecting your feet, that’s true. I think they’re feeling lonely.”

“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! NOOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHT THEHEHEHEHEHEHRE TOOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!”

“Well, they shall cry no longer! Here I gooo!” exclaimed Hawks as his severed wings fully enveloped Todoroki’s feet.

Bakugo saw Todoroki whip his head to the sky, a lunatic grin frozen on his face, eyes bulging and dripping with tears, and gently swaying back and forth in that position without even being able to make a single sound.

Insane. He looked insane. Driven to insanity by fingers and a bunch of feathers. Bakugo couldn’t believe it. He even considered giving them the code for a fleeting moment out of concern for his… classmate. But he couldn’t, Todoroki wouldn’t have wanted him to either.

But even deeper at the back of his mind, there was a reminder, a reminder that if Todoroki passed out, or that if he confessed, then Bakugo would be next.

Dabi was also staring unabashedly. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Something that childish, tearing down Endeavor’s heir like that. His fingers itched.

Todoroki wasn’t even aware of the fingers tormenting his upper body or the feathers that had taken total hold of his feet. It was as if the sensation had seeped deep into his core, and from there had radiated outward, breaking down his sense of self and severing his mind from his body to keep it afloat in an ocean of overwhelming giddiness. Later, he wouldn’t even recall whether he’d laughed in the end or not.

He just remembered his consciousness resurfacing at one point, and uttering the six fabled digits as if in a dream.

“NO!!” screeched a costernated Bakugo.

“Thank you kindly,” said Hawks as he stepped away from Todoroki and called back his feathers. “Way to confirm the code, by the way,” he told Bakugo.

But as he was making his way toward the exit…

“Wait.”

Dabi was holding up his burner phone. “It’s not time for our meet-up yet. And I seem to recall you’re a man of his word,” he said, eyeing Bakugo.

Hawks stopped. “I am,” he conceded as he walked towards Bakugo, whose heart was sinking into his stomach for an additional reason now.

“Don’t you fucking get any closer!” warned Bakugo without anything to back up his threat, his implicit plea.

“Won’t you get bored?” Hawks asked Dabi, ignoring his cursing target.

“I’ll manage. His right side is the ice one, right?” he asked as Dabi stopped between Todoroki and Bakugo, reaching one hand on the other side of the stocks. “I want to see fire and ice mix,” he stated before making his fingers slightly warmer and jolting Todoroki out of his stupor.

But Bakugo was unable to pay him any mind, transfixed by Hawks’s single finger inching closer and closer to his left sole. It curled gently.

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFU--” exploded out of Bakugo, any hope of rebuilding his façade thanks to the break flying out of the window as that one finger made him acutely aware of how much more impossibly sensitive the heat had made him.

Hawks went on scratching delicately, bringing the finger to the center of the ball as Bakugo flailed left and right. He only stopped long enough to retrieve the brush and the fork. “I love being right.”

“GGGGGGGGGHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!”

No, it couldn’t tickle that much, it just couldn’t. The fork traveled from the bottom of his arch all the way to the base of his toes, then down, then up again. The hairbrush was large enough to perfectly scrub the upper half of Bakugo’s foot, the part that Hawks was naturally focusing on, the two tools gliding harmlessly on the impossibly tender surface thanks to the offshoot of Bakugo’s Quirk.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA!!! SSSSSSSSSSSSSSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHA!! STASTATSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAAHHAHA!!!”

“Nah, you had your chance,” said Hawks as he switched the two torture instruments.

Bakugo whipped his head back and forth, if he could he might have banged it on the stocks just to feel something else. And Hawks was unrelenting. Skilled, and unrelenting.

“Weren’t you going to kill me? How are you going to do that? By giggling yourself to death?”

The hard bristles and tines would have scrubbed Bakugo raw if not for his Quirk, but his nerves weren’t any less on fire for it, every ounce of pain having been traded for a different sensation that Bakugo despised even more. But he had no ego left to be bruised, as his entire self was concentrated in his superhumanly sensitive feet, tenderized by the Quirk he was so proud of.

“Now this is an explosion! Oh, you think I’m moving away from the ball? Right where it tickles the most? Oh no no no! I’ll just tickle everywhere else to!”

The part of Bakugo that realized what was about to happen clawed its way to the surface. “NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAH! NONONONONOHHHHHH!!!! PLEASESTOPPLEAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHSEE!!!”

But the myriad quills that descended on every part of his soles not ravaged by the hellish tools didn’t heed his final plea.

With one last boom of maddened laughter, Bakugo was thrust into the same pit that he’d watched Todoroki sink into, utterly, thoroughly destroyed, drooling, crying, but unable to string enough sounds together to grovel.

Humiliation, embarrassment, disappointment were fictions that had been shattered, as the tickling cut to something primal, genuine within him. Who knew that tickling his feet really hard was the key.

“GHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!! GGGGGGHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHA!!!”

At some point, Bakugo felt himself float up toward the harsh neon light overhead, gurgling nonsense as the room faded back into focus.

“...ease… nno… moohore…”

But Hawks was already on the threshold, with Dabi having already left the room. Bakugo’s head lolled to the side, allowing him to encounter Todoroki’s dim, concerned gaze.

“Thank you boys!” said Hawks cheerfully. “Someone will come pick you up soon. Pleasure doing business with you!”

He slammed the door behind him, leaving the two tickle-drunk trainees in the room alone. 

As his circumstances flooded back to the forefront, Todoroki’s concern pissed him off. “How–” his voice cracked. Water. “How could you?!” He wasn’t quite sure if he was referring to the code, or to what Hawks had put him through after.

Todoroki didn’t respond, but looked at the door. “Ssh.”

He’d… shushed him? That guy had shushed him–

Bakugo’s eyes bulged out of his sockets when he saw Todoroki lift the upper portion of the stocks and slide his sore wrists and ankles out. To safety, to freedom.

Bakugo forgot everything he wanted to yell. “How… When…?!”

“Hawks did it,” whispered Todoroki as he stretched his sore limbs. Bakugo tried to lift his own stocks, and lo and behold, they opened. There was a feather in the lock, which Todoroki grabbed.

Bakugo’s shock was plain on his expression, his smile muscles stiff.

“Didn’t you notice… what Hawks was writing… with his feathers?” asked Todoroki. He took a deep breath as he shuffled towards the door. “He’s on our side. He wants… us to escape and… tell the agency… to change the code.”

Bakugo was still incredulous as the hallway opened up before him.

“Come on,” said Todoroki as he started out of the room.

Bakugo followed him, to be sure. But he was thinking. He hadn’t noticed anything. And if Todoroki knew all along, how much of it had been an act? And if he had put up a show for their captors, so he could convincingly give up the code later… did he think that Bakugo was weak?

Bakugo grunted. Todoroki shot him a puzzled look, but didn’t stop.

He couldn’t allow the half and half bastard to think of him that way. To feel superior. He had to show him who was really the most ticklish.

[haruka-norikoyo]

Biggest Fan

Monoma Neito x reader | Soulmate AU

The gasp I’ve gusped (yes past tense to the fourth dimension) when I thought of this scenario. Mild spoilers for the end of the manga.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fourth birthday is a momentous occasion in one’s life. Not only is it the year where most develops their quirk, it is when one is assigned a soulmate.

No one knows whether it is a quirk or something entirely foreign. Many believe there is divine power at play. Because, after all, how can one have such power? It is a phenomenon which extends throughout the entire world. On a person’s right wrist appears the first words that their soulmate says to them. When those words have been uttered, they simultaneously disappear, and they now know their soulmate.

Monoma Neito got his quirk before his words. It’s not unusual, just rather rare to be an early bloomer. Normally, developing a quirk early would invite excitement and respect. “You can’t be a hero with a quirk like that.”

He’d copied another kid’s quirk, excitedly showing it off to his friends. But quirks are unique to oneself, aren’t they? Something to take pride in because only you can do it. So for someone else to be able to do it too?

“That’s something a side character would have.”

He stopped showing it off to other kids after that. Though, before he knew it, it was his birthday. Neito never understood what’s so exciting about getting random words on his wrist and someone he’ll be stuck with for the rest of his life. He’s a kid, after all. Getting his quirk was much more interesting to him. But after the response he got, he doesn’t get his hopes up.

All his relatives were eagerly checking his wrist for the soulmate words. It honestly was a little suffocating to be crowded the whole day with “do you have it yet?”. He can’t wait for it to be over.

Then, a gasp. He turns to see his mom pointing at his wrist. “Neito, your words!”

“Oh,” he glances down. Now that it’s here, he can't help but be a little curious. “Excuse me, Phantom Thief? I’m your biggest fan!”

His eyes widen, but before he could properly think about what it entails, he’s surrounded by everyone at the party. All of them eager to see what his match would tell him in their first meeting.

***

The next time he saw the kids who said he’ll be nothing but a side character, he rubs it in their faces.

