#unconventional restraint

[mj-iza-writer]

Here is a thought I've been having for a few days now.

Whumper who just happened upon Whumpee

•unplanned kidnapping

•recapture a run away Whumpee

•finding the perfect test subject for their lab

No matter what Whumper wasn't planning a kidnapping, but when life gives you lemons.

Now they don't have anything to restrain Whumpee, but they just got groceries. They look over everything in their trunk as they watch Whumpee getting farther away.

"Aha", Whumper sees it. They had purchased a six-pack of soda, and they are being held together by the plastic rings (I have picture at the bottom of this post)

Whumper quickly pops the bottles out, closes their trunk and hurries to their victim.

Whumpee is kicked to the ground.

Whumper begins squeezing Whumpee's hand into the holes: one, two, three. Pulls their arms behind their back, and does the same with the other wrist.

This plastic is very strong three layers is almost unbreakable, especially behind you back. You also can get your blood circulation cut-off.

Imagine Whumpee hurting themself as they try to get out.

The perfect restraints for an unplanned kidnapping.

Please tag me and tell me your unconventional restraints. Even better if you wrote a story 😊

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

Febuwhump day 3

Pinned down

Masterlist

Am I gonna be late every day ? Likely.

CW: vampire whumpee, starvation, mention of burning and staking.

Whumpee ran fast, as fast as he could, faster than he had ever run. But he was starved, his inhuman body weakened from the need of blood. It had been so long since his captor had last allowed him blood. He ran fast, but it was not enough. He screamed as he was tackled from behind, tumbling on the floor of the forest. The vampire immediately tried to start sprinting again, ignoring the weakness in his muscles, but was sent back on the floor by a violent kick to his side.

Whumpee wheezed as whumper knelt on his emaciated chest, the broken ribs caving under the hunter's weight. Pinning him down, hindering his pathetic escape attempts. The vampire strained against him, unable to repress tears of rage and anguish. Just a few months ago, he wouldn't have had any problem getting out of whumper's grip. Now ? He was as weak and helpless as a toddler. Whumper grinned.

"Poor boy. You wanted out, uh ? Well you'll get that. No need to thank me."

Whumpee had no idea what he meant by that, but it couldn't be anything good. When the hunter used his left hand to grab the stake on the back of his belt, the vampire's heart skipped a beat.

"No. No please. I won't..."

He barely managed to croak out a few, desperate words before the end of the stake was pressed firmly to his midsection, where the skin was so obviously sinking due to starvation. Whumpee's scream tore through his throat as the long, sturdy piece of wood was hammered through skin, organs and bones, tearing everything in its path, until it met dirt. He didn't have the energy to curse or struggle anymore, only writhing like a dying animal as whumper stood up, satisfied.

"You're lucky, boy, I've heard that we're gonna have a sunny weekend. How about I leave you here to enjoy it and come to pick you up monday ? Great idea."

The vampire's eyes widened in horror, and he raised a shaking hand to the stake, desperate to pull it out, to free himself. But the thing was buried too deeply, he was stuck there. Pinned down, waiting for the sunrise.

@febuwhump

[ssomagni]

@kryptonite-week Day two Red & Blue - Captured by the enemy, Calling for backup, unconventional restraints, Secret identities.

@yearoftheotpevent Crack treated seriously

Pairing: Superbat

C/W: None

Story Summary: When Clark Kent starts speaking an dead language, when his hands shake with powers that rival a gods, when his eyes lose their blue, become unnaturally red, there's only one thing his boyfriend Bruce can think to do to save him, hold an exorcism.

Story link: Now you're speaking my language

requests Open: Yes

[jov1ii]

Mine, All Mine

♡⃕.pairing: Husband!Salesman x Wife!Reader ♡⃕.synopsis: life with your husband. ♡⃕.word count: 1.4k+ ♡⃕.content warning: a little suggestive if you squint, arranged marriage.

The corner of his lips twitched as a hint of a smirk danced upon his lips. He had been watching you since the onset of morning. There was just something so…so captivating about the way you moved, the subtle grace of your mannerisms.

He supposed, it was the simple things that enticed him the most.

Tearing his gaze away, he rose and crossed the room to the mahogany desk; a silent cue for you to do the same.

"I suppose we shall get to know each other better?" You propose.

He watched silently as you stood and approached the desk. This arrangement, it was strange, unconventional. And yet, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to abhor the idea of spending every day, every hour in your company.

"Oh yeah? Is that what you want?" He was somewhat bemused by your suggestion.

You were hardly the type inclined toward the idea of matrimony, and neither was he. But here you were, his wife. His wife—the term sounded foreign upon his tongue.

He regarded you with a stoic eye, head canted slightly to the side. He was trying to figure you out, to understand the machinations of your mind. Such a task was seemingly monumental, no doubt, by the way of your closed off demeanor, a quiet, stoic disposition. But that was all the more reason he wished to figure you out.

You were... intriguing.

Days had come and gone since their first conversation.

He had, for the most part, settled into this married life quite well.

There was something soothing, peaceful, about the quiet domesticity of it all. Both you and him became acutely aware of each other's presence.

They say familiarity bred contempt, but for you and him, it bred something much different.

Every now and then, he would recall the subtle slope of your nose, the elegant dip of your shoulders, the way the sunlight pooled upon your skin… It took every bit of self-restraint he possessed not to ravish you there and then.

He had always thought of himself as an individual who could not possess emotions such but it wasn’t just carnal desire that he felt, rather, there was a certain depth to this feeling. A feeling he wasn’t quite able to place.

He tried to push away those thoughts as best as he could, but in the hours at night when he laid in bed, with you so close, it became harder to shut you out.

He laid awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep and plagued with the memory of your smile, the way you laughed, the scent of your hair- Wait.

"Can't sleep?" You ask, looking back at him.

The abrupt voice broke him from his trance. And then he groaned for the second time that night. He remained motionless for a few moments and then he rolls over, only to find you staring back at him from the other side of the bed.

”Clearly, neither can you…” He said, raking a hand through his rumpled hair which earned a chuckle from you.

The corner of his lips quirked into a smirk as the sound of your laughter reached his ears. He propped himself up on one elbow, studying you in the dim light. There was something rather enthralling about seeing you like this, all relaxed and vulnerable in the quiet night.

“I’d ask why you can’t sleep, but I think I already know the answer,” He teased.

"Oh yeah? What do you think is the cause?" You ask, smiling softly.

“You don’t seem to have much trouble sleeping during the day, when the sun is out. But come night time, suddenly there’s a change." He responded without a bit of hesitation. He wasn’t one to sugarcoat after all.

“You’re nervous about this new... condition, and about the future, and, if I’m not mistaken…a little scared of me,” He said, glancing back at you.

His words earned a huff from you. "Scared of you?"

His smirk widens into a sly smile as he props himself up on an elbow. He meets your gaze, regarding you with a keen eye.

“You are,” He states bluntly, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I can see that little shiver that goes through your spine every time I touch you. That little bit of hesitation in your movements whenever I’m around.”

Oh.

When he suggested leaving the house “to get some air” on a Friday evening, you didn’t think much of it.

After all, for the first few weeks after marriage, he had spent his days working and evenings on the armchair by the fire. However, the last thing you had expected was to be led out the door and into his black car.

A date—was, and is, the furthest thing you had expected from a reserved man like your husband.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was nervous. A man as stoic and reserved as he, nervous for a date? Who would’ve thought. He had never been the romantic sort, too occupied in work and realistic for the idea of romance.

You tried to catch a glimpse of his expression from the passenger seat, but he was avoiding your gaze at all costs. Not a word was spoken, only the steady hum of the engine was heard as the scenery passed by.

Eventually, he pulled into a secluded spot overlooking a shimmering lake. A modest family-run restaurant on the edge of town.

He gets out of the car and comes around to your side, opening the door for you after. And as you get out of the car, you are quick to glance around and take in your surroundings. Expensive.

The restaurant looked modest and homey, quaint even. You watch as he speaks a word to the waiter who leads the two of you to a secluded table.

He gestures to the table and pulls out your chair for you.

A soft “thank you” escapes your lips in response as you sink into the seat, before he takes his own seat across from you. He reaches for the wine list, scanning it before ordering a bottle of red.

"Do you plan on staying this quiet, or...?" You ask, biting back a teasing smile.

So she hasn't quite lost her bite, then. He leans back in the chair and crosses one leg over the other, a sign of feigned aloofness. "Perhaps I'll save my tongue for our food." He said.

"Boring." You comment, watching as the waiter approached with a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses.

You took the glass, now filled with wine and brought it towards your lips, glancing at him.

"Boring, eh?" He asks. "Maybe I should order a second round of drinks just to shut you up," he retorts with a smirk.

"You look a tad too cocky for my liking."

....

It did not take long before the drinks started to get you. You were laughing louder, talking more freely, and your cheeks had taken on a rosy flush. It would almost be cute, were it not so annoying- or so he liked to believe.

He sets the glass down on the table and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Perhaps one drink too many.

He watched you from across the table, the smile never leaving your lips, the glint in your eyes all the more noticeable when your guard was down like this.

"Don't look at me like that." You whispered, swirling the liquid in the glass, your voice slurred.

