Not My Writing - Blog Posts

Wake up everyone New ghouljams post just dropped

Bad news I just watched the VVitch and I have fae!Price and Witch thoughts.

You stand at the edge of the forest, the shadows within lengthening with the path of the sun. You hold your cloak tight around your shoulders, keep your eyes fixed on a single point. A crossing of branches. You've seen it once before, the way the leaves around them seem to twist and draw other branches in. Fae signs. Proof of magic in the area. Magic you want.

The shadows grow longer, the chill of evening settling in now, you haven't moved in hours. If your patience does not prove fruitful tonight you'll come again tomorrow, and tomorrow, until you get what you want. You have always relied on your own determination to make the impossible happen. Still, as you feel the sun's rays begin to sink below the horizon you feel your confidence wavering. Perhaps no one will come.

It's with the soft purple light of dusk that you hear it: the silent whisper of the forest. A low voice that rumbles in your chest, strokes over your cheeks. "What do you want?" It asks.

"What can you offer?" I don't want to be alone anymore, you think, tamping down your desires before the voice can hear them.

"The morning, the afternoon, the evening," the voice seems to smile, skirting around your perception, "a new perspective on the world, a pretty dress, a quiet hearth."

"Magic," you whisper to yourself, bidden by the voice to offer your own plea.

"For a price," it agrees, "You'd never know anything else." Not loss or heartache, never loneliness or isolation. You tip your head when fingers skate along your neck, eyes closing as they trace your jaw, grip your chin. "You are a pretty thing, aren't you?"

There's a man in front of you when you open your eyes. Tall, handsome, he has a beard to hide his mouth and eyes like the winter's sky. You blink at him, it would be polite to thank him for the compliment if he weren't fae. That knowledge doesn't stop the way your cheeks heat up at his continued staring. His rapt attention feels heavier than the stones you village would use to crush you if they knew what you were doing. Thank God they don't.

"You still believe in god?" The man asks, as if he could hear your thoughts.

"I don't know what I believe," honesty, you have the strangest feeling that you wouldn't be able to lie to this man.

"Is that why you came to me?"

"You have something I want," you tell him, "magic, freedom."

He tips his head, regarding you with a smirk, it's strange the chill the heat in his eyes sends down your spine. "Magic won't give you what you're looking for," he tells you in return, "but alright."

You can't help the smile that splits your face. Riddles or not, price or no, you're getting what you want. Something of your own, making the stupid choice for once in your life.

"I look forward to seeing what you do with it," the fae man tells you. You barely have the time to ask how you're supposed to do anything when you don't have it yet, before he kisses you. Pulls you in with an arm around your waist and kisses you as your fingers leave your cloak and twist into his shirt. It's a rush, like being dunked into cold water, your body filling with an unknown that seeps into every crack and corner. Magic that tingles and shivers in the tips of your fingers and the shake of your breath. He lets you go and you twitch to pull him in again, only to be met with a low chuckle.

"Next time little witch," he tells you, ghosting his lips over yours, "good luck."

He's gone when you open your eyes.

HAHAHAHA THE CURSE OF BEING A WRITER

None of your characters can escape the mighty gift of trauma

N o n e

i fully believe the reason sweetheart has a problem with the cartel is because her family has some type of connection to it in the past and something happened :)

And you are correct! It's not the whole family, it's just the Mad Scientist brother. (Whose name is now Torrance, thank you anon for the lovely name ♡) He had connections with the Cartel, he didn't level with his side of the deal, and Sweetheart got kidnapped and stuff happened-- I don't wanna go too much detail into it unless people actually want to know, cause it's pretty messed up 💀💀

Tw: drugs

BUT YEAH she hates the cartel, her relationship with Torrance isn't... the best. And she's HIGHLY uncomfortable with Valeria. She feels sick if she's around drugs, cocaine to be precise. She will legit throw up if she sees any type of cocaine. If she hears the word cartel she would turn on her fight or flight mode so damn quickly.

MAN-- WHY TF DID I GIVE HER TRAUMA?!?!? THIS WASNT THE PLAN AT ALL 💀💀

HAVE A HAPPY GO LUCKY READER INSERT? CHECK

HAVE A GOOD HEALTHY FAMILY? CHECK

MAKE THE READER NOT HAVE TRAUMA?? NOT FUCKING CHECKED

CAUSE I JUST DID IT. AGAIN.

Why do I do this to any character I make. Why.

can you write spanking with sevika please 🙏 preferably sub!sev 🫶🫶

This not gonna be written properly sozsoz but like a sub!sevi braindump i think yes

Contains: Spanking, brat!Sevika, use of flail, pussy spanking, ass spanking, use of the traffic-light system for consent (because checking in is importantttt), clit torture, denied orgasm :P

See because a lot of subs get thought about as fems a lot of public teasing is like

wearing a short skirt and bending over so your ass shows

wearing a low cut top and purposefully pushing your cleavage together

sevika is a butch. she does a butch version of public teasing

she'll look you in the eye while she pins a girl to wall between her elbows, flexing her biceps

she'll ask girls to spot her in the gym while she does squats just so you can watch as her spotter's eyes get trained on her ass

she'll even lift girls up just to see you seething when they giggle and grab onto sevis shoulders

(switching to proper writing)

so , what do you do about sevika teasing you all day?

She gasps at the way you force her down, acting all confused like she wasn't getting you worked up on purpose. "Baby-" she'll splutter as you pull her joggers from under her ass, grunting when you see the cotton of her boxers is damp. You see red, hand flying down onto her pussy before she can even begin to splutter out some bullshit excuse. She yelps and chucks her head back, her back arching as she grabs on to the armrest of the sofa you've laid her on.

"You think you can act like a slut and get away with it?" You seethe, harshly thumbing at her clit. She's soaked, you know she gets off on disobedience, you know how much of a fucking brat she is. She tucks her chin into her chest and looks up at you through her eyebrows, that dumbass smirk curling at her lip. "Mhmm, because I know it'll end up like this. With you p-punishing my pussy like I wanted."

You cease your movements entirely. What the fuck had gotten into her? She was no good girl by any means, but she was never this much of a brat. She clucks her tongue when you stare at her, heart racing, blood turning to flame. "Come on," and she grabs your wrist, grabs your fucking wrist, and starts making circles on her clit with your thumb. You're frozen. If you saw red before, you could only see the blood behind your eyes now.

You pinch hard on her clit, smiling sadistically when her teeth clench, seeing how her hand retreats to grab onto any part of the sofa. "You want to play it like this?" You slap her across the face and grab her up from under her chin, forcing her to look at you. "Fine, we'll do things your way. Flip over, ass up."

That smirk is wiped right off her face. She nods, her pupils wide and obedient, getting into position. You've never had to go this far with a punishment before, never had to concentrate pain onto her ass instead of stinging pleasure onto her pussy. But her behaviour warrants it.

"Do you need me to co-?"

"No I don't need you to count. I need you to shut up and take it."

You bring your hand down harshly onto her ass, the pain doubled since she'd hit her glutes hard at the gym to flaunt to whichever slut she picked out to taunt you with. That image pulses in your brain, both of your hands simultaneously coming down to spank either cheek of her ass. You grab at her flesh, pinching, squishing, whatever you please, before bringing down another harsh slap. One of her legs is bent up, her toes curling in the air. She grips at the pillows of the couch, crying out little "tch's" and "gah's" from between her teeth. You don't finish until her scarred ass is burning a deep shade of crimson.

But you don't stop there! No no, how could you when she disobeyed you so intensely, so purposefully, actually mocked your punishment?

Her head is fallen against the plush of the pillow, and, when you grab at her hair to pick up her face, you see where tears have wet the gray fabric. She looks up at you, sniffling, lip trembling, and you pout at her. "Poor baby," you deride, making her gasp out a sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was bad," she chokes, grabbing at the grip you have on her hair. Concern hits you at her signs of distress.

"Sevi baby, colour?"

"Oh, green," she chuckles, "just hurts really fucking bad." You smile and rub your hand soothingly over her bruising skin. "Wait here."

****

You return with a toy you haven't yet used on Sevika. She's waiting, laid out on the sofa, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "What's that?" she asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "It's a flail. Give me your palm."

You place a few good hits onto Sevi's hand, watching as her eyes re-light with excitement. "Hurts..." she murmurs, seeing how her hand gets streaks of red drawn across it. "Mhm. It'll be worse on your ass." You sit beside her and drag the tails of the flail across her raw flesh, giggling when her muscles tense, when her breath hitches. "Poor baby. Shouldn't have acted like such a little bitch, should you?" You bring the flail down, making Sevika shriek in pain. Her crying picks up again, her whole body shaking. "No, no I should've been good," she stammers, her limbs limp against the fabric of the couch. "Mm," you hum, bringing the toy down, revelling in the way little lines cut across her ruined skin. You don't do this for long, just enough to get her really weak.

"Aw Sevi," you coo, bringing your fingertips to her face. Her cheeks are burning hot. She nestles against you, kissing your knuckles. "'m sorry.." she whimpers, "'m so so sorry."

"It's okay, sweet girl." You slide your thumb down between her legs and bite your lip at how wet she's gotten. "Love it when I hurt you, don't you baby?"

Her hand comes behind her back, folding it across herself, willing you to pin her down. She wants to feel like she can't escape the pleasure you give her even if she tried. "Love it so much," she chokes, moaning when you grab her forearm and pin her down. You thumb at her clit for a while. You know she'll be easy, she's soaked from her punishment, and she's pulsing hard against your thumb. "Need...please?" Is all she manages. You go a little longer, until she's really moaning, really whining, breathing hot and heavy.

And then you pull away.