“Look at this! My soulmate calls me Phantom Thief in our first meeting. That means I’ll be a pro hero— and what’s that? I already have a fan.”

“That— that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Yeah! It’s probably your name for a comedy show or something!”

But their words don’t reach him. He has a fan. Sure, it’s his soulmate, them being his biggest fan is a given, but still. Someone out there will be watching him. “Hahaha! Envy me all you want— my soulmate loves me way before we ever meet!”

***

“You’re still banking on your soulmate’s words?” Is something he heard numerous times, especially when he made it known he signed up for UA high school. Standing amongst other examinees, he wonders if his soulmate is there too. Maybe they’re already watching him. He shakes his head. No, they call me by my hero name. I won’t meet them until I become a pro hero…

He looks up at the big gates of the practical examination, his lips forming a smile as he discreetly copies the quirk of the examinee beside him. Looks like I’ll have to work hard to meet them.

***

The sports festival was his chance to get his soulmate’s attention. Yet, all everyone could talk about is the class that got attacked by villains. He hatched a plan to take them down and help his classmates.

“I believe it would be beneficial if we don’t show everyone our quirks in the first round. Looking at the past sports festivals, it’s likely to backfire on us, so it’s better to keep a low profile and then show off our skills in the more important rounds. Of course, none of you have to follow up on this. I won’t blame you for wanting to stand out. This is the sports festival, after all.”

He figured Shiozaki and Testutetsu would want to go all out. Sure enough, they did.

“I wouldn’t mind going through with it,” Kendo says. “But what about you?”

Neito raises his brow. “Naturally I’ll follow through with it..? What’s with that?”

Kendo gestures to her own wrist, which already doesn’t have her words. “Nothing, I just thought that your biggest fan would want to see you go all out.”

Maybe without the words on his wrist, he would’ve followed through with his plan. As he crosses the finish line in 7th place, he looks at the crowd. They aren’t cheering as loudly as for the top three, but with the hundreds of people presently cheering, the stadium is still deafening. Did you see me? Neito gazes down at his wrist, wondering that if they did, is soulmate is as in love with him as he already is?

***

He got a few internship requests despite not making it to the third round. Currently, his classmates are busy picking their hero names while he sits back, already having decided his.

Awase groans from the front of the class. “Argh! Monoma’s lucky, his soulmate says his hero name already so he doesn’t have to think about it..!”

Neito shrugs. “I’m sure you can think of something…”

Awase groans in response.

***

What an eventful first year…

Shit happened. He fought in a war with other kids his age. Crazy. Well, at least it’ll go down in the history books.

He stands in front of the statue displayed for his efforts in the war. His face and his hero name is engraved on the marble surface. He was a key player. The start point for Deku and Dynamight in the war. It was made known to everyone.

“Most people know my name and what I did, but don’t necessarily recognize me like those two…” Neito sighs, rubbing the back of his head as he recalls the screaming first students swarming to Bakugo and Todoroki this morning. “Guess I’ll have to work harder still.”

He falls silent.

Neito turns his heel, walking down the walk way of other statues mounted after the war. “Woah, he really does have a statue..!” He looks over his shoulder, spotting a student running in from the entrance. Right, they’re permitted to go off campus during lunch hours again. Neito watched in amusement as the student marvels at the statue. Their face glows with excitement as they pulled out their phone, discreetly attempting to take a selfie. Though, they obviously felt too embarrassed to do so on their own, ending up with blurry pictures.

Hm, he has time…

He approaches. The student nearly drops their phone straightening themself out to look inconspicuous. “Need help taking a photo?” he asks with a smile.

A hint of recognition passes through the student’s face. They turn to him in bewilderment, yet, at the sight of him they seem to forget that train of thought. Their eyes widen, and they cup their hands over their mouth. Neito chuckles while they stare at him in silent excitement, looking down. Damn, now that he’s faced with a fan he doesn’t know what to do.

“Excuse me… Phantom Thief?”

“Hm?” he brings his gaze back up. The student move their hands away from their mouth, revealing the brightest smile he’d ever seen directed at him, or anyone for that matter.

“I’m your biggest fan!”

“My…” his eyes widen. He looks down at his wrist. It’s gone. His words are gone. “You’re my…”

They blink at him, tilting their head. Albeit their confusion, they still watch and listen carefully for what he’ll say next. Did they not notice? Were they so enthralled by meeting him that they forgot their own words? The idea makes his heart swell. Before he could even register his own actions, he reaches out for them, hands on their shoulders.

“S… Say that again!”

“Eh?!” they can’t help but step back, face warming up at their proximity. “Um… I’m your biggest fan?”

Someone watching from a distance wouldn’t be able to tell who the fan in the situation is. Although, one could probably say it’s both. “Your words… do you know how much your first words helped me over the years?” he breathes out, heart thumping so loudly. This adrenaline is a relief that is incomparable to anything else. “Huh? Over the years? U-Um…” Oh dear, it looks like the student might short circuit. “Ah, sorry… I got carried away.“ Neito steps back, releasing their shoulders. “But, you really don’t notice?”

They stare at him. After a few seconds, it finally dawned on them… the realization they made earlier. “You… said my words…” They look down at their wrist and gasp. “They’re gone!”

“Yeah,” Neito nods.

They point at him, eyes wide. “You’re my soulmate!” “That’s right.”

“Holy shit.” Neito laughs as they cover their mouth once more. “My soulmate… my soulmate is Phantom Theif? For real?! I’m not dreaming?”

“Does it feel like a dream?” he asks teasingly with a raised brow.

They nod vigorously. “C-Could I… get a picture with you?”

He grins, watching them fiddle with their thumbs nervously. “Of course. Mind if I take it for us?” “Oh sure, here,” they hand over their phone.

Neito extends his arm out, holding the phone still until the camera focuses on both of them. Of course, his statue is there in the background. After all, that’s what they originally wanted to photograph.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Neito asks, pulling away. He still has the phone, though.

“(L/n) (y/n).”

“Ah, good, now I know what to write in your contact. I can put my number in, can’t I?”

“Y-Your number…” (y/n) awes. It’s only natural to keep in touch with their soulmate, but having someone the Phantom Thief whom they love so much in their contacts is something they never thought would happen. “I’d love that!”

Neito types in his number into (y/n)’s phone, and hands it back to them. “Alright. Done. Send me a text any time you wanna meet up. And if you need help as my underclassman, feel free to come to me, okay?”

(y/n) nods. “Okay.”

“Then… I’ll see you next time.”

“Um! One last thing!” (Y/n) purses their lip, debating whether on saying it or not. “May… may I get your autograph?”

“An autograph?” Neito raises his brow with a grin, watching as they scramble to find something from their bag. “Even though I’m your soulmate?”

“It’s a big bonus that you’re my soulmate but— I’ve been a fan of you since seeing the sports festival replays!” Determination burns in their eyes as they extend a board and sharpie to him. “See? I even have a special place for you to put your autograph. Please?”

“Oh, how could I refuse a request from my biggest fan?” he snickers in attempt to distract from the blush dusting his cheeks. He takes the board and sharpie, fingers brushing against each other’s.

“(Y/n), thank you for supporting me even before you realized it. Sincerely, your soulmate, Phantom Thief.”

[maliciouslove]

𝕍𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕟

NSFW, dark content, aged up characters (21+)

ʚ pairing ɞ scumbag villain!izuku midoriya x morally corrupt hero!reader

ʚ word count ɞ 2.7k

ʚ summary ɞ izuku grew up with all power taken from him, so he became the type of person that enjoys making others feel powerless. nothing feeds his ego more than a cute girl crumbling under his touch and feeling powerless to stop him from sliding his hands all over her body in the packed train. until he meets you—a peculiar, equally fucked in the head girl that actually enjoyed the things he was doing to her. enjoyed the thrill of almost being caught. enjoyed having power taken from her. a debauched, morally corrupt hero in disguise.

ʚ tags ɞ frotteurism (fetish for groping people in crowded places), tw dubcon, tw noncon, tw sexual assault, tw sexual harassment, tw exhibitionism, tw power imbalance, pussy job, public sex, creampie, cw degradation, use of “whore” once

Just like any other child, Izuku Midoriya grew up wanting to be a hero, however, despite his aspirations, the boy never manifested a quirk. Still, he never gave up and never lost hope—that is, until he failed the UA entrance exam and was brutally made fun of by everyone else.

“Look at this loser, thinking he could pass the exam without an actual quirk, what a joke.”

“Jokes are funny, this guy is absolutely pathetic. Go home kid, become a policeman or fireman instead, leave the hero work for those with quirks.”

“Maybe if you take a swan dive off a roof, you’ll be born with a quirk in your next life.”

Some heroes they were going to be.

And that was when his mind started getting corrupt. Izuku went down a different, darker path than the one he had envisioned as a child. He mixed with the wrong people and little by little he shed off his hero dream, discarding it alongside his morals, being perfectly content being a scumbag villain instead.