"And how exactly am I looking at you?" He asked in a low voice, leaning forward ever so slightly.

"Like you want to rip my dress right here, right now." You said, smirking.

He blinked, that little remark sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. He tried his damned best not to react, but the words had an immediate effect on him.

"Don’t be ridiculous." He mumbled. But your words were doing all kinds of things him, in all the right places.

And he could only take so much.

And just like that, one last drink, a ride home, a few fumbled steps in the doorway and a heated night later, when you woke up the next morning, you think all of it had been a dream- the dinner date, the alcohol, the lust-filled return home... But the sight of a slender arm curled around your hip said otherwise.

You can't help it, a smile starts to form on your own face. If this was how married life was supposed to be, then you were more than ready to welcome it with open arms.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Your Venus sign can reveal a lot about how you handle money, from your spending habits to the state of your bank account. Let’s get into it.

Fire Venus (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) Happy Spenders

Fire Venus individuals experience major fluctuations in their finances. Their bank accounts can swing from being in the negatives to thriving in no time. They tend to be frugal at times, but they are also natural splurgers—especially when their income increases. When they have money, they enjoy spending it on things they desire, often without much restraint. However, one thing about Fire Venus is that their bounce-back game is strong. Even if they hit financial lows, they quickly find ways to recover. Their money flow is inconsistent, but they always manage to get back on their feet.

Earth Venus (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) I WANT & I NEED SPENDERS

Earth Venus individuals value financial stability and practicality. They may not always have large amounts of money, but they usually have a plan to maintain financial security. When their bank accounts grow, they do have the urge to splurge—but only on items they truly want or see as valuable. They are naturally frugal and prefer to make purchases that make financial sense, often looking for bargains and deals. While they are not immune to financial struggles, they are also the type to actively work on fixing any financial setbacks. If they fall into debt, they are likely to develop a structured plan to get back on track.

Air Venus (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) What The Fuck Did I Spend My Money On Spenders

Air Venus individuals tend to be financially savvy and resourceful. They often know budgeting hacks, use financial apps, and have innovative ways of making and managing money. However, their restless nature can sometimes lead them to spend impulsively. One week their bank account looks great, and the next, they have no idea where all their money went. They are skilled at making money, but because they know they can always earn more, they may not be the best at maintaining consistency. Air Venus individuals can also be secretive about their finances, sometimes engaging in unconventional or even slightly “sketchy” ways to secure funds.

Water Venus (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces) I’m Not Spending Shit Until I Want To Spenders

Water Venus individuals seek financial security but tend to have an emotional relationship with money. They may be frugal and try to hold onto their wealth, but their spending habits can shift dramatically based on their emotional state. If they are going through heartbreak, stress, or depression, they may spend excessively in an attempt to lift their spirits. While they can save and maintain financial stability, emotional hardships can quickly drain their bank accounts. Additionally, Water Venus individuals can be overly cautious with money, sometimes holding onto it too tightly out of fear of loss.

[astroxrion]

What you can’t Get Enough of / Obsess Over 🍒 | Astrology Thread 🥀 :

Mars in Aries

You obsess over the thrill of the chase. You can’t get enough of instant sparks and raw chemistry. Passion is lit by boldness and honesty. You want someone who keeps you on your toes and never dulls your fire or slows your momentum.

Mars in Taurus

You obsess over physical comfort and loyalty. You can’t get enough of touch, routine, and emotional security. Passion is built slowly through consistency and sensuality. You crave someone who calms your system but never becomes distant.

Mars in Gemini

You obsess over mental stimulation. You can’t get enough of clever banter, deep late-night talks, and the thrill of words. Passion is fueled by novelty and variety. You need someone who changes their mind and makes you think harder about love.

Mars in Cancer

You obsess over emotional depth. You can’t get enough of closeness, protection, and knowing someone truly sees you. Passion is fueled by vulnerability and feeling needed. You want love that feels like home and seduces your soul, not just your body.

Mars in Leo

You obsess over being adored. You can’t get enough of attention, loyalty, and dramatic romance. Passion is ignited when you feel chosen like royalty. You want a partner who makes you feel like the center of their world and gives you a stage to shine.

Mars in Virgo

You obsess over the details. You can’t get enough of small gestures, improvement, and precision. Passion is built through trust, acts of service, and sharp emotional intelligence. You want someone who gets your mind and supports your daily life.

Mars in Libra

You obsess over beauty and balance. You can’t get enough of charm, romance, and intellectual intimacy. Passion is strongest when harmony is maintained. You want someone who reflects your best self and meets you halfway in everything.

Mars in Scorpio

You obsess over intensity and emotional truth. You can’t get enough of connection that exposes your soul. Passion is relentless and magnetic. You crave someone who’s loyal, dangerous, emotionally undressing you every time they breathe your name.

Mars in Sagittarius

You obsess over freedom in love. You can’t get enough of adventure, truth, and unfiltered expression. Passion is found in growth and exploration. You need a partner who excites your spirit and never cages your movement or beliefs.

Mars in Capricorn

You obsess over control and long-term security. You can’t get enough of ambition, emotional restraint, and respect. Passion is built through patience and shared goals. You want someone who stays loyal while climbing beside you.

Mars in Aquarius

You obsess over individuality and mental connection. You can’t get enough of unconventional love and radical honesty. Passion is sparked by rebellion and intellect. You want someone who lets you be weird, wild, and free without question.

Mars in Pisces

You obsess over emotional fusion. You can’t get enough of dreamlike connection, unspoken understanding, and soft surrender. Passion flows through fantasy and empathy. You want a love that dissolves boundaries and heals your inner chaos.

[l1tw1ck]

The Fall of Spider-Man

bottom!ftm Miguel x top!masc!villain reader

🕷️ Word Count: 1,897 🕷️

AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con, Kidnapping, Lingerie, Fingering, Squirting, Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Crying, Corruption, Creampie, Nipple Play, Pregnancy Mention, Stockholm Syndrome (Kinda?)

Miguel’s eyes shoot open. He immediately analyzes his surroundings. He’s tied up and on the floor. He can't see anything but he can tell he’s wearing lingerie. He feels sick. His first instinct is to try and get out of his restraints but no matter how hard he tries, nothing happens. He’s powerless. How? Why? When? Where the hell is he? He looks around the dark room, stopping to look at a door. There's light coming from behind it and he can hear movements. Footsteps. Getting closer and closer.

“You’re awake! Good morning, Miguel.” You smile, turning the lights on before walking towards him. “How are you feeling?”

“Who are you?” He asks.

You give him your name. “The person who's going to defeat Spider-Man once and for all.” You grin. “Although my methods are a bit unconventional.” You chuckle.

Miguel keeps his mouth shut, waiting to hear what you have to say next. Your confidence scares him. It's not like he's never met a confident villain before, it's honestly less likely to meet an insecure one, but your confidence is scary. You know something he doesn't. He knows you're dangerous. He always chooses to fight but everything inside him is screaming to run away. It's not like he has the choice now though.

“Pretty soon, you’ll be my beautiful husband and the father of our children.” You kiss his forehead. His heart drops. “But first, I’m gonna have some fun with you.” You kneel down and caress his cheek. He grimaces in disgust. “Let me give you the play by play.” You push his lacy red panties aside. “First, I’m gonna play with this pretty pussy of yours and give it a lot of love.” You rub his clit. “Then, once I’m done, I’m gonna slide my cock inside of you. I’ll make sure to go real slow, make you feel every inch of my cock.” You bring your fingers down to his entrance and push two of them in.

“Yo- you're sick.” He spits on you.

You wipe your cheek. “I didn't give you permission to speak, or spit.” You slap his cunt, earning a moan from him. “Watch yourself, Miguel.”

He looks at you angrily but doesn't say anything, too ashamed of the sound he just made and too afraid of the consequences to do so. You push your fingers in and out of his cunt, giving Miguel unwelcomed pleasure. “You like that?” You smirk, moving faster. He bites his lip to silence his moans. “I know you do. Even if you try to deny it, your body doesn't lie.”

He hates this so much.

“And then, I’ll pick up the pace. I’ll fuck you rough and hard. So rough that you won't be able to think. So hard that you’ll cry.” You push your fingers all the way in and thumb his clit, moving your fingers inside of him absentmindedly. He tries to fight against the pleasure but it's no use. He’s going to come.

“I’d love to see you cry.” You grin. He’s not going to cry. He might do a plethora of shameful things tonight but one thing he isn't going to do is cry. He refuses to. “I know you think it's impossible but it's not. And I can't wait to see you break.” You punctuate your last word with a hit to his g-spot. Miguel gasps, hips raising in the air as he squirts. Miguel looks down at himself in shame, cheeks burning hotter than a flame. He’s never done that before. He hates that you're the reason it happened. “Oh Miguel…” You let out a sharp breath.

You move in between his legs and dig into his wet cunt, slurping up his slick before tonguing his sensitive hole. Miguel squirms around in protest. Why does this feel so good? He wants to curse you out but he's worried about what you’ll do if he acts out. He feels terrible and so fucking good at the same time. He wants to kill you but he also doesn't want you to stop. He rolls his eyes back and squirts again, feeling extremely exhausted.