She damn near screams at the loss of contact, and you can't help but laugh at the hyperbolic response. "Just edging me right?" She asks, a hint of panic in her voice. Poor Sevi, she's so far gone. "Nuh uh princess. Bad girls don't get to cum."

She flips over, immediately regretting her decision when her ass brushes your knees. "Ow, fuck- baby please, please I took everything so well," and she's weeping again, begging you with the biggest puppy dog eyes she can muster. "Yeah you did. Too bad you misbehaved all day, huh?" She shakes her head, kneeling over your lap and grabbing at your shirt. "Please?" You smirk and look away.

"No, Sevi, that's final."

She nods solemnly, like you just told her she has 3 minutes to live, sinking down onto your lap. You feel how messy she's making you, her wetness painting your thighs. But she's good, she doesn't even make a half-assed attempt to grind into you. Just sits.

And then, of course, you slather her ass in aloe vera, make her lay down on her stomach while you clean her pussy off. You take off her tank top, now drenched in sweat and tears, and remove her joggers and boxers. You leave her in her socks (her feet get cold </3) and massage her back, telling her softly what a good girl she is for taking her punishment so well.

Maybe you let her cum eventually, because you feel bad. Maybe.

ok maybe i did want to write this properly then lmfao

also PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE IF THE DIALOGUE IS CRINGY PLEASE+ not properly spell/grammar/ "does this definitely make sense" checked

Beautifully written!! I loved every bit of this with my whole heart!!

💛💙💛

Insomnia

Rating: This is still an 18+ blog

Pairing: Niner Skirata x fem!reader

Wordcount: 8k

Warnings: Pure fluff, a little hurt/comfort, pining, awkwardness, touch-starved Niner, making out, petting

A/N: Why did it take me so long to write for my favorite commando?! Reader is described with hair

Summary: The moment Jaller Obrim introduces you to Skirata's secret anti-terror unit, Niner feels undeniably attacted to you... and still tries to act against concealed desires. He has to learn that the more he squelch his feeling he only hurts himself.

“You do know what black ops are, right?” Skirata didn't shout. But he was about to snap. Niner could feel it, see it. He clutched the backrest of a chair to keep his hands from doing something he might regret. His opponent wasn’t impressed in the slightest and only raised a brow.

“We keep what we do here secret for a reason, from the public, the GAR or the CSF... that means the fewer people in the know, the better. I don’t need another security risk or a possible leak,” he elaborated, his eyes switching between Obrim and you. “I am sorry ma’am, it’s nothing personal.”

You only nodded wordlessly in response and gave him a thumbs up. And Niner, just as the other men from Omega and Delta squad, attended the argument in silence. All he could see was you. He just didn’t know if it was shock, curiosity or something else that held him captive in your presence.

“Knock it off, Kal!” Captain Obrim eventually said and moved a step closer towards Skirata. Niner felt Ordo immediately tense, ready to jump in if things got out of hand. “I already told you that I suffer from temporary deafness and my blindness even spread from one eye to two eyes by now. But,” he made a short pause to inhale, Niner wasn’t sure if it was for dramatic effect or if he just needed to calm himself, “even I can’t pretend it’s nothing out of the ordinary for a jedi and two Republic Commandos to go haywire and have a speeder chase through the lower levels. I am no warlock who can let the debris and a few corpses vanish in plain view.”

Skirata didn’t answer this time, Fi’s and Sev’s expressions spoke volumes. A sense of guilt hung in the air. He didn’t need to be Bardan to perceive it.

“I am still willing to try, Kal. Because I like you and I know it’s for a good thing. I don’t want any more of your men getting killed by terrorist attacks. And that’s why she’s here. She’s one of my most capable officers, and whenever you or your boys will get into shit, she’ll be there to make sure that I am the first to know the news and get you out of it. Understood?”

Even Skirata couldn’t oppose this logic, and that’s how you stayed.

It’s been three days since then.

Three long days… and nights… in which he tried to perform at his best and dissemble his nervousness. Back on Qiilura a few months ago, he had a similar feeling when he met Etain for the first time. But this due to the fact that she was the first woman ever he had to work with and there was this unmistakable effect she had on Dar, still has, and he didn’t know what to expect. The nervousness he holds around you is of a different kind, very unfamiliar. And uncertainty he finds unpleasant to say the least.

At first he thought it was banthashit. His trepidation only because he’s not used to operating on Coruscant among civilians and without his armor to protect him. Too many vague factors for him to feel safe and confident. Yet as the sergeant of an elite squad he soon adapted to the circumstances… with one exception. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t act normal around you. Each time you entered the room, he held his breath. At mealtimes he found himself staring at you from the corner of his eyes. Whenever he came back from his sentry duty and would find you in conversation with one of the other boys, smiling and laughing, he frowned and wondered where this tight feeling in his chest came from. But did he sit down and join the conversation? No. He remained mostly silent and went for a hot shower. Except this morning. Sergeant Kal was there too and asked him to stay. And Niner listened to him as he told you about Mandalorian culture, training on Kamino and his efforts to bring out the best in his sons by all available means.

“I made clear to them that their squad is the only beacon they can and have to rely on, anytime - anywhere. It's my fault that they have a hard time socializing. But they are good boys.” Atin huffed, Darman grinned and Niner felt strangely called out, but then flushed brightly as you looked straight at him with an enticing smile.

"Socialising wasn’t part of our job description,” Fi quipped, and again Niner was amazed about his skills to take the tension out of almost every situation.

“Without a doubt.”

Hm? Were you responding to Fi's comment… or Kal's? It was getting hot in here.

Atin huffed again, Niner glared at him and Etain’s mouth escaped a silent ‘Oh’.

A few hours later, he’s now in his room. Alone. A pencil in his hand and a sheet of flimsi on his knees. He had a hot shower before. And while the droplets trickled down on his body, calming and lulling him, he couldn’t stop thinking about you… the white tunic you wore… water…

- knock knock -

The sound startles him, so much he almost drops the pencil.

“Knock, knock,” Fi repeats his knocking verbally. “Open up, dear sergeant, your favorite brother is here and has brought gifts for you!”

“I’m sleeping,” Niner replies.

“Nice try.” Fi all of a sudden appears in the room. Clones aren’t used to the term ‘privacy’ very much.

“That’d only be true if you were Dar.” He smirks. And then raises his brow quizzically as Niner lets the flimsi disappear behind his back. “What are you doin’?”

“Where’s my gift?” He counters, without deferring to his question at all. And he feels more annoyed about the disturbance than he’d like to admit. The sooner Fi leaves him, the sooner he can go back on doing what he’s doing.

“Kal skipped your watch. He and Jusik take over the next shift. You can take a rest - for brooding.”

Niner grows stiff as Fi walks over and sits down on the bed next to him. It’s probably not fair to feel this way, as under normal circumstances, Niner is the happiest when he’s surrounded by his brothers. How should Fi know he’s considered a disturbance right now? He offers him a chocolate bar with nuts and Niner’s fast to tear it from his hand. There’s always time for candy.

“Are you okay, ner vod?” Fi asks and scrutinizes him. At his nod he gives an incredulous snort.

“Who are you trying to fool, Niner?”

And with reversed roles, the two clones then sit side by side, Fi convincing him that there’s nothing he would need to hide from his brothers and they’ll be here for him and having his back in whatever situation. And it is Niner who’s trying to shake it off as if it's nothing. He can’t tell. Not to Fi. As he’s already the one who suffers most of being denied a normal life and desires they were unable to pursue. Then again, it probably makes him the one to understand him best.

“Want to see what I was trying to hide?”

“Bet your shebs on it!” Fi says and nudges his shoulder with his own.

"Please don’t tell anyone. Okay?”

His brother’s eyebrows rise and he gives him a mock offended look. Truth to be told, he’s not even sure why he wants to keep this a secret at all. Because… there’s the chance for the wrong people to find out. Now.. if they were on a mission somewhere on a backwater planet… he wouldn’t hesitate for even a second to tell his squad mates. Then again… if they were on a backwater planet, he wouldn’t be in this misery. He brings out the flimsi and wordlessly hands it over to Fi.

A drawing… of a woman’s shape. From her jawline, across her neck and collarbone, down to her waist. A white tunic has slid off her shoulder and sticks wet to her skin, revealing her curves. A hardened nipple peeking through the sheer fabric. No face. No features to give indications about who she is. Just a few freckles covered with droplets of water.

“Wow. You really studied her carefully, didn't you?”

Niner catches his breath. “How do you…?” He’s scared. Embarrassed. Something in between. He thought the picture would be vague enough to not give a hint on who’s the one in it. Now he might as well have written a name on it. Your name.

“It’s the curve of her jawline,” Fi answers. “And those little marks.”

Unintentionally, Niner gnashes his teeth. He always does when he gets upset. But why does the fact that Fi recognizes your silhouette even makes him uncomfortable? Fi was about to point at the spot concerned but as soon as he senses his distress, he pulls back and just keeps looking at the picture. They don’t need words to understand each other.

“Why don’t you just ask her out on a date? Have some drinks in Quibbu’s bar during your downtime.”

“No.”

“Just no?”

“No. As in: No I can’t, because we are on a mission and I need to concentrate on the task and keep an eye on you all. And when we’re done here, we will…”

“Blah, blah, blah…. Any other excuses?” Fi won’t take it.

Excuse is the right word. Or not? There are probably a million reasons why it would be a bad idea to delve into something that isn’t supposed to last. He’s not supposed to last. And he can’t afford to be distracted. Darman already is with Etain around. And he’s seen the tender bonds blooming between Atin and Laseema. He sees the effects their excursions to a romantic attachment have on Fi, the one left without a love interest. The pain he’s going through whenever he watches the couples in the streets and thinks that no one would notice. But Niner does notice. Anytime. And he won’t leave his brother alone with his suffering.