All power was stripped away from him once the world learned he was quirkless, so he sought ways to make others feel even more powerless than he did. Nothing stroked his ego more than making cute girls squirm and crumble under his touch in paralyzing fear, as his hands wandered over their bodies on a packed train. He enjoyed the way their eyes would shut tightly as if to avoid confronting the reality of their own powerlessness in the situation. The way their bodies stiffened the moment he leaned in closer to take a whiff of their perfume.

Why aren’t you saying anything, pretty girl? You have a quirk, don’t you? That already makes you more qualified than me to be a hero. So why are you letting me touch you? Why are you keeping your eyes shut? Why are you giving me so much power?    

Every little squirm, every hitch of their breath, every shake of their hands, and the way they would hope somebody would notice—it made Izuku feel powerful.

Do you know why you’re weaker than even me, sweetheart? Because you’re waiting for someone else to save you, you’re waiting for a hero.

 That’s how his days went by—hop on the train, find the weakest target, the insecure girls, the quiet ones, the ones whose eyes still sparkled with hope that a big strong hero will always be there to protect them. Once he found his victim, he moved in, ready to prove them wrong—show them how little heroes actually care. Towering over them, he would stare down their cleavage, letting his imagination run wild as his hands slide up the side of their hip. An accidental grind against their ass, a swift trace of his index finger down the inside of their thigh. His ministrations would make his targets shrink even further, the thrill of being found out feeding his power hunger further and making his cock painfully hard in the confinement of his slacks.

It became routine until he was able to pick out the perfect targets with a single glance, until he was able to predict what each girl would do and how everything would play out. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was to find someone equally as debauched as him one day.

With your car being in the repair shop for the next week, you had started using public transport to get to work. That of course meant having to travel during peak hours, more often than not finding yourself pressed against strangers, sometimes absolute creeps, and yet some very dark and hidden part of you enjoyed that, the unwanted attention making you buzz with excitement.

And today was no different—you found yourself pushed in the very corner of the train car facing away from the other passengers. A large green-haired man stood right behind you, muscular arm holding onto the ceiling rail as his entire body loomed over your much smaller one.

The train was fully packed and everyone was minding their business— some sleeping, some listening to music, and others glued to their phones. Yet, the man behind you seemed to focus all his attention on you. You could feel his gaze travel down your nape, studying the curvature of your spine, eyes moving downwards to your ass and legs. It felt like prickles on your skin, like an invisible hand stripping you of all your clothes and the thought made you rub your thighs together.

The lack of space forced you both to stand very close to each other, the motions of the train pushing you into his chest every so often. You could tell he was using every opportunity to smell your hair, craning his neck downwards to also look down your shirt. You wonder if he could see what color your bra was, if he could see the lace poking out from under the collar of your shirt.

The train changed tracks again and you found yourself pressed against his chest once more. This time his large hand found purchase on your hip, thumb gently stroking the bit of skin that was showing above the hem of your skirt. In the reflection of the window, you see his green eyes staring into yours, full of lust and hunger. His aura threatening to consume you entirely and for a second, your body filling with fear, a heavy feeling settling in your chest.

You look away, quickly.

Your heart is hammering in your chest and you fear he can hear it, taste the blood that’s currently coursing through your veins.

The train shifts and you can feel his hard cock pressed against your ass, his fingers on your hip tightening their grip. Your body feels paralyzed under his touch.

But not by fear.

Excitement.

You let your body be swayed by the motion of the train, making sure to circle your ass back onto his cock, licking your lips and buzzing with pleasure when your skirt hitches on his bulge, lifting and revealing part of your panties. You take a swift look around to see if anyone is looking your way, but as usual, everyone is consumed in their own thoughts, too absorbed by their own miserable existence to notice anything else.

You’re dragged out of your momentary haze by his breath on your neck.

“What do you think you’re doing there, sweetheart, has your mommy not taught you any better?”

His voice is deep, feigning concern for you while his eyes ooze vile lust and need for control. His presence devours you, it feels like sludge covering you from head to toe, sliding down your throat and filling your lungs with dread, making you unable to talk, unable to even look him in the eye.

His hands move down your hips, hiking your skirt up even further, fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear. Your clit is throbbing with anticipation so perfectly masked as fear. For Izuku, your heightened pulse meant paralyzing fear, but only you knew the truth about how this made your blood boil in excitement. How much you wanted him to slide his hands between your legs, to fucking take you right then and there, amidst the people that could see the pleasure blooming on your face any second now.

You faintly hear the unzipping of his slacks and feel the warmth of his cock on your bare skin—it’s thick and heavy against your ass cheek, smearing pre on your skin and panties. You’re feeling dizzy, body going limp in his strong arms as his hand sneaks around your waist and cups your pussy under the frills of your skirt.

For a brief moment, his movements pause as his mind processes what he’s feeling—you’re soaking wet, panties completely drenched, arousal practically dripping down your thighs. He was used to women’s bodies reluctantly reacting to him, but this was rather different. His eyes dart forward, inspecting your features more closely now—your heart was erratic, but not because of crippling fear. He leans in, noticing how blown your pupils are, consuming all the color in your eyes. Lips parted and chest heaving, he finally finds the piece of the puzzle that seemed to be missing, the explanation behind the odd feeling of being unable to predict what his prey will do next—your eyes had the same fragmented madness behind them.

You were just as sick as he was.

Without a second of hesitation, the hand that’s cupping your sex moves your panties to the side, thick and calloused fingers running through your wet folds, spreading your arousal and circling around your clit with tender motions.

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it—your skin is on fire and your insides are melting under this stranger's touch. You close your eyes in an attempt to compose yourself while the hand on your hip travels up your sides to squeeze your breast, teasing your nipples over the fabric. The green-haired man’s breath is almost as erratic as yours, his hard and leaking cock evidence of how turned on he was by your compliance, by the fact you were actually enjoying being used like this in public.

His cock now rubs between your thighs, his hot skin meeting your sticky one, and your insides beginning to knot just by the thought. You’re letting a complete stranger get off on you. You secretly hope that someone else on the train has noticed and is maybe even enjoying the show.

Your insides are aching for relief so you push yourself against his cock, the mushroom tip spreading and gliding between your folds, clit rubbing against the veins on his shaft.

Holding yourself with one hand by the ceiling rail and slightly lifting yourself onto your tiptoes, feeling the tip of his cock pushing against your entrance. Biting your lip you sink back onto his cock, taking two inches past your entrance, grazing your soft walls. The adrenaline coursing through your veins makes you experience every sensation trifold, makes you want to shamelessly grind against him and moan in ecstasy, but you are in public, therefore you compose yourself and relish in the slow feeling of being filled up by this man.

Izuku’s hand grips your waist harder, fucking himself into your tight, greedy cunt, feeling himself being sucked in by your plush walls. You are practically dripping onto his cock, the natural lubrication allowing him to smoothly fully sheathe himself inside you, putting his other hand over your mouth to prevent to moan that was about to escape your lips.

He holds you there, flush against him, the tip of his cock pressing against the deepest, most delicious spot inside you, subtle hip movements rocking you back and forth, the slow motion allowing him to massage that sweet spot he currently finds himself pressed against.

His eyes briefly scan the train cart, confirming that every passenger is still oblivious to what’s going on, continuing to push you off his thick cock, only to slide back in, softly, as though not to make a sound.

He’s big in every sense. His large frame hiding you from any onlookers, big hands easily maneuvering you onto his fat cock, splitting you open and pushing through the resistance of your tight hole. Your body jolts as he stretches you out almost painfully, but every time he thrusts inside you, you see stars in your vision from how deep he was.

You feel snug and warm around Izuku’s cock and he could stay buried inside you forever. He’s never met anyone this fucked up who would let him use them for his own pleasure. In a fully packed train nonetheless. You were sick and twisted just like Izuku, making him relish in the feeling, sensing that you’re not going to cause a scene and opting to let go of your waist in favor of sliding his hand down the front of your pelvis and playing with your puffy clit.

The moment he started drawing soft circles around your sensitive nub he felt your knees give in and your insides clench. God, you were going to come undone for him.

He watches your eyebrows pinch together as you bite your lip, slowly increasing the pace of his thrusts. You look so pretty, trying to keep your pleasure hidden, but shamelessly moving your hips to match his own.

For the first time during this train ride, you look into his eyes and maintain eye contact instead of shyly breaking it off. There is pure sin set ablaze in your eyes, a lustful need, a burning desire that he feels he needs to quench. Just your eyes alone could make Izuku cum on the spot, seductive and debauched, deprived and full of the same madness as his own.

Your eyes beg him, so he obeys.

With one final, rather harsh thrust Izuku buries himself to the hilt, emptying his load deep inside your gummy walls, spurting thick white ropes of cum while nuzzling his face in your neck—committing your scent to memory.