You pull away and stand up, stripping down to nothing. Miguel looks at your cock in horror. That's not going to fit! He desperately tries to get away but he can't do much in the position he's in.

“You’re really boosting my ego, Miguel.” You chuckle, kneeling back down and grabbing his waist. You pull him close to you so his thighs are on yours and your shaft is right against his cunt. “I’m going to enjoy this.” You look at him like the 5 star meal he is. You move him so that his pussy is sliding up and down your length, bringing the both of you pleasure.

He bares his fangs, showing you how angry he is without speaking. “Aw, you don't like this?” You frown, faking sympathy. “Or is it that you want something else?” You grin. “You want me to fuck you, is that it? You want me to finally fuck you?”

Miguel shakes his head rapidly. You move him backwards, just enough for you to be able to make an easier entrance. You point your tip against his clit, smearing pre cum over it and sliding down in between his folds. You tease him with your entrance, you're gently thrusting into him but only the tip is entering him. He can't stand the feeling. You eventually stop and slowly push your cock inside of him. You weren't exaggerating when you said he’d feel every inch of you. You’re practically tearing him apart with the way you’re stretching him out. You bite your lip, thoroughly enjoying his pussy. “I think I’m in heaven.”

If you’re in heaven, then Miguel’s in hell. You slowly slide in and out of him, reveling in his wet warmth. “That's right baby, sit back and take it like the pretty little slut you are.” You place your hand over the bulge of your cock on his stomach, enjoying the way it feels as you move and how sexy he looks with his tummy bulging. “You’re doing so good for me, you know that? Doing so well…”

He doesn't want to be good for you. He doesn't want you to enjoy this. If he wasn't afraid of the consequences he’d curse you out. You rub his clit gently, causing his breathing to turn shallow. “I wanna feel you come..” You mutter. “Come for me, baby.”

He grits his teeth, trying to stop himself from giving you what you want but it's too difficult. He can't hold back. It all feels too good, his pussy feels way too good, he can't do anything to prevent this. He shuts his eyes and comes, walls fluttering around your length. “You’re such a good boy, Miguel. You may be prickly but at least you know how to follow orders.” You caress his cheek. He turns away from your touch. “Even after all that…you're still trying to keep up this facade?” You pull away and turn him onto his stomach. “You won't be able to pretend any longer, Miguel.” You raise his ass in the air and plunge your length fully into him. He gasps. Miguel doesn't even get a minute to adjust to the new position thanks to you suddenly pounding into him. He rolls his eyes back, letting out uncontrollable moans as you fuck the shame out of him. He can barely think over the explicit sounds of your hips snapping against his ass and the loud wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of his sensitive pussy. You're going too fast for him to even try and act like he doesn't like it. He’s always had a thing for being treated roughly and you're fulfilling his need for it. You pull on his hair, causing him to let out an almost scream-like moan as he squirts.

“Fu- fuck-” He feels tears welling up in his eyes as you continue fucking him through his orgasm.

“‘M gonna give you the child you always wanted, Miguel.” You fuck him even rougher than before, chasing your orgasm. Tears flow rapidly from Miguel’s eyes, as if there was a blockage that contained all his tears and prevented him from crying all these years. He sobs, crying loudly as you overwhelm him with pleasure. It feels good but it's too much, he can't handle it. He loves it but he needs it to stop. “Ah, I love hearing you cry..” You slow down your thrusts and dump your load inside of him. Miguel uses this break to finally catch his breath and calm down.

“Aw, was it too much for you, baby?” You coo, rubbing your hand down his back.

Miguel nods. “Ple- please..” He whimpers.

You pull out and turn him around. You pick him up and sink him down on your cock. You place your hands on his waist and kiss his cheek. “You’re so pretty when you cry, you know that?” You caress his face gently. He sniffles, not sure how to feel about that. You press your lips against his, kissing him slowly and sensually. Miguel reciprocates the kiss, following your tongue movements and subconsciously grinding down on your cock. He feels a little less stimulated than before. He feels like he's about to have an orgasm that’ll never come and somehow it feels good. He doesn't know how he feels about you now but you make him feel good, and thanks to the current state of mind he's in now, that's all that matters.

You pull away from the kiss and pepper kisses down his throat and to his chest. You undo the clip in the middle of his bra, causing the two cups to separate and reveal his breasts. You latch onto his nipple, sucking it gently while your hand goes to pull and twist on the other one. Miguel whimpers in pleasure. His nipples are so sensitive, he’ll definitely come from this. “mmh..” Miguel grinds down harder as he orgasms, his pussy clenching and unclenching around your length. You pull away from his nipple, your saliva dripping down the brown bud.

He still despises you but he knows he'll be stuck with you from now on. He’ll eventually learn to love you.

Miguel turns on the radio as he starts cooking breakfast. The reporter talks about all the crime going on in the city and he doesn't seem to care, even though he’s back to normal and completely autonomous, he has no intention of going out to fight. He wants to stay home with you. The Spider Society’s been trying to contact him but he's ignored all their calls. He only leaves the house for dates and groceries, why would he go anywhere without you? He loves you so much, he wants to stay by your side as much as he can. Nobody seems to understand it but he doesn't care to explain it to them. Peter B. and Jessica have been trying to convince Miguel to come back and many spider people have tried to kill you but to no avail. He doesn't want to come back, especially not when they're trying to kill his beloved. He’s perfectly content with where he is now and he can't wait to have his first child with you.

[lilithlounge]

Lust Asteroid in Signs & Houses

I offer personalized Asteroid Readings, message me or hit my Ko-Fi or Buy Me A Coffee and get a +1 free reading 🤍.

Lust (asteroid 4386) is raw, primal, I-need-it-now desire. It’s how you pursue sex, what drives you wild, and what body parts light you up.

Lust in Aries – I Take What I Want

You crave fast, rough, impulsive passion. No patience, just grabbing, biting, pinning against walls energy. It’s heat, sweat, and dominance, now or never, and preferably now.

Turn-ons: Competition, chase, bossy lovers.

Body part: Head, scalp *hair pulling*, forehead kisses, or just mind games.

Lust in Taurus – Slow Burn Sin

You want luxury, touch, and sensual overload. It’s not just sex, it’s a five-senses experience. Long foreplay, teasing, silk sheets, and delicious tension.

Turn-ons: Food play, massage, ownership.

Body part: Neck, throat, soft kisses, chokes, whispers.

Lust in Gemini – Dirty Talk Champion

For you, it’s all in the mind and the mouth. You want teasing convos, quickies, and mental stimulation. You crave variety, exploration, and getting turned on mid-convo.

Turn-ons: Sexting, role play, public flirting.

Body part: Hands, fingers, texting, touching, tying you up.

Lust in Cancer – Tender Destruction

You want emotional seduction, but also to be ruined with love and touch. You’re drawn to passion wrapped in trust, and sex that feels like soul-bonding.

Turn-ons: Cuddling before AND after, emotional tension.

Body part: Chest, stomach, lingering hands, deep embraces, soft bites.

Lust in Leo – Worship Me, Then Devour Me

You want attention, praise, drama, and star-level passion. You crave adoration, compliments, and performance-level sex. If it’s not a show, you’re bored.

Turn-ons: Praise kink, being watched, mirrors.

Body part: Back, spine scratches, kisses, power moves.

Lust in Virgo – Filthy Precision

You crave clean kink, perfect touches, and total surrender to detail. You want to serve or be served, and the smallest moves = biggest reactions. It’s control, restraint, then release.

Turn-ons: Control play, teasing, “oops I’m innocent” energy.

Body part: Hands, lower belly light pressure, skilled fingers, body awareness.

Lust in Libra – Elegant Chaos

You want aesthetic seduction, charm, and a perfect balance of tease and please. Sex must feel beautiful and balanced, but also dangerously flirty.

Turn-ons: Eye contact, lingerie, “accidental” touches.

Body part: Lower back, butt caresses, light grabs, sensual dominance.

Lust in Scorpio – Emotional Carnage

You want to possess or be possessed. Period. It’s deep, obsessive, transformational sex where boundaries disappear and souls get entangled.

Turn-ons: Power play, eye contact, secrets.

Body part: Hips, genitals, intense sensations, emotional intensity.

Lust in Sagittarius – Wild & Free Sin

You crave adventure, thrill, and spontaneous chaos. You want sex that feels like an epic story but different locations, positions, languages... all of it.

Turn-ons: Outdoors, travel, wild experiments.

Body part: Thighs grabbing, riding, being chased.

Lust in Capricorn – The Controlled Destroyer

You want control, status, and slow domination. You’re strategic in seduction, but feral behind closed doors. Power plays? Yes please.

Turn-ons: Restraint, authority, delayed gratification.

Body part: Knees, bones, submission play, bending, positioning.

Lust in Aquarius – Unpredictable Filth

You crave weird, wild, experimental experiences. Sex is a mind game, a rebellion, and a futuristic fantasy. If it’s unconventional, you’re in.

Turn-ons: Toys, tech, unconventional positions/partners.

Body part: Ankles, calves restraints, movement, standing play.

Lust in Pisces – Dreamy Degeneracy

You want spiritual chaos, emotional drowning, and fantasy made flesh. You’re soft, sensual, and secretly dangerous when it comes to sex. You lose yourself in the moment and take them with you.