“It’s a long shot.” Still it hurts to say it out loud. “We are probably already dead by tomorrow.”

Fi inhales deeply. “Even more reason to take the chance when it presents itself to you, di’kut.”

“Then why don’t you take the chance?”

“Because… it’s not me she observes when she thinks no one’s looking.”

Force, it’s already late again!

After all those years in the CSF, you’re used to working shifts. Your sleeping routine would allow you to fall asleep almost anywhere at any time. A habit you obviously share with Darman as you found out during the last days. But ever since you joined Kal Skirata’s little undercover anti-terror unit at Jaller’s request, sleep just won’t come to you. And it’s definitely not because of the stress coming with the task, or the awareness that you practically sleep on top of explosives. So many that you could blast half of the district into the next galaxy. No, you’re used to the danger and they seem to know what they are doing. Ordo, the captain, eludes a confidence second to none, and the eight clone commandos are able to work together like the well-oiled gearbox of a podracer. Even though you heard that Delta and Omega weren’t too fond of each other recently. Whatever the reason is, it obviously has no effect on their commitment.

But it’s not the clones that keep you awake either. At least not all of them. Although you had admittedly trouble maintaining your composure when you first saw them. They almost do look alike. The same thick black hair with the crewcut, the same beautiful golden-brown eyes, the same handsome faces and charming smiles. Maybe except Sev, but you’re sure he’d be just as charming if none of the others would witness. The same broad and tall frames, imposing stances. And then there are the things that make them special… unique. Like the little quirks they all have. Each their own. The little scars and marks. The different ways they carry themselves… and it’s those little differences that make you hold your breath everytime you see him: Niner. RC-1309.

Who the fuck thought, that giving them numbers and designations instead of names would be a smart move? And why the fuck do some of them chose a name still connected to that number? Loyalty maybe? Or just because they didn’t know better? It still is telling, you think.

Nevertheless, it suits him. Niner. You catch yourself whispering his name when you’re alone in the fresher, enjoying how it falls off your tongue. Niner. He seems to be a little more tense than the rest but his tension falls off the moment you all gather around the table at mealtimes and he’s surrounded by his brothers and he sees that everyone’s safe. When he smiles, actually he does it quite often but unconsciously, he has those little wrinkles around his eyes and looks much younger than he gives himself. He makes fun of Ordo for refusing to eat the so-called meat at Quibbu’s and he keeps Omega Squad back on track each new day. He’s diligent and dutiful, serious… but with that peculiar, subtle charme. And yet, he also holds that touch of authority that gives you shivers… in the best of ways. Niner. Trooper to the core. But it also keeps you from flirting with him… much to your regret. And that’s why you can’t sleep anymore. Because he refuses to leave your thoughts for even a second, all those ‘what ifs’ and ‘why not’.

You had a pretty good day today. At first you joined Fi and Sev during their sentry duty, Kal thought it best if they wouldn’t team up with Jusik again. Mereel showed up, one of Ordo’s Null-ARC brothers, and his mere presence somehow lifted the spirits of the whole motley crew: Clones, Jedi, Mandos and you. Then you had dinner with most of them at Quibbu's, fighting side by side against the threats of indefinable food. After that you met Jaller to report to him. He told you some news from the headquarters and your department which he thought would be useful for Skirata to know. He asked you how you feel in your temporary companionship and as you blushed, he gave you a knowing smile. “I thought so,” he said. In the evening you sat down in the common space with Etain, Bardan and Kal and time flew by as you were talking. Kal talked about Kamino, the Jedi about their duty in the order and you about your life in the CSF. Each of you learned something new that evening. Etain was the first to pretend to go sleeping as soon as Darman was back at the accommodation. Mh-hmmm. Bardan left shortly after.

As only Kal and you remained, he then said that he’s going to sleep too. You watched as he didn’t get up but made himself comfortable in an armchair and you asked him why he wouldn’t go to his room.

“Ad’ika, the day I met those incredible boys I made a vow to protect them whatever may come. And that I would not rest until I can provide them a normal life. These men have only half of our lifetime - at best. And as long as this injustice isn’t set right, the least I can do is to abstain from convenience to remind myself each day that my work isn’t done yet.”

You took his hand in yours and fought tears. And then you remained seated on the couch to keep him company, saying it was the least you could do to show your appreciation for him and his sons. He winked at you and said that there would be something else you could do, but he didn’t elaborate further and you didn’t ask.

As night fell and the top floor went dark and quiet, you allowed your tears to run down your cheeks. The realization that the clones, Niner, age twice as fast took you off-guard. Only half a life. And the lifetime they have is filled with clashes, devastation, pain and grief. It’s making their smiles even more special.

When your tears have dried and your silent sobs subsided, you lose yourself in daydreams about him once more. All those things you could do to him to make him happy and feel good. You dream about him seducing you, whispering sweet praise in your ear as he savors his time with you. You know it won’t happen. For one thing because he never even showed a sign that he’d be interested in such things at all or you in particular, and for another you don’t know if you’d make his life even more unbearable for him. He might suffer with the thought of what life could hold for him while he’s jammed in a shithole somewhere in the galaxy, his DC at the ready and some seppies in its crosshair.

Still, you want him. You want all of him, and not only your fantasies about him. Forever and not just in those few days left until their mission on Coruscant is accomplished. You want to fill his emptiness in return. You know it won’t happen…

‘Stay with me,’ your mind speaks. You won’t ever voice these words.

Suddenly you hear a door opening, followed by a soft footfall. And not a moment later Niner of all people is standing in the rec room. Somehow you feel caught red-handed, you just have no idea why. It’s not that he’s Jusik and can sense your emotional state let alone your thoughts.

“Hi,” you mouth, not catching the way he subtly tenses when he sees you sitting there.

“You’re still awake?” His voice is barely more than a whisper but in the silence of the top floor you hear him as if he’d breathe the words right next to your ear. For a split second a mental picture flashes up in front of your eyes. It almost makes you gasp.

“I could ask you the same question - if it was one.”

Even while you are talking, he walks over to the armchair Skirata chose as his sleeping place and then covers his sergeant with a warm blanket. The older man doesn’t wake up or maybe he just feigns sleep to not fuel Niner’s obvious concern. This small and yet so significant gesture in the middle of the night tells you so much about this particular clone’s nature who usually hides behind a wall of silence in the daytime.

“Insomnia. I got used to it by now,” he eventually answers and runs one hand through the dark hair, mussing up the black strands. He’s wearing his red fatigues and even in darkness the way the smooth fabric emphasizes his toned body makes your cheeks prickle with heat. You doubt that he even has a clue of how flustered and thrilled he leaves you, every time he comes your way. If only your expression doesn’t betray your thoughts. But then again it’s dark.

“Just because you are used to it doesn’t make it less serious.”

He only smiles. You watch as Niner walks back to his room. But before he vanishes from sight he stops dead in his tracks, turns around, and leans against the wall with one shoulder. As he crosses his arms in front of his chest, his shirt rucks up just a little and… Ohhhh… damn! That elastic waistband sits low on his hips.

“You didn’t tell me why you are still awake yet,” he chides you, but his voice is still so incredibly soft.

‘It’s because of you.’ But you are not brave enough to tell him the truth. Instead you hear yourself say with a chuckle: “I am not used to situations like that. Trapped in a hotel amidst strangers and not knowing how this is going to turn out for me.”

“Fair enough,” he answers and if you thought that he would leave you now, he surprises you again.

“Is… there anything I can do to make you feel better?” There’s a short pause in his speaking.

You know he doesn’t mean it in that way. He probably is just kind and his sergeant nature shines through like it did moments ago when he cared about the sleeping Skirata. But you are so surprised by his question that you don’t know what to answer and so you just shrug and shake your head awkwardly. It makes him smile defeatedly.

“Okay. Let me know if there’s something I can do. I don’t want you to consider us strangers.” He pushes away from the wall, ready to turn around.

“Niner?”

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if I stay awake with you?”

In the following silence you hear him swallow and your fast beating heart. You didn’t mean it that way. Just… You don’t know what you meant when you said it. Well, you do. You do know that you don’t want to miss the chance of finally talking to him more than just a few words and without so many of his brothers and commanding officers being around and listening. It takes some seconds until he finds his voice.

“Not at all!” He sounds breathless. “But we shouldn’t stay here.”

You try to ignore the burst of warmth in your chest as he invites you to come with him with a tilt of his head - and what it implies. Instead, you nod, slowly allowing yourself to raise and as he guides you to his room, you follow on wobbly legs.

For someone usually so reasonable and considerate, Niner is pretty surprised about himself and that he had this haphazard plan to take you to his room. It wasn’t even a plan, he just followed an intuition. He turns on the light on the nightstand, bathing the apartment in warm, dim light. Now he’s confronted with the fact that there’s just his bed as a sitting accommodation because the only chair is occupied with the neatly piled-up parts of his armor. The black undersuit, freshly laundered, hung out in front of the window to dry. His deece rests on the desk, ready for action. At least the meaningful flimsi with the drawing is stored safely in the desk drawer. It's one thing that Fi knows about his secret, but if it were you… that’s another story.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he suggests, pointing almost embarrassedly at his bed. Oh great, there couldn’t be a more intimate spot to invite you and then.. uhm.. join you. He should probably find another place for his armor and then take a seat on the chair. Just to be safe.

Even before he starts to rearrange the plating you already sit down at the edge of the lower end of his bed, leaving him enough room to join you without being too close.

“Don’t you dare sit on that chair, Niner. It’s your room and you should make yourself comfortable. If it has to be one of us sitting on the chair it would be me… not you.”