The train slows down as it approaches the next stop and the strange man gently pulls out. Your hands quickly fix your panties and skirt, hiding any evidence of his ministrations. His load slowly trickles down, soiling your panties, and yet the feeling brings you nothing but joy, as if you were currently on cloud nine.

The train comes to a halt, an alarm signaling the opening of the doors blares out.

The mass of people began leaving the train, the tall green-haired man seamlessly blending into the crowd and disappearing.

Avoiding eye contact and swiftly walking past clusters of people, Izuku was assured he was out of danger, turning around the corne—

“Where do you think you’re going, handsome?” You cut off his path and look into his eyes, a smile that didn’t reach your eyes plastered on your lips. “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

“Aw, I don’t think anyone’s ever come for seconds before.” Izuku places his hands in his pockets, giving you a smug smile and shamelessly tracing every curve of your body with his eyes, imagining what you look like without all those pesky clothes on.

“Aw, you know, you’re kinda cute, Izuku Midoriya,” The green-haired man's smile faltered. From the inside pocket of your jacket you pull out a card that he immediately recognizes. A card he was destined to never ever obtain. “Too bad I’m gonna have to arrest you.”

Before his mind could assimilate, you had easily pushed him against the wall with his hands behind his back, placing handcuffs on his wrists.

“Y-You can’t arrest me, you whore, you literally let me fuck you, what kind of hero are you?” He spits out in shock, words laced with venom, growling in attempting to shake you off, even though panic rises in his throat like bile. “You’re no fucking hero, you’re just like me.”

“Mm, I  probably am… but see, I have a quirk so I can get away with being a morally corrupt hero.” The words spoken in a sickly sweet voice rang in his ears, deafening, despite being whispered, meant only for his ears to hear.

Izuku opens his mouth to argue, to threaten to expose you, but you shush him with an index finger over his lips.

“Don’t bother, who do you think they are going to believe? A pro-hero with a quirk and a squeaky clean record, or a quirkless scumbag that we have hundreds of reports on for sexual harassment and assault?”

With no affection or remorse you yank him by the hair and lick the shell of his ear.

“I had fun, Izuku. Find me when you get out of jail.” You place a final feather light kiss to his cheek and lead him through the crowds to bring him into the nearest precinct.

No man would ever make you feel as alive and exhilarated as he did, the memory of what you did being something you often revisit when you get yourself off late into the night after patrol, thinking of his villainous green eyes, while your words would haunt Izuku and play on a loop each night as he plotted ways to find you once he had served his time.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (7/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“You’re not going to get any better if you don’t lie down.”

Yet you don’t listen, only clinging harder onto your Mama and pressing your face into her thigh from behind, helplessly balling her clothes into your fists as she watches the stove that had yet to be turned on.

Where a pot of uncooked rice porridge still sat atop, cold and unappetizing; totally unfit for a sick child such as you.

It was a curse that you swore had beset you on this unlucky day as you woke up groggy and sapped of your energy, stumbling over your blanket with shortened breaths as you tried to get to the bathroom.

You’re sure of it. An evil villain had blackened your soul, diminished your health and withered your spirit— All because you were a hero. That’s why Mama came upstairs only to find your half-dressed self face-planted onto the futon, your body trembling and clearly struggling to dress yourself without her as your eyes went teary from stress and the resentment of your weakened limbs.

“M-Mama…” Your voice is weak, strained and clearly upset as it tips over into a sob as you’re scooped up into her arms, her forehead pressed against yours in hurried moves as her much cooler hands hold your limp body.

You’re burning up.

“Honey, I think you’re sick.” It’s in a quiet coo, a soft trill to her tone in attempts to hush the beginnings of you throwing a fit.

“I-I’m n-not sick…!” You denied, hands curled into weak fists to throw a miniature, and very fatigue-ridden tantrum as your eyes tear up, bottom lip trembling as you try your best not to cry.

And Mama knows that you’re not the type to deny yourself from such things. Not the type of good child that would decline being babied and fawned over by her within any given circumstance. But she gets it, gets you.

It’s the day of the sports festival after all.

At the ripe young age of 8, sports has always been a defining point in popularity and the general likability of an individual in their class. A time for kids such as yourself to build repertoire, to build a reputation for themselves. A way to be labelled as ‘someone’.

Simply put, it was your opportunity to make friends without actually ‘making friends’. A, in your opinion, relatively smart way of flouting Satoru’s promise and Suguru’s disapproving gaze.

(Even if it made you sad to make them sad…)

So you chose to take part in the relay race, the one team based event that you think you could not possibly be bad at, your hand raised high into the air and eyes sparkling with a determination that made you believe that there was definitely a victory in sight when your teacher called for volunteers.

It went against your yearly choice of being on the cheer team, but you think change can be a good thing.

(Heroes always talk about it in anime.)

That’s why. That’s why your face was burning hot with the passion that was meant to be exerted upon the relay race, the tears leaking out of your eyes and soaking into your Mama’s skirt meant to be ones that would taste like victory when you brought great honour and glory to Class 3B.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

This is definitely the world’s revenge for making your friends upset. Heroes definitely do not have it easy, even if you did single-handedly save Satoru’s playground.

You can’t even eat the super delicious character bento that your Mama had stayed up late last night to make you as your bottom lip wobbles, frustration running high and your hands balling up the fabric of her skirt as you try your absolute hardest to make the swell in your throat go down.

You don’t want to cry. You’re strong. You’re capable. That’s why you’re a hero. That’s why you can’t let the villain who cursed you win.

And when a hand is gently rubbing your head from above alongside the sound of a pot clattering closed; it was enough to make the dam that you had so desperately tried to keep closed burst open.

“It’s okay to be sad.”

She knows how much you trained for this day. How much you let her smear sunscreen all over your face, whining and letting her pat your cheeks as you slip your feet into velcro sneakers, waving her goodbye with your waterbottle tucked underneath your armpit and a hanky in your pocket.

“Satoru said he’ll help me train.” Your look of determination barely falters as you smile up at her. “So I’m gonna work really, really hard.”

Gojo Satoru. The anchor of your class, the star boy who effortlessly gets the best grades despite sleeping through most of the lessons, and the one unanimously decided by the majority that he is the running last because that was just how fast he was. Don’t get yourself wrong, Suguru was fast. And really smart too.

But Gojo Satoru was just too exceptional even for the above average.

So that’s why you’re out here, an empty plastic cup in your hands acting as the ‘baton’ and Suguru waving a palm in front of your face to break you out of your daydreaming trance.

“You sure you wanna train when it’s so hot out?” His brows are furrowed and his lips are downturned into a frown. “Satoru and I don’t mind, but you don’t really like playing outside.”

Other than the playground anyway.

“Mmhm.” A nod of your head and the clenching of your fingers around the replacement baton as your own eyes hued with a fiery resolve met his worried purple. “I gotta do it.”

You’ll do it for glory. For the future where you’ll be as highly revered as your friends, for the classmates to even possibly think that you were the slightest bit cool.

“You’ll help, right?” Your smile is innocent and far too happy, the giddiness on the cheeks that were too cute for him to say anything else.

“…okay.” Anything for you.

This was your hero training arc.

“And Suguru’s gonna be passing to you from that tree, and you’ll pass to me! So we’re gonna practice that by running up and down this path I made Kimi-chan mark out!”

“Seriously? Where’d ya even get them?”

“I made Kimi-chan buy them, duh.”

That sounds easy enough, right? The cones that had been laid out practically beckon you as your ears no longer pick up on the chatter between your 2 friends, a giddy excitement in your stomach as you clench your fists with blazing resolve.

Well, some things are easier said than done.

A fall.

“(name)-sama, are you okay?!” Hands hurriedly pulling you back up to your feet as fingers fumble over your knees. “That was quite a bad fall…!”

Another stumble.

“I’ll run faster so that you have more time to pass to Satoru, okay?” His words are only slightly chopped, slightly winded from the multiple laps that he had gone as his hanky presses against your scratched knee.

An unprecedented tripping over your own feet. Or was it the air…?

“W-What? Ya were so close that time! How’d ya even fall?!” Gojo Satoru is the one who catches you this time, having hurriedly trying to break your fall having noticed the slightest odd bend in your ankles.

“Kimi-chan! How long did that take?!” He pants, wiping the sweat off his brow as the baton sticks to his slick hand, snowy hair sticking to his forehead as Suguru fans himself under the shade of the tree you were all taking refuge under, letting you catch your breath by leaning against him.

Said caretaker looks up from where she was icing your bruises, hands moving swiftly to take another look at the timer. “Exactly 2 minutes and 38 seconds, Young Master.”

“Ehhh? That’s so slow!”

And while you don’t cry a lot, but it doesn’t mean that you never will. It doesn’t mean that you don’t feel frustrated at the fact that you ran so much every single day after school, panting and feeling the heat of the sun on your hands, the sticky feeling of your clothes on your skin as you try not to feel faint. Try to get your bearings back every single time the boys practically ran laps around you.