Turn-ons: Music, water, emotional play, surrender.

Body part: Feet, toes don’t ask.

[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.

[kaces-graham-crackers]

A Love to Die For - Valentine's Special

| -Wednesday Addams x Reader- |

Summary: A fierce fencing duel with Wednesday Addams turns rivalry into fascination. As blades clash, sharp wit and reckless defiance ignite curiosity and desire, blurring the line between enemies and something deeper. Victory is only the beginning, as an unconventional confession leads to an unexpected challenge of hearts.

Word Count: 1.6k

Somewhere along the way, this rivalry had become something else. It was supposed to be simple—an exchange of sharp words, a competition that never tipped past the edge of control. But the moment you challenged Wednesday Addams to a duel, that line blurred. Yoko had leaned against your desk, fangs glinting in the dim light of your dorm, entirely too smug for someone offering terrible advice. "If you want to impress Wednesday, do it in a way she'll actually respect." You had raised a brow. "By fighting her?" "By beating her," Yoko corrected. "Or at least making her work for it. She doesn't care about compliments—she cares about opposition. If you challenge her and hold your own, she'll be thinking about you for days." It made a disturbing amount of sense. But standing here now, on the polished fencing mat beneath the cold hum of the gymnasium lights, you were starting to think this was a terrible idea. Wednesday stood across from you, rapier poised, dark eyes calculating even through the mesh of her mask. There was no hesitation in her stance or doubt in how she held her blade. She had already measured you and begun dismantling your technique before the duel started. She wasn't wondering if she would win. She was determining how long it would take. Still, you lifted your blade. If she wanted to crush you, she'd have to earn it. The match began.

Blades clashed, the sharp ring of metal cutting through the still air. Wednesday fought like she knew the outcome before it arrived—every strike designed to lure you into a mistake, every shift of her weight a silent command you refused to follow. But you weren't a fool. You had studied her just as much as she had studied you. She favored control. Precision. Restraint. So you gave her chaos. A feint where there shouldn't be one. A reckless advance when caution would have been wiser. She adapted quickly—of course she did—but for a fleeting moment, you could see it. The way her fingers tightened around the hilt of her rapier. The sharp flicker of something electric in her expression. Amusement. Excitement. She was enjoying this. It nearly made you hesitate. And that, of course, was precisely when she struck. One misstep. One fraction of a second where she predicted your movement before you did. She turned the momentum against you in a single, fluid motion, her rapier slipping past your defenses like this had been inevitable all along. The strike's sting barely registered—what did was the sudden, breathless closeness. Her blade rested against your side, not pressing, just lingering, deliberate, and absolute. Victory. She had won. But the way she was looking at you? It felt like something else entirely. You yanked off your mask, exhaling hard. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, but Wednesday? She wasn't even out of breath. Her expression remained unreadable, but her gaze was too heavy and lingering like she was still assessing you. As if she were deciding something. And then—just as quickly as she had dismantled you on the mat—she turned and walked away. Leaving you standing there, gripping your rapier like you could still salvage something from the wreckage.

From the sidelines, Yoko let out a low whistle. "Well. That wasn't a total disaster." You shot her a glare, still trying to catch your breath. "I lost." "Yeah, but she looked at you like a person instead of an obstacle. That's progress." You opened your mouth—then closed it. Because she wasn't wrong. And that was exactly what scared you.

Wednesday sat at her desk, fingers resting idly against the worn spine of a book she hadn't turned a page of in twenty minutes. Thing tapped against the desk impatiently as if demanding an answer to a question neither of them had asked. Wednesday ignored him. Her mind was still elsewhere. Still turning over every second of the duel—how you fought without discipline but made up for it in instinct and unpredictability. The way you had dared to challenge her at all. You had been reckless. Unrefined. And absolutely fascinating.

Enid sprawled across her bed, finally noticed the silence. "Okay, you're thinking too hard. What's up?" Wednesday lifted a brow. "I think hard all the time." Enid rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but this is different. You're brooding." Thing tapped again. Wednesday exhaled, slow, and measured. "They fought well," she admitted. "Poorly executed but undeniably persistent." She tapped her fingers once against the desk, almost thoughtful. "They do not know when to surrender." Thing slammed a hand against the wood. Enid blinked. Then—her face split into a knowing grin. "Oh. Ohhh." Wednesday frowned. "What?" "You like them." The accusation was made Wednesday, but only for a fraction of a second. She closed her book with a soft snap. "That is a drastic oversimplification."

Enid cackled. "Oh my god, you totally do." Things dramatically flopped onto his back. Wednesday was inhaled, slow, and patient as if speaking to children. "I merely find them… intriguing." She considered it for a moment longer, tilting her head. "I suppose I'll ask them out." Enid choked. Thing threw himself off the desk. Wednesday lifted a brow, watching them flail in disbelief. "You're both being ridiculous." Enid pointed an accusatory finger at her. "You—Wednesday—you just said that like you were deciding to conduct a science experiment!" Wednesday simply folded her hands over her lap. "Perhaps I am." Thing slammed the floor in frustration in an attempt to face-palm. Enid groaned. "Oh my god. This is the worst enemies-to-lovers I've ever seen." But Wednesday ignored them both. Because for the first time in a long time—She was curious. And that? That was dangerous. You should have expected it. Really, you should have.

But when Addams appeared at your dorm door on Wednesday at exactly 9:06 PM, rapping her knuckles against the wood with the precision that suggested she had calculated the most effective knocking pattern for optimal response time—yeah, you hadn't expected that. You stared at her, still gripping the door handle, brain scrambling to catch up. "…Addams?"

Wednesday lifted her chin slightly, her expression unreadable except for the sharp flicker of something in her dark eyes—like she was studying you, assessing how best to deliver a blow. "I have decided something," she said, with no preamble. You blinked. "Um. Okay?" Thing appeared on your desk, signing to warn you of the incoming disaster. Wednesday barely acknowledged him. "I've given the matter appropriate consideration," she continued, voice flat, clinical-like she was delivering a scientific thesis instead of… whatever this was. "And I've come to a conclusion." A pause. A long pause. "…Are you gonna tell me, or are we standing here until the next century?" She didn't even blink. "We should go on a date." The words hit like a punch to the sternum. You blinked again. Once. Twice. Brain buffering. "… I'm sorry, what?" Wednesday tilted her head slightly as if contemplating the possibility that you had lost all cognitive function. "A date," she repeated, unaffected. "A courtship. An outing for mutual observation and analysis, culminating in the determination of compatibility." Your jaw dropped. "Did you just—did you just ask me out like it was a lab report?" "I fail to see how else one would ask someone out." You ran a hand down your face, your brain struggling to keep up with reality.

Wednesday Addams. Asking you on a date. You squinted at her, trying to read between the lines. "Wait. Is this another mind game? Are you trying to humiliate me in some slow-burn, Addams-style revenge plot?" Wednesday blinked, expression as unreadable as ever, but her voice dipped just slightly—lower, quieter. "I do not waste time on things that do not interest me." Your stomach did something that felt dangerously close to flipping. And then—just like that—you understood. The fencing match. The scrutiny. How she had studied you was like an enigma that required solving, a puzzle that was suddenly worth solving. Wednesday didn't just challenge people. She tested them. And somehow—you had passed. You exhaled, still struggling to process the reality of your life choices leading up to this moment. "Okay, um. First, that's the creepiest way anyone's ever asked me out." Wednesday hummed, pleased. "Good." "Second of all—are you seriously interested in me?" Her dark eyes didn't waver. "I would not waste my time otherwise." …Okay. That was probably the closest thing to a confession you would ever get. You crossed your arms, tilting your head. "Fine. Where exactly would we be going if we go on a date?" Wednesday clasped her hands behind her back, her posture almost too composed, as if she had already anticipated the question. "There is a cemetery just outside Jericho that dates back to the early 1800s," she said with zero hesitation. "They host midnight burials for reenactment purposes. I believe it would be both informative and engaging." You stared. Thing threw himself off your desk. "… You're taking me to a funeral?" "A simulated funeral," she corrected. "There will be organ music." You dragged a hand down your face, questioning every decision that led you here. "…You know what? Fine. Let's do it." Wednesday's eyes glinted, satisfied. "I knew you would say yes." Oh god, what had you just agreed to?

|Back in Wednesday's Dorm| "You're actually going on a date," Enid whispered, half in shock, half in delight, watching as Wednesday methodically polished the buttons of her usual black attire. Wednesday didn't look up. "I would not have asked otherwise." Thing tapped aggressively on the desk, asking what she planned to do next. Wednesday considered. "If the evening goes well, I may ask them to assist in an exhumation." Enid screamed into her pillow.

[tribalmajesty05]

Title: The Tribal Chief vs. Period Cramps

Summary: Roman reigns uses an unconventional method to help you with your period cramps

Roman Reigns X You

*****

The heat from the pad was helping, but it wasn’t what was making you melt into the bed.

Roman’s hands were.

He had you lying back against the pillows, hoodie riding up, bare legs tangled with his. His touch was firm but slow, reverent like he knew just how sensitive your body was and was worshiping every inch. His lips skimmed down your neck, over your collarbone, his beard sending tiny shocks through your nerves.