He tilts his head and then a lovely smile graces his face, one that you haven’t seen on him yet. Much more amused, confident and mystified than ever. Much more enticing…

“Did you just threaten me, mesh’la?”

His smile doesn't fail to have its effect on you, his voice even less. “Uhmm.. of course not. I wouldn’t be dreaming of,” you smile sheepishly back at him.

“Of course not. You would have to sleep for that,” Niner says and makes your pulse almost hitting the ceiling with just one sentence. You only hope he can’t hear it as he eventually sits down on the bed next to you. Your dreams would be far from threatening him anyway. Does he even guess?

For a moment it’s silent as there’s nothing clever to say. And like two spellbound idiots, neither of you seems to be able to look away from the other. Your mouth feels dry like the desert on Tatooine, and when you wet your lips with your tongue, his gaze drops for a split second. It’s just so brief that you wonder if you just imagined it.

This isn’t supposed to feel like this! He shouldn’t feel the way he does right now… but just because he knows what he’s made for or what he’s clearly not made for, he can’t detain his body from reacting the way it does to your presence. And once again he misses his armor, though this time for another reason. However, there’s this sense of guilt he can’t get rid of. No matter what Fi says. His squads - both squads - Lambda during the training on Kamino was his family for years, and he still loves them dearly, misses them since the day on Geonosis. Has it been his fault that they are gone? Omega squad - Fi, Dar and Atin - hell, he does belong with them, wholeheartedly. He won’t let anything happen to them. Not again. They depend on him like he depends on them. But there’s this urge to be with you right now. To tie bonds… Would it be a betrayal to his brothers?

“Well, what shall we do now?” He asks, words coming out deeper in his throat than he actually intends to. It surprises him. “I am not used to…” he pauses, as he tries to phrase his thoughts. “Actually, I have never been that close to a woman before. As long as you don’t count the Kaminoans.”

“I figured as much.” Another awkward seconds of silence before you add: “Hm.. what do you usually do when you’re up at night?”

Ohhh… that… he definitely can’t tell you. A picture of himself flashes up in front of his mind’s eye and he blushes against his will. How many times have your name fallen from his lips in an inaudible moan? “Ugh… that’s classified,” he coughs, bewildered how fast that white lie slips off his tongue, angry at himself that he didn’t handle the situation more aloof. What would Fi have said instead? At least you grant him the favor by not giving any suggestive remarks. Only the sweetest smile.

“How about we just talk a while then, hm?” You ask, chewing on your bottom lip. All he can think of for a second is what if it would be him nibbling on your bottom lip. Get ahold of yourself!

“Sounds good.”

And then the two of you talk for almost an hour. The hushed conversation flows so easily, despite the awkwardness at its very beginnings. Despite the graveness of your topics. You learn about the physical pain in the growth tanks and the mental strain of flash training. But you also learn about ties between clone brothers, stronger than anything you ever could think of. And it’s making you laugh as loud as you dare in the middle of the night. Niner learns about ludicrous laws and regulations on Coruscant, your daily work and about the nightmare that is the lower levels. But also what it means to enjoy life with friends in one of the pavement cafés or to just a day off in a spa or the botanic garden under the skydome. It’s making him wish…

And all the while during the convo, both of you get closer and closer, to the point that he’s stretched out on his bed, leaning against the propped up cushion on the wall and you next to him. Shoulders touching, legs brushing against one another. Having him this close feels so good, so natural… until you get aware of it. The warmth he radiates seeps into your every cell. His scent - the blend of soap, sweat and pure Niner - appeals to your senses. Stars you need to calm down.

Eventually the conversation approaches this mission, the surveillance and the constraint to kill time as a consequence thereof.

“Actually it’s not much different from our usual strategy,” he responds to your question if it’s not boring for him to be trapped in that accommodation with not much to do besides analyzing dynamic data. “Only the parameters vary.”

“I thought you do extractions or sabotage missions?”

“Oh we do. But we still can’t just run headlong behind enemy’s lines or attack the CIS’s positions without first getting a comprehensive picture of the situation.”

“Isn’t that the job for clone intelligence?”

“Pfft…” Niner gives a dismissive sound, rolling his eyes. “If I’d rely on their information, we’d be already dead by now.”

Your gaze involuntarily flickers to the wall, towards the direction Ordo and Mereel are presumably sleeping, and he hastily adds that he doesn’t talk about them. The Nulls are outstanding in what they do, but they can’t be all-pervasive. Even though Ordo tries.

“Sometimes, when we locate our target, we spend hours motionless on a look-out til it's the apt moment to strike.”

At least it’s certainly safer than being in the line of fire, still it sounds less exciting as you thought a commando’s life would be. You don’t complain though… katarn or not. You don’t like the thought of Niner being trapped in heavy clashes. When you question if they don’t get bored, he chuckles.

“Usually not. There’s always plenty to discuss with my brothers.” Gossip. Fears… Desires. “But nine times out of ten my back is killing me.”

An extremely trained soldier, and still he has to suffer the most ordinary ailment due to all the strains of war. You wonder how ‘ordinary’ people would deal with the circumstances. People who would have been given the opportunity to decide whether they want to fight or not.

“Poor boy,” you appease him with a smile, and curse yourself for making it sound possibly gleeful. You mean it. You do feel sorry for him and you hope he knows. His expression tells you that much. But then he resumes speaking, thus stealing the air from your lungs.

“Sometimes I wish the kaminiise had left out most of the sensory perception altogether. Given all the things they coded out of our DNA, that wouldn’t have made things worse.”

His words are downright agonizing. All the injustices cast to the clones: the denial of any individuality, a future, Force knows even hope itself… all the years in which they never had the choice of what they wanted to do with their lives. And they were programmed to be loyal and diligent, drilled to obedience and ultimately influenced by the war to the point that they now even deny themselves these rights, or even basic instincts.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Your smile falters slightly as you look at him, but at least you manage not to stare open-mouthed at him. While you wait for him to speak, you listen to his heartbeat, steady but rapid. Something’s changing. Hanging in the air between you.

He turns to look at you, so that he’s lying on his right side, your faces only inches apart. And there it is again, the spellbound gaze, challenging, laced with confidence, full of contrasts. Just as Niner.

“I am.”

“But you would miss out on all the soothing aspects of perception.”

Are you… implying what he thinks you do? Fierfek, indulgence has never been more tempting, seduction never took such a gorgeous shape. It's awing. Ohhh Niner, hold strong… and yet he needs you to be with him right now.

“There’s not much. Isn’t it?” He rasps, exactly aware of what he’s about to conjure.

The warmth of your expression causes a strange, soft feeling in his chest. He is smitten. No. He has fallen for you since the moment he saw you and his emotions got more and more profound with every day in your orbit. The more he denies, the more he’s going to hurt himself. Now he knows what Dar was afraid of on Quiilura.

Your body betrays you, melting with just his proximity and the warm, husky cadence of his voice. And, stars, there’s no denying the tingling sensation down deep in your core.

“What about touch?”

Niner swallows thickly, a gasp caught in his throat. His experiences in terms of touch are basically narrowed down to Fi examining him for injuries on the battlefield, Kal’buir ruffling his hair, and himself… uhm… There’s this long moment of silence in which he considers his words. Niner needs to know how far he can go until his heart races. Until desire becomes so strong it’s almost painful. You have this effect on him… he knows that and he doesn’t want to change a thing.

“There are not many occasions for me to be touched anyway,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you. Again, the truth he leaves out is what he hopes you’ll still understand. It feels like he’s on fire at that point, blazing under your closeness.

As you speak, your voice sounds almost innocent. And yet the question isn’t at all. “Would you want me to touch you?”

Your words are too much for him to handle any longer. Fierfek, he’s so turned on, reached the point of no return. And he looks at you with darkening eyes, ever so slowly drags his pleading gaze down your body to where your hand rests in your lap. You blush and blink softly at him, shattering the tension and doubts that Niner has felt on his shoulders.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again they shimmer with certainty. “Yes. Please. If you want to,” he confesses, letting out a breathy laugh.

“I do.”

You carefully reach out your hand, letting your fingertips ghost over his neckline, not touching him just yet but he can already feel the warmth of your hand, the anticipation prickling on his skin. His heart skips in his chest, both of you trying to maintain composure. And then… finally… you touch him.

A strangled sound gets caught in his throat as you slowly brush over the ridge of his collarbone, the particularly sensitive spot just above. He shudders under the caress long craved for, and exhales the breath he was holding.

“So… Do you like it?” You whisper, the tips of your fingers softly dragging along the curve of his neck and across the edge of his jawline. The soft grating noise as you stoke across his five o’clock shadow, the only sound to be heard in the room. You trace his cheek bones and brush over his lips, leaving a trail of fire wherever you touch.

Hmmm…. It feels so, so good. It’s almost overwhelming, the spark of heat that singes his nerves, and he can’t find his voice underneath all the flames engulfing him. Instead he’s nodding, his eyes glazed with lust and his mind clouded with need, he’s catching your hand with his, ever so slowly leading it down his torso to the hem of his shirt. He wants so much more of that gorgeous sensation. ‘Give me more,’ his silence pleads.

Tuning your head, you watch him intently as your fingers grab the smooth fabric hugging his waist to push it up, up and further up. You don't miss the way his breath hitches as you bare his lower abdomen and your fingertips skim over the feverishly hot skin, but his eyes burn with fervor. Suddenly, you become aware of the dampness that has pooled between your legs by now. All he had to do was to breathe a few words. And oh the thrill that you’re about to do what you longed for since you met him. Then you gently splay your fingers and rest your hand on his firm abs. It’s not only him sighing quietly and your fingers tremble as you gradually slide your hand higher, trace the ridges on his stomach and the crevice leading up his torso, spread out across the sturdy curve of his chest and feel his heart beat in a frenzy beneath your palm. He shudders as you butterfly his pecs. His red tunic is rucked up so much that his upper body is practically exposed. Your gaze drops to the tan skin.