Training is difficult. And it’s even more difficult to have to come to terms with what was now out of your reach.

“There’s always next year,” Her hand pats your back as her voice is barely above a whisper, gently wiping your tears as you feel her hand upon your chin, gingerly making you release your jaw so that you won’t bite down on your lips.

“What you worked hard for won’t disappear just like that.”

So that you won’t be so hard on yourself either.

“B-but I can’t—“ Can’t do anything even if you worked so hard for it. It’s become useless all on its own, even when you had so clearly forced down more vegetables these days in preparation, gulping down lots and lots of water to aid in the healthiness power up.

“What you can do now is do your best to cheer for your friends, okay? Then your effort won’t go to waste if you cheer really, really hard for them.” Your sight is blurry as you blink through your tears, staring up at the soft expression of your Mama’s face, the fever patch on your head making you start to feel faint.

“You’re really good at cheering too.” Not to brag or anything, but your Mama is definitely right. But you think your running is definitely and hopefully much better.

But that’s the only thing you can do for them now. A second chance, a gleaming, glowing chance that paves way to make up for the fact that you couldn’t win together with them.

So you accept it.

“Okay…” Even if you can’t see them, even if you can’t even cheer for them physically like you did in the previous years. But you’ll pray, pray really really hard in your head that they will win, that they would be the ones to bring the glory that you couldn’t.

You really hope it goes well. You really, really, really hope so as your chin rests on your Mama’s shoulder, your legs wrapped around her waist and her hand patting your back as she carries you up the stairs.

You do wonder how they’re doing up to now, though. Hopefully… Winning?

“No!” A cross of his arms and a huff of annoyance. “No way am I gonna receive from some nobody!” A decisive stamp of his foot into the dirt below, his back turned onto the only other person here that would even dare to go this close to him, especially when he’s kicking up a dust cloud alongside throwing yet another tantrum.

“You’re being too much, Satoru.” He sighs with a palm pressed to his forehead, his hair now shorter than ever so as to comply with school regulations as he watches his stubborn friend.

At least it won’t get in his face when he’s doing sports. Much unlike the fuming Gojo Satoru in front of him.

“Oi Suguru! How could ya let that hag tell us what to do?!”

And Geto Suguru feels like his head was going to split open. “Our homeroom teacher only suggested that we get a replacement because we’re short of one.”

At least, that’s what he’s been trying to get across for the past 10 minutes.

“We don’t need anybody replacin’ her!” Another stomp onto the ground as the blue-eyed boy pouts even harder, making a pebble launch off the ground and rocket towards the concrete wall to ricochet with a force full of repulsed impatience. “They’re gonna be stupider than her for getting sick t’day!”

“Then our class would be a person short, Satoru. And don’t call people stupid.” Because you’d probably be the one to make that comment right about now. Not that it matters, even if it came from the noiret who even tried to dissuade him with words that you’d probably say—

All for naught. Even if they mimicked the way you spoke, it just doesn’t have the same effect. So Geto Suguru had decided to just give up entirely to be the crass, straight to the point self that scratched at the nerves of the neighbourhood Gojo.

(And it looked like Satoru liked this version of him better, anyway.)

It doesn’t make logical sense to skip out on manpower. Not at all, especially when they’re in this specific category looking for a win. Yet, Suguru gets it as his nose scrunches and his brows furrow. He gets why the boy is so adamant on your position not getting swiped from underneath their noses.

(He won’t admit it though. If he does it first, it means Satoru wins.)

“It’s not like you can stop being sick all of a sudden.”

You worked so hard, after all. You would never be the type to lie to skip out on this. You’re just… Unlucky. Or was it their fault for making you play in those rain puddles…?

(“It’s not fair! I even made my maids pack extra special Digimon bentos to eat t’day!”

“Eat them yourself then—“

“No!”)

Alas, he still has to deal with the spoiled prince whom even the teachers seem too scared to make him upset. Seriously, what is up with everyone and the Gojo family?

“Then you just gotta run faster!” A poke of a proud finger into the young boy’s chest, a purposeful prod that was barely teetering on a threat as those shiny blue hues were ignited by a flare of indignation.

A glare that commanded Suguru’s obedience and compliance as those angry cheeks puff up even more.

Suguru would like to deny it, but you’re right when you say that this spoiled, stubborn, annoying boy was c—

“I don’t wanna receive from anybody else!” A click of his tongue as his shoe kicks at the dirt below him, and a smack against the black-haired boy’s shoulder as flabbergasted amethyst clashes against unrelenting sapphire.

“And we’re gonna win, no matter what. So don’t drag us down or I won’t forgive you!”

Good god, he was so difficult to deal with. Not that this was anything out of the ordinary for Geto Suguru, though.

A sigh, and childlike hands that clasped their together into a determined handshake, fingers squeezing into a promise just as the blare of the loudspeaker comes on to announce the start of their event.

“Say that to yourself first, Satoru.” A tightening of their hands as the ‘handshake’ gets ever tighter with their growing adrenaline. “I won’t forgive you either if you lose to the rest of them.”

(“Also, can’t ya eat your bentos yourself? My mama packed me one too with cold soba—“ He immediately shuts up when he spots the angry pout on his friend’s face, red cheeks and fuming anger that threatened to have steam blow out his ears.

And the— Sight of eyes that looked like they were gonna… Cry?

Oh.

“…let’s save some for (name) when we eat them later.”)

——

“Dear,” A cool hand pushes your hair back as you groggily blink awake, tummy still warm from porridge and forehead feeling slightly damp from the soft, moist cloth against your heated skin. “Are you feeling better?”

“Mn…” You think your body is starting to feel less heavy, less burdensome on your bones as you let out a groan, small hand reaching out for the glass of water that looked like it was floating in front of you.

Magic glasses of water taste the best. You would know since you had a couple today. At least… You think it’s magic. It is, right? That’s why they always fly around and looked like there was always more than one surrounding you.

“Geto-san came over with some soup when she heard you were sick.” She��s gently smoothing down your hair as you start to perk up, shifting slightly so as to be able to sit up properly against your Mama’s arm supporting you against your back.

“You can eat it later, okay?”

You hope you have strength to go over and thank her later, though… Do you have to give her something as thanks too? It must be hard, having to make a soup that would help cure the curse upon your body…

Mama stops momentarily as she watches you from above, humming slightly when you finally down the rest of your glass and let out a little sigh, fully going lax against your Mama’s cooler to the touch body as you cuddle up against her.

She should take more off days to stay together with you more—

“Oh, and your friends. They came over to visit as well.”

And that has you whipping around to face your Mama, the sudden movement making your stiff neck cramp slightly from how long you laid down.

But it doesn’t matter. The pain won’t stop you. Won’t stop the racing thoughts you had through your head that mostly overpowered the soreness of your neck.

Was the sports event already over? Did they win? Did they lose— No. Wait. That’s impossible. Your friends could never, would never lose. Oh, but what if there was a possible chance there was? Even if heroes suffered a little bit sometimes the villain could still win—

“But I couldn’t let them in.”

“(name)’s mama! Is she awake yet?” This was probably the third time they had knocked against the front door, hands on his hips and blue eyes staring up at the all too patient woman.

“Satoru— My mama said we have to wait.” Purple eyes blink up at her apologetically. “Sorry, (name)‘s mama, we can wait a while longer—“

“But it’s been like— Too long, Suguru! How much longer until she wakes up???”

Oh. That sucks. You visibly deflate, a whimper escaping you as your shoulders slump into defeat. You can’t even talk to them or else you’ll pass your dirty, cursed germs to them…

“Nothing a call can’t fix,” She uses a soft handkerchief to wipe any remnant moisture, petting your head as her eyes briefly meet the drawn curtains of your shared bedroom.

“And I might… Have a better idea.”

Excited waves from the window, shimmers of gold against reflective glass and your widening eyes as the summer breeze flutters the curtains and ruffles through your hair.

It’s windier than you thought, with the sun in your eyes and the cicadas singing in this heat.

(Or was it because you just spent most of the day sleeping?)

“Look! I won the medals for us!” Half his body was practically hanging off of the window ledge, hands holding all 3 shiny medals as his lower half was held back only by the more responsible friend clinging onto Satoru’s waist and pulling with all the might an 8 year old might have.

“Satoru! Don’t lean over the window— And we won those together!”

A haughty huff.

“Ya, but you didn’t cross the finish line, did ya? I did! But look, look! We got your medal too!”

(“You’re so annoying!”

“Blehhhh!” A stick out of his tongue as excited blue kept jumping in place despite the dangerous position he put himself in. “Kimi-chan’s already down there to catch me just in case, anyway!”)

Golden and shiny and everything that encompassed a winner. It shone so brightly even when competing against the late afternoon sunshine, stood out even when held

Winners. They’re winners.