“You sure you’re up for this?” he murmured, thumb circling your inner thigh, dangerously close.

You nodded, voice soft. “It actually… helps. Being touched like this.”

A dark, knowing smile played on his lips. “Then I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, “but I’m not going to be sweet the whole time.”

His mouth moved down your body, lifting the hem of your hoodie with slow precision, revealing your soft skin underneath. He pressed a kiss just above the waistband of your panties, his hands spreading your thighs apart.

“You’re always so perfect,” he murmured, tracing along the edge of the fabric. “Even when you’re hurting.”

With a careful tug, he pulled your panties down, exposing you. His fingers slid along your folds, slow and teasing, before he dipped one in—testing the waters.

You let out a soft moan, arching slightly. “Roman…”

“I got you,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “You don’t have to do anything. Just feel.”

He lowered his mouth between your thighs, tongue warm and firm as he worked you open, slow and thorough. Every stroke of his tongue was measured, patient—until he had you trembling under his hold. Your hands fisted in the sheets, head thrown back, your cramp forgotten under waves of pleasure.

When he slid two thick fingers inside you, curling them just right, you cried out his name. His mouth returned to your clit, tongue moving in tandem with his fingers, coaxing your body closer to the edge.

You came hard, breathless, eyes fluttering, body clenching around him.

But Roman wasn’t done.

He kissed his way back up, stripping off his shirt and pressing his chest to yours. You reached down, feeling the outline of his length pressing hot against his sweatpants.

“I want you,” you whispered.

“You’ve got me,” he growled, voice thick with restraint.

He slid into you slowly, groaning against your mouth as he bottomed out. The stretch was perfect, grounding and full, and he didn’t move at first—just held you, kissed you deep, let you adjust.

Then, slowly, he started to move.

Each thrust was deliberate, his hips rolling against yours, sending shockwaves through your already sensitive body. He never took his eyes off yours—every moan you let out made his jaw clench, made him move deeper.

“Say it,” he whispered, voice low and ragged.

“Say what?”

“That I make it better.”

You cupped his face, kissed him hard. “You always do.”

He came moments later, with a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in your neck as he pulsed inside you. His arms tightened around your waist, protective, grounding.

Afterward, he stayed buried in you for a few quiet minutes, gently stroking your side, letting your breathing sync again.

“Still hurting?” he asked, voice tender.

You smiled lazily. “Only from you.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin. “Good. Let the cramps know I took care of business.”

And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew one thing for sure:

Roman Reigns never loses a fight—especially not one against your pain.

[sadseungmin]

♡ sex with psychotic hyung-line ♡

psychotic hyung-line x reader | gender neutral | dead dove | nsfw (MDNI)

⚠︎ Bang Chan ⚠︎

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!chan is possessive & intensely passionate during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

During sex, Chan's possessiveness translates into an intense, almost primal passion. He wants to mark your skin--his territory--with dark love bites and bruises, ensuring you know that you belong to him and only him. Expect a lot of eye contact, biting, and gripping hands as if he's afraid you might disappear. Chan's intensity borders on roughness, but it's all driven by a deep, obsessive love.

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!chan is obsessively devoted & tender during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Chan believes sex is an act of worship. He lavishes attention on every part of your body, wanting to memorize and own every inch. His touches are gentle but possessive, his kisses long and lingering. He whispers sweet nothings and reassurances, reminding you constantly of his undying love and your irreplaceable place in his life.

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!chan is dominating & controlling during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Chan craves control, and this desire extends to the bedroom. He takes on a dominant role, orchestrating the entire experience to his liking. His commands are firm but laced with a dark, seductive tone that makes obedience almost irresistible. Chan enjoys teasing, edging you until you're begging for release, savoring the power he holds. Despite the control, there's a twisted care in his action, ensuring your pleasure is paramount, albeit on his terms.

"Face down, ass up--I don't care if you're tired. I need to fuck you until your insides are in the shape of my cock. Do you understand, baby? Be good for me, yeah?"

⚠︎ Lee Minho ⚠︎

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!minho is manipulative & teasing during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Minho enjoys having complete control over your pleasure, playing with you until you're pleading and crying for release. His teasing is relentless and borderline cruel, pushing you to the edge again and again without allowing you to climax until he decides. This control satisfies his darker impulses, making him feel powerful and in command. You will be left in a state of heightened desire, completely at his mercy.

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!minho is protective & intense during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Minho wants to ensure you feel safe and cherished, albeit in his own intense way. His touches are both possessive and tender, a mix of roughness and gentleness. He's vocal about his need to protect you, whispering assurances and praises a he brings you pleasure. This duality of protectiveness and intensity makes the experience deeply emotional and physically overwhelming.

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!minho aims to fulfill his dark fantasies during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Minho wants to explore darker fantasies with you. He enjoys pushing boundaries, indulging in role-play and scenarios that are as thrilling as they are intense. You are the center of these unconventional fantasies, and Minho ensures your experiences are as immersive as possible. This could involve sex toys, blindfolds, restraints, and detailed role-play scenarios that feed his darker desires while ensuring you are always a willing participant, fully immersed in the shared fantasy.

"Awe, my poor little kitten. Did I put the vibrator on the highest setting? Be careful, thrashing about will only make the restraints tighter! You just gotta take it like the good kitty I trained you to be. And don't you dare fucking cum."

⚠︎ Seo Changbin ⚠︎

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!changbin is overwhelmingly dominant during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Changbin's psychotic tendencies amplify his need for dominance, resulting in overwhelming and commanding sexual encounters. Changbin takes full control, ensuring you know who is in charge. His dominant nature means he likes to assert his power physically, using his strength to pin you down or lift you effortlessly. His intensity is matched by his deep desire to see you submit completely, finding pleasure in your surrender and the raw power he holds over you.

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!changbin is fiercely passionate & obsessive during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Changbin is intensely focused on you during sex, handling you with rough and tender touches. His passion is overwhelming, driven by an obsessive need to make you feel pleasure like never before. He's quite loud while fucking you, expressing his love and desire with a mix of growls and whispered confessions, ensuring you know just how deeply obsessed he is with you.

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!changbin is sadistic & controlling during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Changbin's psychotic nature includes a sadistic streak, taking pleasure in the control he has over your pleasure and pain. He enjoys mixing pleasure with a hint of pain, such as using light bondage or impact play, always ensuring it's pleasurable. Your reactions to this mix of sensations drive him feral, and he takes careful note of what brings you to the edge, pushing boundaries to keep things exciting and intense.

"See, sweetie? I told you I'd make it fit! Doesn't it feel good to be split open on my cock like this? Oh, don't mind the blood, sweetie; it just means your hole is adjusting to become my perfect fleshlight. Fuck, I'm so in love with you!"

⚠︎ Hwang Hyunjin ⚠︎

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!hyunjin is unpredictable & wild during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Sex with Hyunjin would be wild and spontaneous. Hyunjin is driven by sudden impulses and desires, making each encounter different from the last. One moment, he's gentle and sweet, and the next, he's rough and demanding. This unpredictability keeps you on edge, never quite knowing what to expect but always thrillingly intense. During sex, his actions are driven by a chaotic mix of love and obsession.

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!hyunjin is obsessively attentive to detail during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Hyunjin is fixated on every reaction you make, memorizing every gasp and moan. His goal is to drive you to the brink of ecstasy and back, learning exactly what makes you tick. This can mean prolonged foreplay, where he explores every inch of your body with a meticulous, almost clinical precision, ensuring they're completely overwhelmed by pleasure.

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!hyunjin is darkly & possessively affectionate during sex *✧･ﾟ:*

Hyunjin's affection is dark and possessive, and during sex, this manifests in thrilling, yet terrifying way. He likes to remind you that you're his and his alone, using a mix of physical restraint and verbal affirmation. Hyunjin will bind your hands, whispering in your ear about how no else can have you, all while driving you to the heights of pleasure. His touch is a mix of rough and tender, balancing his darker impulses with genuine care.

"Your body is my favorite canvas, angel. Every inch of you is mine and mine alone. Every mark I leave on your skin, every drop of my cum that paints the inside of your walls is just a testament to that."