“Stars, Niner! The dreams I had about this… they didn’t even come close.”

The words leave your mouth before you even consider them properly, but they are enough to dissolve any shred of self-composure he thought he had. He grasps your face, digging his fingers in your hair at your nape, and pulling you flush against him. Niner kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for a lifetime, like you’re the air he breathes. You gasp at the sensation as your clothed body presses against his only covered by a thin layer of fabric. In the heat of the moment, your thigh brushes against the bulge that has tented his pants and it's making him moan, the sound getting lost in your opened mouth. Your hands scrabble to find purchase in his tunic, struggling to anchor yourself.

Whenever you daydreamed about kissing him, you imagined it to be kind of soft and tentative. Testing the waters. But this… this is desperate. And better than any imagination could ever be. His hands start to travel across your shape, your neck, your arms, the curve of your ribcage. Curious and eager, but never too brazen. Hands that are used to handle a DC and take out any menace in an instant, are so soft and so gentle on you. Desperate and tender alike. Inexperienced, but passionate and loving. And so is his kiss. The contrast is making you dizzy.

After what feels like eternity, Niner eventually pulls his mouth away to look at you. For a split second he is afraid that he went too far and now needs to apologize. And about the same amount of time he curses himself for giving in to his desires and getting weak. Losing control. But both thoughts dissolve the moment he feels you chasing after his lips. He chuckles and nibbles at your bottom lip as you whimper in regret.

“Can I ask you something… selfish?” He wants to know. His brown eyes flick over to look at you through his lashes. Still breathless and not trusting your voice right now you only nod in response, prompting him to ask whatever he wants to know.

“May I take off your tunic?” Osik! Why does he suddenly feel shy after kissing you so fiercely? “I promise it won’t be more. I… I just need to look at you and… feel you… c-closer.”

“Yes, Niner. Yes you may,” you whisper quietly after a moment, stroking his cheek. His eyelids flutter.

“Thank you,” he responds, feeling his own body subtly tensing at your answer, and ever so gently closes his teeth around your bottom lip once more. Then he rolls you on your back and hovers over you.

Both his hands slip beneath your tunic, the white, gauzy linen he already drew, going around your waist. He lets his fingers sink against your skin, squeezing gently. And you shiver as his hands slide further up, revealing you inch by inch, his thumbs curling around to skirt the underneath of your breast. He can't remember ever touching something so soft. Then, finally, he pulls off the tunic and sends it flying towards the floor.

He could have watched you forever… but it’s you who dips your finger under the straps of your bra, undressing it. As he laid down to not-sleep this evening, he never thought he’d be graced with such a breathtaking view tonight. Smiling silently to himself, he lets his gaze linger on you for a moment, admiring every inch of your exposed chest. Maybe someday he’s going to ask you if he could draw you again, wearing nothing more than his lovebites on your skin.

Niner lowers his face to yours, mouthing against your lips: “You have no idea what you do to me, cyar’ika.”

No you have no idea… Not only are you shattering his worries, his constraints and convictions, things he took for granted and lived after. You’re revealing dreams he never was allowed to have and sate desires he denied himself for so long. You chuckle in response, your hands falling into the tufts of his black hair, pulling him down on you to seal your lips with his in a loving kiss. And your bodies meet. It’s such a foreign, overwhelming feeling, warm skin against warm skin on such a usually shielded part of him. No katarn to save him. No katarn to detain him.

Niner watches, enraptured, as you lay beneath him. Such a beautiful sight: your pupils blown wide, mouth agape, your chest heaving as you try to ease the ache by grinding against him. He’s lost in the way your eyes sparkle, and his own reflection within them.

Everything becomes blurry. For hours, at least that’s how it feels like, his half-naked body is pressed tight to yours. His mouth is always slightly opened, kissing, licking and tasting wherever you would let him, wherever he dares to explore. He drowns in your scent, buries his face in your hair, breathes against your ear to whisper sweet praise and never, not even for a single second, lets you forget that he’s bare and hot… and vulnerable just for you. And, wayii, your hands venture on him, feeling everything he’s offering you in return. He never wants it to end.

You feel like you’re floating in sensations. Absolutely amazing how turned on but equally satisfied you are, just by touching and teasing. Kissing and caressing. Your hands roam his body shamelessly, the strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself up over you. They flex beneath your palms. With every touch you make him shiver, and he coaxes soft moans and goosebumps from you by rocking against you. Your fingers play with the soft hair at his nape, and run up and down the length of his spine that’s shielding you from the small room. You grind against him a little more insistently, desperate to give him the friction he needs. The intimacy you both chase after. He feels so incredibly good, his arousal, under his pants. So alive.

Your quiet sighs fill the room, needy sounds and pleads of Niner’s name as he follows his instinct and sends delicious surges of pleasure throughout your body. And he’s unbelievably gentle about it, dexterous, even though you know he never did anything like this before. You hold on to his shoulder blades and you both gradually get tired while he savors you in that precious moment, easing you both to relax and surrender to the rest each of you so desperately need.

At some point during the night, when your kisses get more and more lazy, he eventually lays down next to you and catches you in his arms to pull you close, not leaving an inch between you like he can’t bear to lose the contact of your skin for even a second. With your eyes closed, you rest your head on his chest and listen to his breathing, rough and shallow and loud against the quietness of the hotel room. Again, it feels so natural and familiar.

Both of you lie there, a lingering calm in the air as the minutes drip by. You don't require anything beyond his hands on you and the protection he provides as you are dozing off in his arms.

“So… You were dreaming about me, hm?” he murmurs, dragging his hand over your back.

“Mh-hmm,” you hum. Even though you are barely awake anymore, the way he asks stirs something in your consciousness.

“I was dreaming about you too,” he confesses, mouthing at your temple. He pulls you tighter against him, starts rocking ever so gently against your hip. And as you make a soft sound, nuzzling his chest, he quietly adds: “Was dreaming of having you in my bed. Of how I’d fuck you through my sheets.”

You stop breathing, and your fingers, wrapped around his waist, grip him tighter. Are you already asleep and in dreams? No.. you can feel him, so warm and strong pressing into you. Feel his heart beating rapidly under your cheek. Is he…?

“But I won’t, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the delicate skin on your temple.

You whine softly, making him smile in response. Niner reaches out and tilts your chin up towards him, making you meet his eyes. Most of the time during the last days he averted his gaze, though for an entirely different reason than you expected, and you only threw him stolen glances in return, but tonight you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, the meaning behind.

“Not yet… Not when I haven’t been out on a date with you,” he says.

Your cheeks burn at the awareness of him staring at you so closely, of asking you…

His brothers always thought he’s not into women or relationships at all. He gave them the expression that all that counts is the bond they have among clones and their duty to the republic. And most of the time that was exactly what he believed. They were wrong.

“When it comes to you, cyar’ika, I want to do it right. You deserve to be treated right.” He pauses, letting his fingers brush over your chin, while you watch him with glassy eyes. Being responsible and patient has never been so difficult

“So… Do you want to go out on a date with me?”

He doesn’t even know when he’ll have the time to go out with you. But Kal’buir always finds a way for his sons. And if nothing else works… he’ll take Fi’s advice and have dinner with you at Quibbu’s, making it a date. Period.

“Yes,” you say, slowly following his movement as he tilts your chin up, and bump noses with him. “I want to go on a date with you.”

Not only one. And what’s about to follow.

He smiles and bends down to kiss you. “Sweet dreams.”

And for the first time in a while, you both fall into a deep slumber.

“Has anyone seen Niner this morning?” Atin asks as they prepare to go down to the bar and have breakfast.

The concern is written on his face. Niner is usually the first to be up and actuating his squad mates. The fact that he’s absent is so out of the ordinary that it’s almost frightening.

“I'd better check on him in his room.”

But Skirata smiles knowingly and that again induces Fi to grin. “You’d better knock before you enter.”

However, Atin doesn’t. Just as the door slides open he remembers something that his subconsciousness tried to tell him - you haven’t been there either this morning. Only a split second later his eyes fall on a view he never expected to see. Niner is still fast asleep. And so are you. Snuggled up close to each other, your limbs are entangled under the duvet. Your clothes scattered on the floor. The room is filled with quiet breathing.

While he still stands rooted to the spot and open-mouthed watches the scene, Dar and Fi appear next to him. “Told you so,” the latter whispers and Dar smirks suggestively. Niner stirs slightly in his sleep.

Atin feels Fi’s hand on his shoulder, turning him around and prompting to leave the room with a tilt of his head.

“We should leave them alone and have breakfast brought to their rooms,” Fi says.

“We should bring the food up for them ourselves later, “ Dar answers. “The service droid has a habit of showing up at the most inopportune moment.”

Taglist: @june-girl-86 @nahoney22 @mavendeb @ashotofspotchka @deewithani @samrubio @thefact0rygirl @boomtowngirl @briefartnaturewolf @kaminocasey @misogirl828 @twistedstitcher27 @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @tecker @rexandechosandwich @aconstructofamind @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @ladykatakuri @nekotaetae @sunflowerrex @lucyysthings @hated-by-me @darkangel4121 @obihiddlenox @padawancat97 @starstofillmydream @starqueensthings @moodymisty @donsani @jediknightjana @fxlsealarm @punkpirate82 @idoubleswearimawriter @flawsandgoodintent @clio3kantarella @trixie2023 @ladytano420 @cw80831 @clonethirstingisreal @pb-jellybeans @griffedeloup @imarvelatthestars @marierg @ura5

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Grievous | Qymaen jai Sheelal Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, i guess? something not very normal is going on Summary:

Cody coughs again, and hears the sick wet sound he makes on the inhale. But Cody’s Jedi has a steady gaze, his eyes clear and uncanny, nearly colorless in the gloom. With a lurch, Cody realizes that Kenobi’s face shines red in the low light, blood-soaked from the work of Cody’s lungs.