But if you think about it all on your lonesome, looking upon those shiny medals and standing by your window with your futon wrapped around your form…

There’s something odd about this empty feeling inside of you. Something that lingers in the same sense disappointment would, swirling around you and making you feel… Bad.

Why? You’re happy that your class won, happy that they managed to win the glory you’ve been going on and on about in your head. They’re winners, beat out all the other people who trained hard for this event as well. What is this disgusting feeling of secretly hoping that they lost?

So why? Why is it that you feel this way even as they smile so proudly at you, proclaiming that they’ll personally hang the medal around your neck when you get better so that they can dub you a winner too—

“See? Ya didn’t have to worry about us at all, (name)!” His sparkling blue eyes close to form a matching grin with Suguru who was too busy smiling at you despite your sick state, eyes too busy to notice Gojo Satoru smacking his shoulder when they’re stuck staring at you.

“You’re getting better, right? Your Mama said that you slept a lot. We can talk more with our telephone when Satoru’s gone cause he’s annoying.”

“Hey! I want a string telephone connecting to all your houses too!”

“You live too far. So it’s only mine and (name)’s.”

Ah. You think you get it now. Understand why you feel this way as your hand gingerly presses against your hot cheek and sliding up to your eyes to feel the wetness that was starting to form.

When did you—?

It has your friends doing a double take.

“(name)… Are you crying?” Please don’t cry.

“I-I think she’s just happy that we won! Right, (name)?” Please don’t cry. Not right now.

Because you realize these weren’t tears of happiness, after all. It was the realization that— Despite all your training, despite all the effort you put in to help them, help this class…

They didn’t need you to win after all.

“…yea! Good job!” Your smile feels too unlike any that you’ve ever given, all stretched awkwardly and like it didn’t belong.

This wasn’t you. You know it so, since this is your own self you’re talking about.

You’ve definitely been cursed.

——

And so, it wasn’t long after that you finally recovered, finally able to properly get onto your feet. Finally able to get dressed without your Mama's help, finally able to pick up your backpack without faceplanting onto the ground... All that healing food did wonders.

("You're so happy today, Satoru." You can't help but smile at the boy holding hands with both yourself and your black-haired friend as all 3 of you sat in his car, listlessly listening to the radio together as he sat directly in between the both of you, tips of his ears red as he tries to act... Cool.

"Oh? Satoru, what's with that face?" A smug smile and upturned purple eyes. "Don't tell me it's because you missed-"

"Shut up, Weird Bangs!")

So imagine your surprise when your teacher beckons someone in from outside your classroom door, the entrance sliding open and the taps of an unfamiliar pair of shiny, brand new indoor shoes against the floors of this familiar classroom.

A new kid. One that had a pretty mole by her eye and her prettier name written so neatly upon the blackboard in such neat chalk lines that you just can’t help but feel envious.

“Ieiri Shoko. Please take care of me.” With only the slightest bow as she stares ahead blankly, eyes avoiding the whispers of your already chattering class.

It must be scary, right? To have to stand there and do that… You don’t think you want to be in her position right now.

“Do you think she’s scared?” It’s a thoughtless whisper to the only other person who could possibly hear right now, your own gaze meeting familiar purple.

“Maybe.” He’s dismissive, as if he didn’t care too much as he takes out his pencil case. “I brought the colour pencils you wanted to see, by the way.”

Ohh—! You’ve been wanting to—

“She looks boring.” His crass huff from your other occupied side makes you think he already doesn’t like her. “Don’t talk to her, (name).”

Shimmering comets for eyes turn to meet yours, glowing with a certain spark that had hidden thoughts.

“You’ll get into trouble.”

“Thank you, Ieiri-chan. Please sit at the empty desk near the back by Minato-chan.” A shuffle of papers as your homeroom teacher neatens the stack. “I want you all to be nice to our new friend, okay?”

“Okay, sensei!”

“Good! Now let’s begin class.”

Lunch rolls by far too quickly today. You swear the clock is definitely moving faster than usual.

“Heyyyyy. Stop studying and let’s go playyyyy!” A poke of your cheek as you stare at Suguru’s workings, eyes narrowing as you try to make sense of these complicated numbers.

“Ah, make sure you erase this. You’ll get confused if you don’t.”

“Is this right?” Your paper is pushed towards the more helpful of your friends, anticipating his praise as you wait with bated breath as his purple eyes scan over the worksheet.

You definitely got it this time. Definitely.

“Suguruuuuu! Y’er so slow, I’ll do it!” And that has him snatching up the starting to crumple sheet, blue eyes screening over it with ferocious and frightening accuracy, his cute brows furrowed and his bottom lip jutted out as he lets out a huff.

“This one’s wrong.” A finger taps against your paper, drawing a circle with his fingertip as he yawns. “And this one. This too.”

“The last one was s’pposed to be right but ya forgot to carry the 1 over.” His cheeks puff with dismissiveness when he looks up to only see Suguru comforting you with pats on your shoulder.

Oh.

“W-What? I only checked ‘em over!” He’s not at fault again for something, right? He was sure this was a more straightforward thing of being correct or not, something that shouldn’t be that big of a deal even if it’s because of the way he spoke—

If you hadn’t gotten them all wrong, that is.

“…it’s okay, (name). We can just practice them again.” And you pout, letting Suguru pat your head in consolation as you stare down at the hurriedly marked paper that was handed back to you. “Satoru just doesn’t know how to be nice cause he’s mean.”

“Hey! I can be nice!” Fuming rage and his hands slamming against his desk. “I’ll help ya both study later if (name) gives me a hug and the pudding in your fridge!”

And he’s serious about it. You can tell by his shiny cheeks and those smug half-lidded eyes that he would help— Even if you didn’t give him the pudding. The hug would be mandatory, though.

“What does my pudding even have to do with all this?”

All this whilst that new girl sat alone in the back of the class by herself. She’s not good at making friends, you notice. Quietly keeping to herself as she flips through a book, ignoring the cries of your schoolmates running down the hallway and into the wide, wide yard.

And when hands squeeze your cheeks together, mushing your face into his palms and making you turn away—

“You shouldn’t look at other people when we’re here. Sato—“ He stops himself, eyes moving from the pouting boy and back to your face that was in his hands. “I don’t like it.”

You must’ve been staring for too long.

——

“I don’t wanna go!” He’s clinging to you, backpack hastily thrown onto the ground as Kimiko-san tries her absolute hardest to persuade her young master into the car.

“Please, Satoru-sama. You have martial arts training—“

“Don’t wanna! I wanna stay with (name)!”

So all you can do is stand there and pat his shoulder, his head on your not at all stiff shoulder as you reciprocate his overly attached self, blinking up at a panicking Kimiko-san before down to the head of fluffy white.

“Suguru said he’ll beat you up with judo if you don’t go.”

Because he’s in the club. And he’s really good at it. Better than Satoru, actually.

“That dummy’s not gonna beat me.” It’s off handed and far too self assured as it’s muffled by the strap of your bag.

“You don’t know that.” You really don’t. Suguru’s been going on and on about training a lot, and he let you both see how he could do a flip once. At least— You think it counts as a flip anyway.

And you can hear him mutter unintelligible words, before he pulls away, his hands grabbing onto your shoulders and ferocious, narrowed eyes staring at you head-on with a pout on his lips.

“You better be at home to play with me when we’re back!”

“Okay.” You nod, sticking out your pinky towards him as you smile. “I promise.”

“Hmph!” He takes it, roughly, with a pout that turned into a satisfied smile as he finally— Finally gets in the car.

(“Thank you so much, (name)-sama…”

“It’s okay. I heard Libras were unlucky today cause the stars aren’t aligned for them. You should be cautious about the people around you, lest you run into trouble.”

“T-Thank you, (name)-sama…? Please get home safe. Weather reports say that it will rain soon.”)

And what unexpectedly occurred— Was the fact that the new kid was waiting in the same area as you were, waiting out the rain due to a neglected umbrella that probably sat near her door.

Which was the same case as you were. Except— Despite Kimiko-san’s warning, you ended up wandering around school too long in hopes of getting to watch Suguru train.

“Hi.” You’re trying to make conversation now that it’s just the both of you. Alone. By yourselves. This is a rare chance, honestly. You can count how many times you’ve been left like this by your friends on one hand throughout the years you’ve all been together.

It’s a chance you don’t really want to pass up. Time to put those social skills you’ve gleaned over the years into good use.

(From all those TV shows you’ve watched, of course. Your zodiac sign said that you’ll be lucky if you put yourself out there! And you’re outside right now, so you definitely have been buffed. A special power-up, if you will.)

“…hello.” A response. This is a success. A major success that you got on your own accord.

(Onto the next phase!)

“So didya hear about the… Recent sports festival?” You nod your head. Perfect. Perfect follow-up. “Our school held one a couple days ago.”

“Oh. That.” She doesn’t look up from the book she had been reading all this time. And now that you’re much closer to her than you ever were before—

You realize it’s a manga. Not a book. Technically, she is holding onto a book, but utilizing the hard cover page to cover up the fact that the manga had been sneakily slotted in.