[all-for-the-game-confessions]

A lot of people don’t actually like Andriel. Which isn’t to say that they hate it, but I see so many people upset that Nora said they wouldn’t get married or say ‘I love you’ and it’s like, did.. did we read the same books? Andrew’s whole character is ‘love’ (said like that because it sounds wrong. I mean it like ‘care’) behind a stone wall of silence. Like, he does care. Obviously. But he can’t stand the word ‘family’, you think he’s out here saying ‘I love you’? He’s not gentle or sappy. He can show restraint and be merciful, but he’s not going to coddle Neil. Neil has never been coddled, and he doesn’t need to be. They still care about each other and show affection. He doesn’t HAVE TO SAY IT. Neil KNOWS. He’s not insecure and friending for Andrew’s attention and affection. In Baltimore, he literally knows Andrew won’t leave without at least talking to him. They have ‘I hate you’, and keys, and a home, and ‘stay’. Neil gets that. He makes dumb decisions in accordance to survival, but Neil is incredibly smart, especially when it comes to understanding Andrew. Marriage has never meant anything to either of them— it didn’t matter to any of Andrew’s abusers if they were married, and he probably saw so many fights and divorces that marriage is as fake to him as everything. Neil’s mother, assumedly married to his father, was KILLED BY HER HUSBAND. MARRIAGE MEANS NOTHING TO THEM. “I LOVE YOU” HAS NEVER MEANT ANYTHING TO THEM BC ANYONE WHO HAS EVER SAID THAT TO THEM, IF IT WAS EVER SAID, HAS CAUSED THEM SOME FORM OF PAIN. ‘B-but if they say that, it means they healed!’ ACTING ACCORDING TO THE NORMAL STANDARDS OF A CONVENTIONAL RELATIONSHIP IS NOT THE BAR FOR HEALING. Which brings me to another thing,’w-what do you mean Andrew doesn’t heal?!’ It means he doesn’t act ‘normal’. He’s fundamentally not normal. Neither is Neil. Neither of them ‘heal’. They are not half as low as some people think, and they don’t have to smile or act like a sitcom couple for them to love each other. Andrew choked someone out with A BROKEN CLAVICLE BC THEY HURT NEIL, EVEN WITHOUT A PROMISE, BECAUSE HE CARES. Andrew still cares, Nora said he eventually finds himself being okay and even maybe having fun with Exy (of course taken with a grain of salt bc it’s not in the book it’s a post she made but still), Andrew goes to therapy and HUGS HIS BROTHER BEFORE THEY PART WAYS at the end of college. THEY ARE NOT AS LOW AS YOU THINK. If you are upset they do not meet a convention, you have completely missed the point. They are supposed to be UNCONVENTIONAL. They are NOT ‘NORMAL’ HUMAN BEINGS. One of the reasons I love them so much is because they’re not just your average couple. They feel like actual love, or at least magnetism/attraction, because they’re not in it trying to hit every milestone everyone else thinks they should have because they’re together.

Rant over. To each their own, but I love Andriel as the unglorious assholes they are.

.

[year-of-whump-tropes]

Here is the list for July!

July: Captivity

Week 1: Tied up/restraints

Day 1:

Tied up

Straightjacket

Day 2:

Chained

"Nice and snug."

Day 3:

Dungeon

What are some of your favorite things about whump?

Day 4:

Hanging from the ceiling

"Can't have you getting out."

Day 5:

Unconventional restraints

What’s your favorite way to restrain a whumpee?

Day 6:

Chafing

“You look so pretty tied up like that.”

Day 7:

Bound to a chair

Bound to a wall

Week 2: Sensory tortures/restrictions

Day 1:

Darkness/blindfold

Headphones/earplugs

Day 2:

Isolation/solitary confinement

"Make it stop."

Day 3:

White room torture

What torture would be most effective against your character(s)?

Day 4:

Silent treatment

“It’s not real.”

Day 5:

Sensory bombardment/overload

Deprivation or overload? Why?

Day 6:

Sensory deprivation

“Please…”

Day 7:

Sound

Lights

Week 3: Torture/abuse

Day 1:

Left to the elements

“This will teach you.”

Day 2:

Threats

“It’ll be worse if you watch”

Day 3:

Starvation

How would your characters respond differently to torture?

Day 4:

Whipping

"Why, you—!"

Day 5:

Abusive language

Who’s your most abusive or cruel character?

Day 6:

Drowning/waterboarding

“How long can you hold your breath?”

Day 7:

Breaking bones

Hitting

Week 4: Possessive whumper

Day 1:

Grabbing

“No one gets you but me.”

Day 2:

Failed escape

“I told you to leave that on.”

Day 3:

Multiple whumpers

What’s your favorite kind of whumper?

Day 4:

Stalking

“Now everyone will know you’re mine”

Day 5:

Jealous behavior

Who’s your favorite character to whump?

Day 6:

Treated as property

“Who else could make you feel this way?”

Day 7:

Multiple whumpees

“You belong to me”

[moonstruckme]

I absolutely love your writing!! Could I request some hurt/comfort poly!marauders? Like maybe people are judging/really rude to reader about their relationship and the boys defend her and their relationship and make her feel better 🥹

Absolutely you can! Hope this is what you were looking for babe <3

cw: bullying, sexual shaming

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“Whore,” Lucius hisses as he brushes past you in the hall. 

You hear James’ inhale beside you a second before you whirl. “What was that, Malfoy?”

“Too fucked out to hear me?” he sneers, coming to a stop and turning to face you. Your heart stutters at his words, but you’re careful not to let anything show on your face. “Don’t suppose you’re good for much except sucking dick, but I have to say, I’m impressed those Gryffindors caught onto it before the rest of us. I mean, why else would they bring you in on their precious trio?” His lip curls, and while there’s amusement there, there’s also genuine disgust that makes some small, pathetic part of you shrivel up in shame. “Slut.” 

“Sweetheart?” James asks, and you wonder if the restraint in his voice is as obvious to everyone else as it is to you. Want me to step in here?

You shake your head at him, but your stare is zeroed in on Lucius. You pout at him sympathetically. “I know it must be hard for you to understand. How’d I get three hot people interested in me, when you can't even get one to look your way?” You shoot him your best impression of Sirius’ wolfish grin. “Don’t worry, Malfoy, someone will come along who’s into all your inbred, Nazi bullshit one day. Maybe even a cousin, if you’re lucky!”

You continue back on your way, pretending you don’t need the steadying hand James rests at the small of your back as you stride down the hall. You make it through the common room, up the stairs, and into the boys’ dorm room before you lose momentum, releasing a shell-shocked, tremulous breath. 

James’ arms are around you in an instant, though it takes you a second longer to melt into his embrace. 

“Are you okay? You seemed like you wanted to handle it yourself, but I wasn’t sure.” 

You take a deep breath. “No, you were right. Thanks, Jamie. It just would have made it worse if it looked like I couldn’t defend myself.” 

There’s a shuffling of sheets, and you turn your head to find you’d been so distracted you hadn’t noticed Remus on his bed, studying. He sits up to look at the pair of you with concerned amber eyes, a question evident in his face. 

James saves you from responding, clutching you tighter and pressing a kiss to your head. “Had a run-in with Malfoy.” 

Remus sighs, the sound knowing. “That’s never good, is it?” His gaze falls squarely on you. “You alright, lovely?” 

You nod automatically, though your hands are trembling slightly. You’ve never been good at conflict, but pricks like Malfoy sometimes require you to rise to the occasion. It bothers you that someone like him, whom you don’t respect and whose opinion you couldn’t value less, can still rattle you like this. You know your relationship is unconventional, but it’s good. You haven’t been dating for very long, but you feel the rightness of it every day. Your boyfriends treat you better than anyone can reasonably deserve. You love them. Still…

“Do you think that’s what everyone thinks?” You extricate yourself from James, trying not to sound as pathetic as you feel. At Remus’ bemused expression, you add, “That you guys are only dating me because I put out, I mean.” 

James looks horrified. “Do you think that?”

“No,” you say, apparently too quickly, because neither boy looks like they believe you. “I don’t. I just…I don’t know, it’s stupid to care what people think, right?”

James bites his lip, and Remus looks at you consideringly. “I wouldn’t call it stupid,” he says after a moment. “It may not be the best guiding principle to always do what people want you to, but they’re not usually easy to ignore either.”

You heave a sigh, collapsing onto Sirius’ empty bed. “Exactly. I don’t want everyone calling me a slut all the time now.” 

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up. “What exactly did Malfoy say to you?”

You hesitate, looking to James in the hopes he’ll answer for you again, but before either of you can say anything, Sirius whooshes in the door. 

He completely fails to read the room, all bright eyes and good spirits as he struts over to his bed and leans down over you, his forearms on either side of your head. 

“I just heard about your Malfoy kerfuffle from Marlene,” he says, kissing you with a smack. “That’s my girl.” 

You can’t help but smile a little, his energy infectious. James gets in on the action too, patting your cheek as he sits down beside the two of you. “She was pretty amazing,” he says. “I thought Malfoy was going to shit the stick right out of his ass.” 

“Alright,” Remus says, the tiniest hint of impatience in his tone, “apparently I need to be caught up. What happened?”

“Our sweet angel said that Malfoy gets no bitches,” Sirius proclaimed proudly. “And then she told him to fuck one of his cousins.” 

“Well,” you say sheepishly, sitting up, “that’s not exactly word-for-word.” 

Remus quirks an eyebrow, but he’s smiling. “No? Give me the summary, then.”

“Basically, Malfoy said you guys only brought me in on your relationship because I put out, and uh, something about me only being good for sucking dick,” you say hesitantly, as if every word he uttered isn’t going to be seared into your memory forever. “So then I said he was jealous that I got three people to like me while he has no one, but…um, I did say something like maybe if he was lucky, he’d find a cousin that was into him.” 

All three of the boys are grinning at you, and Sirius plants another smacker on your cheek. 

“Attagirl,” Remus says, nodding approvingly. 

“Thanks.” You hope your face isn’t as red as it feels. “I guess now, I’m just a little worried that Lucius was just the only one who would say something? Like, what if everyone else is thinking the same thing?”

“Sweetheart,” James says, reaching around you to rub your upper arm comfortingly, “anyone who’s spoken to you for, like, point five seconds is gonna know that’s not true.” 