“Keep breathing for me. There, just like that, you’re – you’re doing so well.”

–

Cody gets his scar

Duke(King)dom Fae AU

Beginnings

Continuation

Pets || oneshot + very beautiful art by @just-a-little-nut 💕🫶🏼 || Glowy the Moth + cutest glowy art by @grombs-blog

Jealousy

Bathtime

Adored Humanity

Softness (not canon compliant)

The Pets vs Queen Mother

This is adorable.

The hero and the dark lord have both disappeared after their battle, making everyone think they both perished. In reality, they are living on a farm, living the life of their dreams.

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

46

Hero sat on the side of the building, their feet dangling off the edge. They liked the feeling of it, liked playing with their own mortality. Maybe that was why they were so good at their job.

They leaned closer to the edge, peering over at the street. Cars crawled like ants trapped in the mid afternoon traffic.

"If not for your own peace of mind, then for mine, please get away from the edge."

Hero didn't need to look to know Villain. "Surely you should be pushing me off it."

"Hero, stop it."

Hero sighed and got to their feet, turning to face Villain. "Why? Does this make you... uneasy?" They rocked backwards on their heels.

"Hero, stop-"

Hero could tell exactly when Villain had had enough. But that wasn't too hard, because they darted forwards like a lightning bolt and pulled Hero into them with a strong hand around their wrist.

Hero felt like their breath had been stolen in that single touch. "Sorry," they said, soft and breathless.

Villain rolled their eyes. "You better not do that again, you hear me? If you die, I better be the one who kills you."

Hero brushed a stray lock of hair from their cheekbone, and Villain's gaze softened. They pressed their forehead against Hero's. "Promise me, okay?"

Hero rolled their eyes. "Fine. I pinky promise you get to murder me."

"Good." Villain replied, and then they kissed them - so softly Hero felt it might be a dream. They leaned into their touch, as if they could merge and become one if only Hero put enough force into it.

Maybe this was a better thrill than standing on the edge of buildings.

Friends to lovers prompts? 👀

@promptsh20 brings you:

I don’t care, I’ll be whatever you want me to be if it means I get to be in your life forever.” Friends to lovers prompt list.

Tokens they gifted each other years ago being worn, displayed and cared for invariably.

Constantly being mistakenly referred to as a couple or partners by outsiders, forcing one, though flattered, to quickly correct them while the other stays silent. because its kinda nice, they enjoy when others see them in that way. It further encourages them to try for more.

“It’s important to me that we stay friends.” “Of course, I feel the same but, can’t we still be friends and more.”

The realization that the hugs they share will never be something they can replicate with anyone else.

Both Knowing they’ll always have their laps and shoulders reserved for each other.

“So you went to the fireworks, and you kissed! Wow did you have fun?” “Really? You know I would’ve much rather have done it with you.”

Anytime they sit next to one another, they find themselves touching. Shoulders, thighs, knees, their honestly never entirely sure how it happens but have accepted it’s unavoidable.

The safety that comes with saying “I love you” frequently to each other but with the price of longing, longing to tell them that they mean it in a different way, a deeper way, a more than friends way.

“I just feel drained, I’m so sorry.” “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll just hold you for bit, I’m just happy to be able to see you.”

Often Doing things friends don’t normally do with one another and feeling the need to clarify that, their other friends don’t, have the same power or access that they give them. They have something different.

Whispering to the other and the small thrill they get from their lips touching the shell of their ear.

“I’ll tell you anything, anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

Both feeling jealousy so intensely when it comes to each other that it can’t be simplified to just jealousy.

Both getting hit over the head with puberty and noticing. Heavily obsessing over things that never thought about or feeling things more intensely.

Getting emotional towards each other when it comes to their relationship, because it’s fragile but also the strongest they have with anyone.

“I don’t—was that okay? Like are we doing that now?” “Yeah, I mean, I don’t mind. If your okay?” “Yes, I’m okay. I’m great, I’m good.”

Reeling after having the others scent everywhere around them after spending time together. On their skin, in their clothes, just everywhere.

Playfully teasing each other until one’s bold enough to call the other’s bluff. enough games, their tired of just the prospect of more, they want it, more than anything they want it, want them.

Going from being able to tell each other everything to struggling to decide what is appropriate to share with a friend. It’s more with potential love interest and intimacy with others that they find themselves feeling awkward or tense with each other.

Breaching the point of no return, where now a simple kiss on the forehead, lying down together or even a compliment feels loaded, things they’ve naturally always done becoming suddenly more.

“You don’t this with anyone else, right?” “No, of course not. This our thing.” “Yeah? Our thing. I like that.”

Finding that their more protective of the other than themselves, they love them and care about them and just want shield them from all the bad.

Both being invited to each other families gatherings and events because they’ve known them forever, honestly, their a part of the family.

Caring about the other’s wants, dreams, goals like their own that it’s evident, they’d do anything to help the other achieve or succeed in their aspirations. Anything.

One feeling weary at the rate things are changing between them and fear what it will mean for their friendship while the other is eager to explore a new relationship, one that fits their feelings for each other better.

“Bet you missed me.” “I did miss you, missed you so so bad.”

Staying up late because thoughts of the other are endlessly chasing away their sleep, which only leads to them calling the other and deep conversations that go on into the night.

If their caught in any form of exchange or conversation, heated, deep, soft, playful, it doesn’t matter, your definitely interrupting something or absolutely just missed it.

The thought of anyone touching the other as they have or want making them physically sick, it’s clear now, they’ve always felt more than a friendship with them.

“Your upset, I can tell you know.” “Sometimes I hate that I can’t hide that from you, now though? I’m really fucking happy you noticed.”

Love talking about each other to others because not only are they each others favourite person ever, they know so much about topic.

A/n: Thank you for being my first request! Fun fact, my favourite trope is actually friends to lovers. So, you can imagine how much fun I had with these, I hope you enjoy them as much as I have anon!

suki desu

Of Monsters And Mondays

tw: family issues, implied abuse, arson, Christian church

Sam loved Mondays.

Monday was hands down the best day of the week. For the simple reason that it wasn’t Sunday anymore and it wouldn’t be Sunday again for a while.

He wished today was Monday. He wouldn’t be here if it was.

But no, it just had to be Sunday morning, 9 o’clock.

Ah fuck, how he despised this hellhole! Every damn week. Again and again. It hadn't changed even a bit since last Sunday, or the one before that, or probably any other Sunday since he'd been baptised here.

Samuel, that's what they'd named him. God hears.

Ironic, wasn’t it? Fast forward 16 long years and God still hadn't ever heard any of his prayers. Or maybe he had and just didn’t care enough to answer any of them. Whatever, made no difference.

Same old place,

same old bullshit.

His gaze travelled up the cracks in the ancient wall, like dead riverbeds carved into the land during a drought, then it flickered past the equally dried up looking image of a crucified Jesus in the stained-glass window. A little further up, he locked eyes with one of the gargoyles lurking on the edge of the roof. Always waiting. Always watching. Ready to pounce the second he turned his back on it.

Same old place,

same old bullshit,

same old monsters.

A horrible dread settled in his stomach, much too familiar and as heavy as the massive wooden door creaking open in front of him. The shadows behind it seemed a little too eager to swallow him. Like the greedy maw that door had turned into in one of his nightmares, where the building had come to live so it could devour him for real.

Not that the place wasn't plenty horrible as it was. He hadn't even set a foot in there and yet he already couldn't breathe. This day was going to suck.

If only he could make himself throw up on demand, then he'd already be puking his guts out all over that pretentious angel statue next to the main gate. Maybe then his mother would have mercy for once, or at least send him home to reflect on what he had done.

Yeah, right! Fat chance.

He cast his mother another pleading look, even when he already knew it would be hopeless.

And of course it was. It always was.

Her cold eyes narrowed, staring daggers at him. The accusation she'd left unspoken rang louder in his ears than the deafening stroke of the bell summoning the churchgoers to worship.

He might have almost been grateful she didn't bring any of it up again. Almost. Because even though she hadn't said anything in a while, she also hadn't smiled at him even once ever since she'd learned the whole truth about him.

What had he been thinking, confiding in her in the first place? He should have known better.

Now something like scorn marked her features every time she laid eyes on him. Disappointment. Disgust. Or perhaps it was just plain disregard for him as a person? Maybe she just didn't think him her son anymore. Maybe all he was to her now was a parental duty left to fulfil, while she awaited the day she could finally erase his presence from her life.

Once upon a secret shared, she may have been the warmth of a summer day, but now, with the deep lines of that scowl on her stony face, she might as well be one of the gargoyles.

And here he’d thought he was supposed to be the monster.

He’d been told he was the one who needed to pray for forgiveness. He was the one who needed to atone for his sins. He was the one who needed fixing. According to all of them, including his own mother, the monster was him.

And perhaps there was some truth to it. Perhaps it was in his nature. It would make sense. For what else could he possibly turn out to be, having a monster for a mother?

But enough of that. He wasn’t going to argue the point today. Nor ever again. Honestly, what good had appealing to his mother’s loving kindness done him so far? She probably didn’t even possess any.

An impatient jerk of her chin towards the open door told him all he needed to know.

Yeah, fuck this. Diplomacy could officially go screw itself!

Sighing deeply, he lowered his eyes, let his shoulders droop and obediently entered the church, for what he’d make sure would be his last Sunday service.

Tonight, he’d take matters into his own hands.

Tonight, he’d burn this godforsaken place down.