“I was meant to join just a day before, actually. But I made my mama wait a couple days more.”

What.

“You waited until the day after?” Why? Why would she— This new girl do such a thing when it could bring you and your class such great glory?

“But the sports festival is fun…” And a great chance to make a ton of new friends. She’s not under the same promises that you made.

She goes silent, the mole on her cheek rising with her huff as she looks off to the side, out to the open air space that held the path to the school entrance as droplets of water tap against the tips of her shoes.

“Cause it’s bothersome.”

Oh. That’s a new type of answer.

“Do you hate bothersome things?”

And finally— She looks into your eyes, pushing back a stray strand of her long hair and her eyes hued with dews of luster brown that reminded you of the autumn sunset surrounded by orange leaves and sunset rays.

“Yea.”

“Oh.” That’s all you know how to say now, actually. Um… How do you respond to that?

So you go silent. You think she might be annoyed. Hopefully she’s not? You hope she likes you, though. And that you left an okayish impression. Should you tell her she’s pretty? But still, Suguru’s prettier but you can’t tell her that—

“Do you… Usually let them treat you like that?” She sounds… Bored. Maybe taken aback. Or was it simply just curiosity?

Either way, you’ve never really heard anyone ask about that— Other than your Mama, of course. But you tell her everything practically everyday.

“Is there something—“ How should you say it? Is she trying to tell you something? You think it’s fine, even if you don’t know how other people view it. “Bad about the way they treat me?”

You watch as she thinks for a bit, staring off to the side for a bit and up into the dark skies as the rain starts to pour just that little bit harder.

“Not at all.”

——

“Stop looking at me like that, you brat.”

Your eyes were practically boring into him as you watch him rub at a bruise on his cheek, his knuckles stained with dried blood and his green eyes narrowed into a mean glare.

“Did you beat up some—“ You try to think about how he described those people the last time you talked to him— Which was around last week, maybe?

“Butt ugly misters?”

It’s not the exact wording he used, but whatever he says makes you scared to parrot them since you’ve seen one of the old aunties— Sugimoto-san quite literally gasp when she heard him talk once.

“They’re motherfuc— Bad people. Don’t call them misters.”

“You said you didn’t care what I call them though.”

And all you get in response is the click of his tongue. “Whatever, brat.”

Silence. It’s steady and beating and not at all uncomfortable as you watch him pull out another piece of his snack, big teeth chewing with an open mouth and manners flying away. Yet, you still end up asking from your built up curiosity and these mere few minutes just before either of your friends would make it home.

It’s your free time, anyway.

“Mister, am I a bothersome person?” Like those thugs that he gets into scraps with practically every month?

A deep huff as his teeth chew on dried squid, gnawing at the tough exterior as he stares off into the oranges of the sky. “Duh. Who even likes annoying brats like you?”

Even when he says it like that, you can’t help but feel that it’s not true. There’s a reason you hang around him, a reason you still stay despite how mean and nasty this almost adult can be and how often he lies about how he definitely didn’t get into fights.

It’s because he reminds you a little of Satoru.

His words may cut, may be a little overwhelming and cruel. But they ultimately held no weight, nothing particularly soul-crushing or tear weeping.

You might even dare to say that even his insults sound very comforting to you.

That was why you were eating the very crushed biscuits that had been almost mashed into dust right out of the very crinkled plastic packaging that it came out from right now.

(He bought it for you.)

“Nuh uh. Mama says I’m a good kid.”

Maybe it’s the sincerity in your tone, the innocence that can only come from a child that got him thinking.

He doesn’t know how to describe how he’s feeling right now as he stares down at his bruised knuckles, bloody and calloused and hastily bandaged as he grunts.

“Then stop hanging out with me if you think that, kid.”

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[itsabouttimex2]

I hope this isn't an odd question

But, do you think Wukong or Macaque would act or treat different their "cub" if they genders were swapped or being a female version? This is also for a Yan behavior

I don't know too much about how is the raising of a monkey from the father and mother so I was curious with this since they're both mystical demons

I was thinking about this when I saw some fanarts from the artist @/car_nimbus on Twitter, they made a neat versions of the characters with another gender

Monkey Mama

(Hmm okay let me build a hypothetical OG “Female Monkey King” to work off of here and then I’ll try to translate that into LMK’s SWK. Also, I’ll probably make a second variation of this afterwards with other characters, haha. This got a little long to do both SWK and Mac!)

Sun Wukong as a character is already heavily defined by rebellion and personal choice, so I think that making him a girl only really compounds that layer of his character.

In many older narratives, female characters are often expected to be more obedient or modest than men, and very frequently only exist as prizes or, more rarely, villains. A female Sun Wukong; assuming she plays the same role as her original incarnation, defies the expectations of how “traditional” women should behave, shirking the demure and passive “ideal” and adding another layer of rebellion to her character.

(JTTW is actually pretty great in terms of female representation, with characters ranging from the perpetually good Quanyin, the eventually repentant Princess Iron Fan, and the straight up evil White Bone Spirit. I’m a big fan of how the women aren’t slid into any one “role” throughout the story.)

I think: in story, she’d likely be viewed as a sort of “anomaly”—a woman too strong, too outspoken, and too unwilling to conform to typical feminine ideals. Her defiance and arrogance might be viewed as even more scandalous by the Celestial Realm.

Instead of being made a “stable-keeper”, I think probably she’s sent to whatever Heavenly Scullery exists in that divine realm, and put to work very quickly. She would treat this “job” with indifference or even amusement at first-after all, physical labor or menial tasks don't diminish her self-worth or confidence! She’s had a life of hard work, leading an army of Yaoguai, cultivating Flower Fruit Mountain,

So she’s fine with this… at first. Then it turns out that the food she makes with her fellow low-class workers isn’t distributed amongst the people making it, but plated up nice and pretty for a bunch of “stuffy old gods” who didn’t lift a finger! Bullshit!

So obviously, the prideful Monkey Queen goes on a destructive rampage in regards to the unfair disparity of treatment, then storms back down to Earth to throw a “feel-better” party with her fellow Yaogaui.

(Which isn’t just a party, but a symbolic reclaiming of joy and community, with her monkey tribe representing the freedom she craves and the earthly bonds she prefers over heavenly authority. It's not just an escape, but a statement of independence.)

After an extensive set of repairs, the Court sends down someone to drag her back, because, you know, the local super-powered monkey is back on the loose, and that’s not exactly great for them. This time, they offer her a “better” role- she gets to become an official Peach Maiden, lucky her!

Of course, it’s just another form of entrapment, but within a prettier cage. Even though she's given a cushier position, it's a veneer- she's still being silenced, controlled, and stripped of her freedom. The role played by a Peach Maiden is an inversion of Wukong's essence, as these women are happily serving the role of passive caretakers, nurturing with gentle smiles—a direct contrast to the free-willed, brash nature of the Monkey Queen.

(And while there’s nothing wrong with being demure, passive, and feminine, having people try to force her into that role is where Sun Wukong draws her line.)

Here, she is expected to watch in silence as others revel in the freedom and power denied to her. It's a different kind of prison, one that quietly erodes her spirit. When the Celestial Court tries to reintegrate her as a Peach Maiden, they are once again attempting to place her into a docile, decorative role, one that strips away her power and independence. Those immortal peach orchards, a symbol of immortality and divine favor, becomes a prison for her.

Surrounded by "ideal" women who embody the quiet, submissive role she despises, the Monkey Queen finds herself chafing under the pressure of conformity. Her energy, once boundless and chaotic, is now caged, and the simmering resentment builds.

The buildup to her inevitable rebellion after being made a Peach Maiden, then, becomes a very sympathetic moment because it's not just a rejection of the role forced on her, but a rejection of the very system that tries to diminish who she is at her core. Her rebellion isn’t about anger and shame- it’s about reclaiming her true self after having been suffocated by the expectations of the Celestial Court. Her rampage becomes an assertion of her identity as something that can't be confined by heavenly rules or social mores.

The Court, in its attempt to “contain" her, only fuels her defiance further, leading her once again to rebel.

It was never going to end well. But it ends all the same, and punishment is to be levied to the Queen, just the same as any other rebellious rule-breaker... actually, probably harsher.

There’s “you broke our rules and tried to lead a coup”, then there’s “you did all that, and we also find your very person to be wrong on a fundamental level”, and then she gets the book thrown at her twice over.

But! Then she meets Tang Sanzang, who sees something in her that neither the Celestial Realm nor her own band of Sworn Brothers saw. Not a heretic simian savaging a holy realm. Not a Queen to rally behind for their own gain.

But a lost soul in need of guidance.

And from there the Great Monk works on building Sun Wukong up as a person instead of leading her astray or trying to cut massive chunks of her personality out? And talks to her about the things she cares about? And teaches her about all the things she missed after spending five hundred years under a rock?