“Wait.” Sirius shakes his head, working to catch up to the conversation that started when he wasn’t in the room. “Are you really worried about what that prick said?”

You shrug, sheepish and a bit ashamed. “It’s not him, it’s more like…my classmates, and my professors. I wonder who agrees with him.” 

“Baby, anyone who agrees with Lucius Malfoy is just placing themselves in the same camp of idiots he’s in,” Sirius insists. His tone is light, but his eyes lock in on yours, feeling out how serious you are about this. “Our relationship isn’t anybody’s business, but our friends already know how you are, and they’ll defend you to anyone who asks.”

Remus nods. “Agreed. If anyone wants to believe that sort of baseless, cruel gossip, they’re probably not the lot you want to be around anyways. Just like Malfoy, yeah? If you cared what he thought,” Remus pauses to raise a playful eyebrow at you, “you probably wouldn’t be suggesting he fuck his cousins.” 

You grin. “Please, like he needed my encouragement on that one. You’re right, though, thanks.” 

James squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t let him get in your head, sweetheart. Everyone who matters already knows he’s full of shit.” 

“Yeah, and you should’ve heard Marl boasting about you in the common room,” Sirius adds. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she buys your butterbeers next time we’re in Hogsmeade.” 

You laugh, but stop when Remus levels you with a serious look. “Anyone talks like that to you again, you come straight to us, understand?”

You nod, and Sirius drags you into his side, eager to lighten the mood again. “Yeah,” he declares, “if anyone’s calling you a slut, it needs to be consensual, and it ought to be me.”

[familiarscars]

drive you insane | noah sebastian | 14

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. noah sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. a mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships.

Wounds that go untouched also rot.

The armchair you sit in is lower than his. Deliberately. The leather creaks under your weight as you cross your legs, and the sound seems to echo through the room, as if the gesture carried something indecent — an intimacy even you can’t quite grasp.

Dr. Rune watches in silence. His eyes don’t look at you the way a psychiatrist looks at a patient. There’s something feral there, too contained to go unnoticed. As if every word he lets slip has already been filtered, weighed, censored — not by professional ethics, but by guilt.

You feel it. You feel it when he analyzes you. When his gaze drags over your hands — still stained with smudges of ink and bruises — and lingers on the line of your jaw, which you keep lifted as if daring the world to collapse first.

The office feels smaller than it should. Too warm, stifling.

You try to hide the tremble in your fingers as you rest your elbow on the armrest.

“Have you been sleeping?” he asks at last. The voice is deep. Precise. That unbearable calm of someone harboring too many secrets.

“More than I should,” you reply with a crooked smile, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Or less than I realize. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

Rune writes something in his notepad. His eyes never leave you. It’s as if he’s studying you with a restrained hunger. Not for you. But for what you represent. For what he knows.

For what you don’t yet know about yourself.

“And the... hallucinations? Are they still happening?”

You hesitate. Your hand moves restlessly across your covered thigh. The way your teeth catch your bottom lip, for a moment, is almost sensual — but also tragic. Almost as if pleasure and dread now share the same frequency in your body.

“If I say no... will you call me a liar?”

Rune leans forward slightly. The tension between you grows like steam trapped behind steel bars.

“I’m not here to judge. You know that.”

You let out a short, sharp laugh and look at him with a disconcerting intensity.

“No, Dr. Rune. You’re here because he wanted you here. Because deep down, Steve trusts you more than he trusts me. And maybe... maybe I do too.”

Silence. Heavy. He closes the notepad slowly.

“Do you know why he chose me?”

You smile. A sick kind of smile. You know.

Rune presses his lips together, eyes shadowed. The office is hot. Too quiet. And for the first time, you feel like you could slip. Like you’re being pushed — gently, mercilessly — inward.

Into yourself.

Into him.

You don’t look away. And neither does he. For a second — or maybe more — the room disappears. The whole world seems trapped in the space between your eyes and his. A silence not empty, but crowded with meaning.

Rune tilts his head slightly, as if studying a work of art about to crack.

“That feeling of being watched — does it still happen?” he asks, his voice like velvet folded over broken glass.

You inhale deeply, as if breathing in something dense, almost viscous.

“No. It’s different now.”

“Different how?”

“It used to feel like I was being watched. Now... it’s like someone is inside me. Like I’m... split.”

Rune doesn’t write. He just watches you, and that’s what unsettles you. He doesn’t react with surprise, doesn’t feign concern. It’s as if he knows.

As if he’s always known.

“Are you afraid?”

You smile again, but there’s something wrong with it. A smile cracked, melancholic.

“Fear is a house. Sometimes, we live in it for so long that it starts to feel comfortable.”

Rune leans back, fingers interlaced in front of his mouth, eyes fixed on your face. The way he breathes, slowly, suggests restraint — or maybe a desire to say what he shouldn’t.

“And when you’re alone... do you still feel like you’re you?”

Your body hesitates and your fingers touch your own pulse, as if checking if you’re still there, beating in the right rhythm.

“There are voices. But not like before. Now they’re... memories I’m not sure I lived. Thoughts that don’t feel like mine. Sensations that come out of nowhere, like chills on someone else’s skin. Sometimes I wake up with the taste of blood in my mouth. Sometimes with perfume on the pillow. And sometimes,” you lean forward, just a bit too much, “sometimes I wake up with a sadness so deep I’m sure it doesn’t belong to me.”

Rune doesn’t move. But there’s something in his eyes that flickers. An almost imperceptible moment — but you catch it.

“Have you ever felt that, doctor?” you whisper. “Like something inside you is breaking, but you don’t know what you’ve lost?”

The silence weighs like steel. His hand reaches for a glass of water on the table, but he doesn’t drink. He just holds it. Something in his posture screams restraint — or regret. Or fear.

You still don’t know.

“Sometimes,” he replies at last. “The mind creates voids to survive. But the void isn’t always a hole. Sometimes... it’s a mirror.”

You look at him. Lips tighten. The tension between you hits a point where it feels like something might break — not with a scream, but with a touch. With the brush of fingers. With a gesture far too wrong to be ethical.

“And what if the mirror shows me something I don’t want to see?” you murmur, almost a confession.

Rune leans forward, elbows on knees, and for the first time he seems less doctor and more man. A man exhausted.

A man about to drown with you.

“Then maybe... it’s time to stop running.”

You tilt your head. A strand of hair slips down your cheek and falls onto your collarbone. You don’t brush it away. You just feel it there, as if everything is being watched, absorbed.

“Is that what I’ve been doing? Running?”

“What you’ve been doing... is trying to survive what you don’t yet understand.”

You fall silent.

The sentence echoes inside you like a familiar whisper. Like a memory. Like something that may not have been said by him — but by another voice, in another time. Or another part of her. At last, you stand. And he doesn’t stop you. But he doesn’t say goodbye either.

Before leaving, you cast him one final glance over your shoulder.

“Thank you, Dr. Rune.”

“For what?”

You smile. A bitter, intimate smile, almost... conspiratorial.

“For not looking at me with fear. Not yet.”

And then you leave, leaving behind the echo of something that doesn’t have a name yet, but has already begun to move inside. The smell of old paper and disinfectant greeted you before the door even finished creaking open. It was early, earlier than usual.

Grimshade’s main hallway still yawned in shadows, as if the building hadn’t fully awakened — or maybe it never slept.

You crossed the hall with measured steps, trying to silence the echo, as if you were trespassing inside yourself. The weight of the session with Rune still pressed against your ribs, but you pretended it didn’t. That it was just another day.

The key turned with difficulty in the lock of your own office. The wood gave way with a dry crack. Everything seemed in order — chair in place, curtains half-drawn, your favorite pen resting in the center of the desk. But there was something... off. A subtle cold that didn’t come from the weather.

Your gaze fell on the beige folder resting on the desk.

Your file.

Open.

You hadn’t left it that way.

You swallowed hard. Your hands hesitated for a second, but moved on their own, flipping through pages you knew by heart until your eyes stopped on a sheet that shouldn’t exist.

It was a clinical assessment.

With your name at the top.

With your signature at the bottom.

Your stomach clenched before you even began to read. The text, written with almost surgical precision, read:

Clinical observations: Patient presents recurring signs of persecutory delusion, episodes of identity confusion, and significant memory lapses. Displays patterns of dissociative hypergraphia, filling notebooks and notes with incompatible handwriting.

Containment in a controlled environment is advised, with constant monitoring, due to the possibility of psychotic deterioration and self-harming behavior disguised as clinical rituals.

Responsible signature: Dra.

The blood drained from your fingers. You couldn’t take your eyes off the paper. The stamp was real. The handwriting — it was yours. But you hadn’t written it. You didn’t remember.

And then came the worst part:

You recognized the writing style.

Not just recognized — you yourself used similar phrases in other patients’ reports.

Technical terms, precise organization. And there was something else...

Something in the tone of that analysis that seemed to come from outside. As if someone had observed you from the inside.

Your hand moved to the edge of the sheet, slowly, as if it could tear it from time. But on the back of the page — in red — there was a single sentence:

“You’re not the only one living in there.”

The hallway seemed longer.