Tonight, he’d become the monster they insisted he was.

Come dawn, he’d finally be free. Reborn again a higher being, rising, a phoenix from the ashes of what had been his personal hell in a life he’d leave behind tomorrow.

Things were about to change drastically.

A new day.

A new week.

A new life.

Yet one thing would always remain the same.

Sam loved Mondays.

The conflict and emotions in this one, lovely 🥺❤

Beautiful Lies

“It pains me to see my hero that way.” The villain said after a moment of silence.

And, oh god, didn’t that sound too soft? Too sad? So unlike the venomous words that usually dripped from the villain’s lips, burning themselves into the hero’s mind as if they were acid.

This seemed so different, so alien.

A flawless impression of sincere concern. Almost like the villain had actually meant it. Oh, it would have been so easy to believe those words. So tempting to trust a voice like the promise of a comforting embrace, a soothing touch.

Such beautiful lies,

but lies nonetheless.

This was wrong.

“I’m not yours!” The hero shot back, clutching at the anger churning up searing hot inside of them like it was their one and only lifeline. At least it was far more welcome than any of the other emotions currently coursing through them.

They didn’t want to have to deal with the villain right now.

They didn’t want this conversation.

They didn’t want these feelings.

All of this was so very wrong!

Years of experience in the field and a long acquaintance with the other had taught the hero better than to foolishly fall for any of that.

And yet nothing could have prepared them for how the villain’s face twisted into that pitiful frown they were now wearing. For how the villain’s hand flew to their own chest, clawed at the fabric of their shirt. How their voice cracked when they spoke.

“In my heart, we’ve always been each other’s.”

Oh, dear.

The hero had been mistaken, hadn’t they?

With all that burning fury so suddenly forgotten, an icy shiver crept down their spine as they recognised the villain’s words for what they truly were.

Not a beautiful lie,

but an ugly truth.

This was soooo good 🥺

The alarm system blared, the pitch-black darkness of the base interrupted by flashes of red as the villain ran down another corridor with the hero in tow.

The villain followed their mental map of the facility, which they had carefully memorized in preparation for this rescue mission, so that they quickly turned each corner without so much as a second thought.

Which meant they were all the more surprised when they encountered a dead-end.

The villain stopped dead in their tracks.

Then, the hero crashed into them, still dazed from captivity, and gasped upon noticing the wall blocking their exit route. They frantically pulled against the villain’s grip on their arm, trying to scramble backward, but the villain knew they didn’t have enough time to retrace their path. Their pursuers were gaining on them, sounding closer by the second.

The villain pulled them towards a door of what looked like a supply closet, rattling the handle and throwing it open, before hastily shoving the hero inside. The hero hit the back wall with a groan, but, to the villain’s relief, the sound was drowned out by the rhythmic screech of the alarm.

The villain rushed into the small space immediately after, not even sparing a glance at the hero before turning to shut the door behind them. Then they placed their ear to the door, listening for their pursuers, praying that they won’t think to check the hallway with a dead-end.

However, they weren’t able to focus on the sounds outside because of the increasingly distracting noises being made by the hero.

“Goddammit, hero,” the villain hissed. “Be quiet. Are you trying to get us caught?!”

“N-no! I..I c-can’t breathe!”

The villain whirled, squinting as their eyes adjusted to see the hero’s shadowed form shake in fear, hand clamped against their mouth as they choked back sobs.

The villain blinked. “Oh god, you’re panicking.”

The hero shook their head, stumbling back and pressing themselves flat against the wall, as far away from the villain as they could - which due to the cramped closet space wasn’t very far. “You- you... I can’t-“

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. I’m trying to rescue you!” The villain groaned. “Now isn’t the time for this!”

“Shut... shut up!”

The villain sighed.

The hero was shaking like mad, their breathing coming up shorter and shorter, tears welled up in their eyes - they looked seconds away from a complete breakdown.

The villain swallowed, taking a small step forward. “Hero, you have to pull yourself together, or you’re going to get us both captured.”

“I’m trying!”

The villain stared and shook their head in exasperation. They placed their hands on the hero’s shoulders, pulling them away from the wall, and resisted the urge to shake them.

The hero flinched back in their grasp, gasping. “W-what are you—“

“I’m going to hold you now, okay?”

Startled, the hero dropped the hand covering their mouth. They pulled their tear-filled gaze up to peer the vllain in the eye. After a moment, they closed their eyes and managed a slight nod.

The villain carefully pulled the hero against their chest, feeling their breath catch as they wrapped their arms around them; one hand on their back and the other cupping their neck. They held tight as they lowered them both down, settling so that they were kneeling, tangled together on the floor.

The hero clutched to them as they started sobbing again, but for a completely different reason.

The villain stiffened, then cleared their throat uncomfortably. “Uh, okay- just- just listen to my voice. Okay?” they said, rubbing circles in their back in a way they hoped was soothing. “Um- take some deep breaths.”

They sat there for a few minutes, pressed together, the villain whispering soft reassurances as they ran their fingers through the hero’s hair; promising them that it’s over, that they’ll make it out, that everything will be alright.

The hero sniffled, their racking sobs dying down as they were slowly lulled into a sense of comfort by the villain. They rode out what the villain hoped was the final wave of tears, and the villain couldn’t help but find themselves comfortable as well, before they remembered the imminent danger nearby.

The villain’s head snapped up.

Footsteps began approaching the hallway outside. The hero was still upset, the noise drawing too much attention. They didn’t have enough time—

The hero relaxed, exhaling a long, shaky breath, their body still quivering slightly as they slumped, exhausted, against the villain.

Completely quiet, but for a few small sniffles.

The villain still held their breath, their hold tightening around the hero, their head pressed firm to their chest, with the villain’s fingers clumped in their hair.

The footsteps paused, standing outside the corridor for what felt like hours, before finally moving on.

The villain exhaled in relief, but didn’t relinquish their grip.

They were safe, for the moment.

POWERLESS

The villain noticed that, for whatever reason, the hero was completely off their game. As they fought, their blows had no weight to them, their movements were sloppy, and their blocks could practically be broken by a short gust of wind. And then, in a bizarrely uncharacteristic display of behavior - the hero stole the villain’s usual move when a fight wasn’t going their way - they attempted to flee.

They didn’t get far before the villain tackled them down, straddling the hero’s thighs and pressing their wrists against the ground by their head. They sneered as the hero feebly struggled in their grip.

“So, my supposed ‘nemesis’ is this easy to take down?” The villain scoffed, leaning down close to the hero’s face. “How pathetic.”

It didn’t feel earned. The hero wasn’t usually this weak - they could normally bat the villain yards away like they were merely swatting a fly... but now, in their current state, even a fly could probably best them.

Something was wrong.

“Ugh! LET GO OF ME, ASSHOLE!“ The hero shrieked, squirming desperately underneath the weight of the villain. “Get the FUCK OFF!”

The villain narrowed their eyes, peering down at them, and then paused. Staring at their neck, they noticed an odd mark... a small puncture wound, like the hero’s skin was pierced by something... Oh, shit. They blinked, peering closer. It was some kind of injection... but of what? They removed a hand pinning one of the hero’s arms, because it’s not like they could do anything with it anyway, and held it in front of the hero’s face.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Huh?” The hero blinked up at them, pausing their thrashing at the sound of the villain’s concerned tone. Then, they huffed, rolling their eyes. “Very funny.”

“What?”

“Wait...” The hero’s brow furrowed. “You mean you don’t know? But it was practically broadcast to all of my-“

The hero was cut off by the sound of a super-weapon charging up, and when they both looked to the side they were greeted by a comically large barrel of a gun.

“Step aside, villain.” Another one of the hero’s enemies called out, a wide smirk spreading on their face as they eased their finger on the trigger of the super-weapon. They aligned their eye with the scope, aiming directly at the hero. “They’re mine.”

The hero cursed under their breath.

Then, yet another enemy flew in, landing in their immediate vicinity with a ready fighting stance. “Ladies first.”

And another. “I call dibs.”

“Well, this is the worst day of my life,” the hero croaked, trembling as they tried to swallow down their panic. “...and probably the last.”

The villain threw up a temporary force field around them, and then pointedly turned their gaze back to the hero.

“I’m going to need an explanation.”

The hero’s eyes had a hopeless glaze in them, but then - out of all things - they laughed. “Haven’t you noticed? I lost my powers! I’m completely fucking powerless!”

The villain’s eyebrows flew up. Oh. The injection... it was some kind of serum that took away their powers... and now they were the easy target of all of their worst enemies, which are currently pounding at the weakening force field.

The hero was throughly doomed. Unless...

“If you don’t want to die today, you’re going to do everything I say.” The villain ground out through their clenched teeth. “Got it?”

“What? You mean that you’re going to help me?” The hero blurted out, then they eyed the villain skeptically. “Why?”

“Now’s not the time for questions.” The villain stated before they rose to their feet. They held their hand out to the hero expectantly. “Now, grab my hand, quick. This force field isn’t going to last much longer.”

The hero brought themselves up to their elbows and bit their lip, brows furrowing as they considered taking the villain’s hand.

The force field shook, destabilizing from the force of the imminent threats awaiting the hero outside.

“Now or never, hero.” The villain said, extending their hand out further.

The hero closed their eyes, exhaling out of their nose as they grit their teeth. A short, contemplative moment passed, as the hero weighed the risks - coming to the conclusion that they were screwed no matter what - and their eyes popped open decisively.

“Fuck it.”

They clasped the villain’s hand, effectively placing their trust - and their life - in the hands of their sworn enemy.

The force field encompassing them fell, leaving them unguarded. Their enemies were on them in seconds, before the villain hastily threw down a smoke bomb from their belt.