And then she meets Zhu Baije, who starts out a little too happy and carefree about having a beautiful woman around, but eventually comes to smash open heads when Wukong is disrespected, because that’s not just a hot woman, that’s his sister?

Or Sha Wujing, who helps her with even the smallest things, from trimming her claws to cutting her wild hair to preparing meals for the monk? And lets her perch on his shoulders and head so the queen can get some skinship in?

Then Ao Lie, who is every bit the “disappointment to the world at large” that she was considered? And they take turns braiding each other’s hair and wiping the mess from the other’s face, and sleeping in the same tent and same bedroom because it’s less effort?

She gets a dad and three little brothers?

She gets a family.

And then loses it and is alone again for several hundred years more.

So if we go with this theoretical “My natural existence has been rejected for being seen as ‘improper’ by a court of stuffy traditional assholes” and then “I dearly love/miss my dead found family” angle, I think she’d be portrayed as a very different sort of character in LMK.

She’s quicker to lash out and defend herself, and much less willing to sit around and let the world pass her by- because that’s what was demanded of her by the Celestial Realm.

Be good. Be quiet. Be demure. Be obedient. Be anything except you.

I don’t think she’d be as willing to “rest on her laurels” as her canon counterpart, given that a “quiet boring life” was what she had fought so very hard to escape in the first place, so instead of isolating herself from the world in the first place, she probably sets up a little “souvenir shop” at the foot of Flower Fruit Mountain, taking a human form to sell little knick-knacks that herald to the journey she undertook with her old friends.

In part, this is how Wukong works to honor them. To spread their legacy. To ensure that they aren’t forgotten, left as a footnote in the annals of history. To remember them.

In part, it’s how she justifies all the mistakes she’s made and the suffering she’s been through. Settling in to a pointlessly relaxed life is exactly what she fought against, after all. She’s heavily fallen into the “sunk-cost fallacy”, where giving up and settling in, to her, means “losing”. It means “everything I went through was all for nothing”. So she keeps at this little store instead of just retiring and isolating herself from the world, even though she’d be happier to ditch it and lounge about.

So when MK and his eccentric bunch of friends comes around with their boundless energy and mischief, she immediately goes, “Oh, okay! This is what I wanted!”

(It’s not. All she’s ever wanted is her friends back. How could there be anything else?)

The Monkie Kids are vibrant, eccentric, and full of qualities that immediately resonate with Wukong. They remind her of the energy, camaraderie, and sense of adventure that she once shared with her old companions. She sees MK's arrival not just as a chance to teach someone a few of her old tricks, but as an echo of her own life—a life she hasn't been able to truly let go of.

So she starts projecting- on the surface, MK is very much like her. He's spirited, good-natured, and curious- and reckless. Just like she was. Wukong latches onto this quickly, sort of using the kid as a proxy for herself. After all, if she can't go back to her old life, why not embrace a new one that feels close enough? In some ways, this marks her refusal to accept the passage of time, a desperate clinging to the hope that, through MK, she can rekindle the connections she once cherished.

However, underneath that initial enthusiasm is the repressed understanding that MK, despite his similarities to her younger self, cannot truly replace what she lost. The friends she fought beside, the battles they waged together, and the lessons they learned are unique, irreplaceable moments in her life. No matter how much MK’s gang reminds her of the past, he and his friends a stand-in for the companions she still longs for. But her deep desire to reconnect with her old friends clouds her ability to see MK for who he truly is: his own person, on his own journey.

It takes her a while to get to that point, though. So she’s more doting and affectionate, in a way that somewhat stifles her student’s training because she wants to be both her old carefree self and also a good mentor, and the two just get jumbled.

Sidenote: I think with the difference in actions and behavior, MK would be more open to viewing Fem!Wukong as a parental figure than the OG, especially since he doesn’t really have someone to fulfill that “mom” role.

For their dynamic, I think something like this would be the outcome:

———————————————————————-

The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, painting the landscape in hues of varied orange and blue. With a tired hand, MK wipes the sweat from his brow.

He’s perched on one of the rocky spires dotting Flower Fruit Mountain, gazing at the view with a small smile of accomplishment. Training had been intense lately… if only because he had been doubling down on the time he spent practicing, without giving as much care to rest or aftercare.

After all, even though his powers were blooming steadily… his enemies also were growing in power and quantity, leading to the ever-creeping edge of fear that anything less than a constant one-hundred percent just wouldn’t be “enough”.

And right as he reaches back to grab the golden staff he has inherited from the Monkey Queen-

“MK! I told you to take a break, not run off to do more training!”

Her voice, uncharacteristically sharp, cuts through the formerly tranquil air, causing MK to jump. He turns just in time to see Sun Wukong strolling toward him, her hands on her hips and a look of mock annoyance on her face.

MK grinned sheepishly, shifting his grass-stained boots against the dirt. “I was just, you know… checking out the view.”

She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement as her eyes narrowed in annoyance. This kid... “Uh-huh. Checking out the view or sneaking in some practice when I wasn’t looking?”

Caught fast in his lie, MK rubbed the back of his neck, face scrunching up in embarrassment. “Maybe a little of both?”

In spite of herself, Sun Wukong quietly laughs, the sound echoing like a chiming bell through the mountain. Her long, golden hair flowed behind her in the wind, each strand catching the light like molten fire. Despite her legendary status- the rebellious warrior who’d fought the heavens and nearly won!- there was a warmth to her that MK had come to cherish.

“All work and no play, MK,” she said, sitting beside him on the rock and ruffling his hair with a fondness that always made him feel like a little kid again. “You’ll burn out before you get anywhere.”

He looked at her, eyes shining with admiration. “But you never stop training. You’ve been at this for centuries! I just…”

A pause, as his chest turns over, unsettled by the notion of opening up. But… it’s the Monkey Queen. So it.. should be okay, right?

“I want to make you proud.”

Sun Wukong’s expression softens, and she wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling the boy close in a tight embrace. “You already make me proud, kid. You don’t have to prove anything.”

MK leaned into the touch, feeling a wave of comfort wash over him. Even from the start she’d been like this with him- protective, nurturing… and maybe a bit overbearing at times. But he didn’t mind. It made him feel safe, like no matter what challenges lay ahead, he wasn’t alone.

MK chuckled, turning his face up to meet his idol’s eyes.” I’ll keep up,” he triumphantly declares, pumping a fist.” I promise.”

“Good.” Wukong shifted, her clawed hand lightly missing his spiked locks. “Now, how about we head back to the shop and grab something to eat? You’ve earned it.”

MK’s stomach growled at the mention of food, and he nodded so eagerly that she wondered if his head wouldn’t ache from the motion. “You know, I won’t say no to a good meal.”

The Monkey Queen stood up, dusting off her mentee’s clothes before offering him a hand. “Of course you won’t. C’mon, my treat.”

———————————————————————-

Now, to answer your question about how she acts in regards to her own cub… in general I think she’s much more doting than the OG, willing to express herself through constant displays of physical affection, in ways that are far more varied.

Constant forehead smooching, cuddles, grooming sessions, all of it! Mama Wukong never wants to let go of her baby! Sit down and let her paint your nails! Let her comb and braid your hair! Let her make you a nice lunch (loaded with mystical drugs to keep you nice and sleepy for extra cuddles), or at least a filling snack! Let her pepper your face with kisses as she spins you in her powerful arms!

Lots and lots of indulgent fluffy days of binging unhealthy foods and watching cozy reruns of old shows, your head in her lap as she hums and does up your hair with her lazy hands.

Lots of reminiscing about old suitors as she considers the quietest and quickest ways to kill anyone who makes the futile attempt to pursue you in the same way.

Despite her obsessive behavior, Wukong struggles with conflicting feelings about wanting her child to be strong and independent, just like her! She pushes you to train hard and become powerful, but when you inevitably seek their own freedom or autonomy, she’d experience a mix of pride and heartbreak, pushing her deeper into possessive tendencies.

If you ever tried to leave or even just start to break away, Wukong’s worst traits would bubble up like hellfire. Just as she fought against an entire realm’s authority, she would absolutely wage a war to keep her child close, all while justifying her actions as love.

The Monkey Queen is also more willing to take routes outside of brute force if it means securing extra protection for Y/N. If Macaque or maybe Azure (or someone else like Erlang Shen) wants to try and play “suitor”, well, she’s not too interested… until the thought arises that having him around makes you extra safe! And then she’s willing to think on it.

(That’s assuming that you aren’t one of their biological kids to begin with, in which case there might be a sort of “yandere triangle”. Azure/Macaque/Erlang Shen doing his damndest to reclaim his wife, before he learns that she’s had a child while he was gone... or maybe Pigsy and Tang decided that MK needs his mentor in a more ‘accessible’ position, and plot to drag her to Megapolis…)

Lots of potential monkey mama shenanigans, basically!