The overhead lights flickered in cold tones as you walked briskly, clutching the folder to your chest as if carrying forbidden evidence — or your own heart. You passed straight through the patients' wing, ignoring the restless gazes of a few who’d woken too early. Your focus was clear: the surveillance room.

You knocked on the metal door twice before turning the handle. The guard on duty looked up from his coffee and raised his eyebrows.

“Doctor? Do you need something?”

“I need to review last night’s footage. The hallway cameras in the psychiatric wing,” you said, dryly, directly, with a control that sounded forced even to yourself.

The man cleared his throat.

“Did something happen?”

You hesitated. You wanted to say “yes, someone broke into my office,” but that implied you’d lost control of your own space. You wanted to say “I think someone’s spying on me,” but that would sound exactly like the cases you treat.

“There’s an inconsistency in the records. I just want to check.” He watched you for a second longer than necessary — then shrugged.

“Alright. Just a moment.”

You watched him type something into the old terminal, the keyboard clacking like a warning. He pulled up the footage from the hallway camera on the second floor — the one facing your office door.

The screen flickered in black and white. Static, grainy images began to play.

11:45 PM. Empty hallway. 11:52 PM. Nothing. 12:08 AM. A figure approaching the door.

You leaned forward, blood pounding in your ears.

The figure came into full view. Slow steps. Hands in the pockets of a lab coat.

It was you.

“Pause it,” you said, swallowing hard. “Rewind a little... stop there.”

The image froze at the exact moment the woman on the screen looked straight at the camera, before opening the door with the key. You were alone.

Unhurried.

Without hesitation.

“Does the system log which card was used to open the door?” you asked, not taking your eyes off the screen.

“Yes. Just a second...”

The man typed a few commands. A new panel appeared, displaying the access card log.

Authenticated: 685922 Time: 00:08:14 Door: Office 2B

You recoiled as if slapped.

“Is there... is there a way to check another camera? An internal one, maybe?”

The guard nodded and pulled up the footage from the office camera — one you had requested yourself before, for security reasons. The image appeared in black and white.

The figure entered, dropped the folder on the desk, turned on the lamp. Pulled out a sheet. Wrote.

Minutes later, sat in the chair — the same one you were in now — and continued writing, in silence, for nearly forty minutes.

As if drafting another patient’s report.

As if it were just another ordinary night.

And in the end, stood up. Left the sheet face up. Turned off the lamp.

And left.

You didn’t remember any of it.

But there it was.

The proof. The image. The signature. The access. Everything. You had written your own file.

“Doctor...” the guard began, concerned.

“Could you step out of the room for a moment?” you whispered. He hesitated, but left.

You stayed there, staring at your frozen image on the screen. With your heart pounding and a terrible certainty pulsing in your temples.

If that was a fabrication, it was flawless.

And if it wasn’t... ...then maybe you really were starting to disappear inside yourself.

The late afternoon dragged on over Grimshade, spilling a sepia light across the sanatorium’s arid hills. You walked with dragging steps through the inner garden, a patch of dry earth surrounded by sickly ivy and benches corroded by time. It was supposed to be a resting area.

For you, it was the only place where the world seemed suspended — as if nothing there was real.

The air smelled of iron and rotting lavender.

You wandered aimlessly until you stopped before a hole dug in the farthest corner. The spot Noah used to visit often, kneeling in the dirt like a bored child, digging with bare hands as if searching for invisible roots.

You knelt too.

Something beneath the soil caught your attention — a dull glimmer, like tiny grey scales. You dug with your hands. The earth gave way easily, as if it were hollow underneath.

And then you saw it.

Hundreds of capsules. All colors. Some still clinging to damp soil, others split in half.

Your stomach turned. They were pills. Sedatives. Antipsychotics. Mood stabilizers.

Drugs you knew. That you prescribed.

You felt a wave of vertigo rising from your stomach to your skull. The world spun.

The garden distorted. The ground began to breathe. The trees shuddered as if laughing at you.

The pills multiplied.

And you fell backward.

The sky darkened in a blink. Your body lost its weight. Time split in half.

The world faded into silence.

There was no fall, no sound of impact. Just a dry shut-off, as if someone had pulled the plug of reality out of the socket, and it simply… ceased to exist.

When the eyes opened again, the white light blinded her for an instant. There were no shadows. There was no ceiling — at least none she could identify. Everything around was smooth, without marks or reference points — a pale, endless nothing.

The floor, cold beneath her back, was familiar. The icy texture of the tiles, the grooves between the pieces… she knew that floor. It took her a while to recognize she was lying on the floor of her own office.

But something was wrong. There was an artificial stillness in the air, as if the space were suspended inside a bubble, outside of time. You tried to get up, your trembling hands slipping on the damp floor.

The lab coat weighed on your shoulders, stuck to your body with an unpleasant stickiness. You looked down. The sleeves were stained with dark red. A thick red, almost black. Blood. Or paint. The smell was metallic and acrid, but not exactly human.

Instinctively, you brought your fingers to your face, smearing your own skin. The taste that reached your tongue was bitter. Rust and something else… old pen ink? Your mind wavered between explanations. But none seemed plausible. None seemed… real.

You stood up with effort, staggering toward the desk. The wall clock was frozen, the hands stuck between two seconds that never arrived. You turned to the mirror in the corner of the room, as if needing to confirm that you were still… you. What you saw made your stomach sink.

Your reflection wore the beige uniform of the sanatorium’s patients.

No lab coat. No authority.

Hair tied in a messy bun. Sunken, bloodshot eyes, like you hadn’t slept in days. Your hands, covered in paint or blood, held… nothing.

Empty.

But worse than the image was what came next: the reflection didn’t mimic you.

While you remained still, frozen, the figure in the mirror slowly tilted its head to the side, like someone observing a cornered animal. A nearly imperceptible smile curved the image’s lips, too subtle to be confident — and yet, terrifyingly intimate. As if saying: “I know.”

You jumped back. Blinked. The reflection returned to normal.

Lab coat. Open eyes. Hair aligned.

But the office didn’t.

The walls now trembled with a muffled whisper. A scratched sound that seemed to come from within the bricks. The window curtain swayed with a non-existent wind. And in the back, for a moment, you saw — or thought you saw — a shadow sitting in the chair where you received your patients.

Noah.

Or something that looked like him.

The silhouette was there, still, the face unfocused, blurred like an erased drawing. When you blinked, the chair was empty.

Your mind screamed to get out. To flee from that place that was once your refuge, now turned into a distorted version of itself. Your fingers dug into the roots of your hair and a shrill scream tore through your throat as if the confusion and the fever of your mind could match your agony.

But your legs were stuck to the floor.

Then came the voice.

Not external. Not in the air. But inside the skull, as if it sprouted from the walls of the bone itself:

“You’re not the only one living in there.”

The phrase dragged like an intrusive thought, a worm burrowing into the mind. The floor spun. The office dissolved at the edges of your vision.

And everything went dark again.

Night had fallen without you noticing.

There was no visible transition — just the sudden darkness that took over the sky through the windowpane. You realized it only when you were already sitting on the bed, wrapped in a concrete silence, almost viscous. The room, usually your refuge, now felt too small. The walls seemed curved, as if the space were slowly being compressed around you.

Your sweaty hands rested on your knees. Your fingers trembled with a strange electric impulse, as if on the verge of some action you didn’t yet understand. Your whole body was alert. But you didn’t know for what.

Breathing came in short waves.

The heart — racing.

The sound of the clock — nonexistent.

It had stopped. Again.

That’s when the impulse took over.

Without consciously deciding, you stood and walked to the desk with automatic steps. Sat down. Picked up the pen. Opened the notebook — the same one you had tried to discard the week before, but that always returned to the shelf, as if it had a will of its own.

And you began to write.

The words flowed like a trance. Fast, without apparent logic. It wasn’t you who was thinking. It was… something else. Another voice. An urgency that burned your fingers and guided the strokes. The handwriting was irregular, aggressive. Sometimes firm. Other times frantic, as if each letter had to be born tearing through the page. You didn’t know how much time had passed.

Only when you stopped — hand tired, throat dry, eyes heavy — did you look at what you had written.

A letter.

The paper trembled between your fingers, but the words were there, clear. Each line sounded like a farewell.

“If you’re reading this,

it’s because I’m back in control.”

Your hands slipped from the paper. Your stomach twisted. Your throat closed.

You scanned the text with your eyes, slowly, absorbing each syllable as if they were blades sinking into your skin. Phrases about giving up, exhaustion, confusion… apologies. Promises that you would be safe now. That this was to protect you. Words so intimate they hurt more than any scream.

“You fought so hard.

I saw.

But now… you need to rest.”

And then, at the end, beneath it all — where your name should have been — was his signature.

Noah.

It was his handwriting. Unmistakable.

She knew that slanted N. The way the “h” always intruded into the space of the line below.

The blood drained from your face. You stared at the signature as if facing an epitaph. And just below it, the final sentence:

“Please… don’t fight anymore.”

The words echoed inside your mind like a whisper spoken right against the nape of your neck.

Warm.

Intimate.

Final.

You pushed the chair back in shock, but something stopped you from screaming. There was no strength. No questions. No logic. Just the absolute silence of someone who realizes, deep down, that something was lost there.

And maybe… will never return.

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