Then, with their hands still clasped together, the villain bolted, dragging hero along in tow.

This is brilliant omg thank you so much 🥺❤

a snippet | run | hero x villain [part 3]

part one here part two here

dedicated to & requested by @akawrites000

The villain curled her hand around the hero’s, warm and gentle, and guided her up the stairs. The villain’s room dominated the entirety of the upper floor. The villain’s room, in turn, was dominated mostly by plants. 

Sunflowers, rosemary, sage, roses, basil, lavender, yarrow, mint, chamomile. Others that the hero couldn’t name. The roof had been replaced with glass; it was still framed by wood, so it appeared uniform from the front, but it was a beauty from the inside. The rain drummed against it and the water ran like a river down the windowpanes. Besides the plants, there was a fireplace against one wall, a bookshelf next to it, a wardrobe, and a four-poster bed tucked away in the corner. The hero sighed, the beat of the rain filling her ears, the intoxicating scent of every plant swarming her senses. It smelled nice. 

It smelled like the villain.

The villain swung the doors of the wardrobe open and pulled out a pyjama set. 

“You can’t possibly go to sleep in wet clothes,” she said. “Here.” 

The hero flushed, thankful that the lights were all off save for the flickering flames of the fireplace as she turned to the wall and shucked off her wet clothing, replacing it with the clean pyjamas. The villain hung them in front of the fireplace. Her hair was messy, but there was nothing to be done about that—that is, until the villain seated her on the bed and moved behind her, sitting a little higher, one hand on the hero’s shoulders and running a brush through her hair with the other. Stroke after stroke, falling into an even rhythm with the rain. The hero sighed and leaned into the villain. 

This feels safe. Like a home should be.

She felt safer when the villain put the brush away and tugged her down to the pillows, arms sliding around her waist and the villain’s head against the crook of her neck. 

“Goodnight, hero.” 

No more running. 

Angst inspo 💔

prompt #11

“Hero?”

Their head shot upwards at the sound of their name, a sob racking through their body upon seeing a familiar face. Villain frowned in concern, and instantly knelt down beside them. “What are you doing over here?”

Hero instinctively flinched as Villain tried reaching for them, noting how dirty and bruised they seemed. How long had they been out here? They were filthy. And still bleeding.

“I-I don’t…” They sucked in a tremulous breath. “I can’t…”

Villain brushed a lock of tangled hair out of their face, pulling them into a warm embrace. “Breathe, my dear, breathe.”

“The mission,” Hero sobbed, their hands clawing at their frame in desperation, making Villain’s jaw clench. “I-It all...went so wrong…”

Soft and adorable 🥺❤☺

Special Day

@akawrites000 requested a continuation so here it is! :D

This is a continuation of - Soft Spot

Villain placed the gift that he had just finished wrapping, complete with a little bow, on the table along with some balloons. He stood back to admire his handiwork.

Keep reading

Trust

Prompt by @nuttynutcycle

“Would you want to go out for coffee sometime?”

The villain perked up. “You mean like a date?”

“Yeah,” answered the hero, calculating exactly how long it would take the police to reach the coffee shop. “Exactly like a date.”

————————————————————————————

Villain’s face lit up with the most genuine smile hero had ever seen. He started to look a bit flustered so Hero grinned “Why, is this your first date?” she teased.

He looked up turning redder by the second. “Yes.”

Keep reading

Let's talk about one important topic I remembered only recently.

The Red Mist.

This was (and technically still is) my apocalypse AU for Cult of the Lamb (aka MLP virus AUs from tiktok). A couple of years ago I posted the first chapter of it on Ao3, determined to finish this fanfic of mine.

Well, it'll probably stay unfinished.

Once I realised this was too similar to one game (Dying light, if being precise), I couldn't look at this work. Besides, I already had a similar original universe of mine own and I don't want to make a copy of my work just for the sake of making fanfiction.

It is not the end of Red Mist. One day I will return to this AU and will make a whole reboot of this universe, but as of now I have no desire or strength to manage this

Ears... Floppy

A little animation i made

Using flipaclip i soon want to switch over to a other animation program

But i like how this one turn out

It smoll and cuteeee

Anyway ejoy~♡

Heh, I can remember my own first chapter, all the excitement, all the plans for the future.

Anyhow, glad to hear you want to write more of it! I shall readddd em as you writttte em.

I finally did it!! I can't believe I wrote this by myself, honestly. I'm still new to writing stuff so I'm not sure of this text is enough readable but I already like the beginning of the story.

Also, I was planning to make it...bigger. Like, a lot bigger. But I guess that this chapter wasn't in need of too much details

CHECK THIS SHIT OUT RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!! CHECK OUT MY FRIEND'S WORK!!!!!!!!!!

Nyctophobia

Summary: Typically, most demons can see in the dark, and most human children tend to stop being afraid of the dark by the time they're 12. But Andrew isn't like most demons, or most humans.

Characters: Darkiplier, Antisepticeye, Astoria (The DA), & Prince apparent Andrew (OC) Disclaimer(s): The Anti featured here does not belong to me. He is the muse for the blog @antidemonrp and likewise, Astoria belongs to @acetheaverage-8. I had permission from both of them to mention/feature their muses in this story. This is also an OC story instead of an x reader story. Also Dark is way more violent than he is in canon. TWs: Light violence Tags: @ghostlykestrel525

Andrew sifts through the drawers in desperation, looking for something, any kind of object that might agitate the strange demon with its disappearance.

While sifting around, his fingers brush against something sharp as he lets out a small gasp of pain. Deep crimson blood drips from his hand onto a broken photo frame. Andrew tilts his head and carefully picks the picture up, making sure to avoid cracks. The frame portrays a man who looks almost identical to the demon who'd attacked the prince and beheaded Andrews father.. Well, thats not something he cared about that much, but still. The demon looked..normal. He looked human. Alongside him in the black and white picture was a woman.

Both held drinks and smiled so genuinely. If he didn't know better he wouldn't have thought of him as terrible in the slightest. 'I wonder how old this picture is?' Andrew mutters to himself, raising his head and looking around the office. It was bland, save for one item. A large mirror hung on the wall, cracked and shattered.

"What are you doing here?" An echoey voice calls out. Shadows quickly fill up every corner of the room. Andrew quickly drops the photo in a panic as he turns around to face an incredibly angry shadow demon. The frame drops and shatters into multiple pieces on impact, Andrew's demonic blood dripping onto the polished hardwood floors and staining some of the glass scattered at his feet. The demon stared at the ground for a moment, then stared back up at the boy, his eyes completely blacked out.

"I-I'm sorry.." Andrew stutters out, the pace of his heart quickening. The room had completely darkened, and Andrew couldn't see. The demon stalked towards him, taking his time with each step. A loud ringing started to emit almost everywhere.

"Why are you here? Did Anti send you?" He asks, spitting out the prince's name from his mouth with venom. "N-No.. I came here by myself. You killed my father, attacked me, and everybody else who just happened to be near the prince." Andrew stuttered, trying to mask his fear.

Darks face shapes into a wicked grin as he grabs Andrew by the arm. "Are you scared of the dark?" He asks mockingly, tilting his head. Andrew stays silent, trying to control his breathing. Dark drags the boy into the fully blacked out halls, still grinning. "Did you know that most demons can see in the dark? Even the ones that typically can't, they aren't phased in the slightest by complete darkness. But you? You're terrified of it."

Dark shoved the boy onto the ground, the souls inside of him starting to flicker with sympathy and regret. "Why are we doing this? We're going too far.."

Unfortunately for the twins, the entities' bloodlust was far more overpowering.

The boy stared up at Dark in pure terror. The piece of hair that had been blocking his eye had been moved just a bit to reveal the hidden eye. It was brown. A stark contrast to the boys purple eye he'd seen before.

"Oh..You're half human, aren't you? How intruiging.." He grabs the boys arm again and twists. He continues twisting despite the boys' screams. And then..

Crack.

The boy shrieked again, louder this time. The entity growled. It walked away for a moment, returning with some duct tape and wasting no time taping his mouth shut and tying him up.

"I wonder how his royal highness would react if I told him that I was holding his heir hostage? I still can't figure out why he keeps you around though.." The entity fixes the lapels of the suit it wears. Andrew tilts his head in confusion. Heir?

"No matter. I have things to attend to..Lets see how well you'll fare in complete darkness by yourself, shall we?" And with a swift kick, Andrew is tossed into a dark cellar, landing on more broken glass. He was starting to feel woozy.

Andrew isn't sure how long he'd been in the cellar, but the next thing he knew was being rudely dumped onto the ground near Anti, his restraints gone. Andrew groans in pain a bit, confused. Dark quickly disappeared, and Andrew found himself being..hugged? by the prince. Anti was muttering something about Andrews wounds, sounding a lot like a concerned parent.

"..Are you alright, your highness?" Andrew had seen the way the prince typically was from the time he'd been observing him. Around his puppets or his loyalists, the prince was terrifying and commanding, but with Andrew? He seemed like a completely different creature.

Anti just stared at Andrew in disbelief at his question.

"Lets just get ya patched up..Alright?" Andrew nods weakly, but his mind lingers to the comment Dark had made.

What did he mean by heir?

The scene where Bob is beating the shit out of the dark version of himself and Yelena risks it all to run across the room to hold him, the others following suit shortly after, is easily one of the most powerful scenes in a marvel movie literally ever like it’s so important

OUGH HES SUCH A COMPLEX CHARACTER. I LOVE HIM.

Damien’s subtly, melancholically told character arc will never let me go! All these specific climactic changes in his development, they make themselves present in the Darkiplier he is controlling (as much as you can call it control). It just makes so much sense, especially after DAMIEN, and I love how much it makes my heart crackle.

His leader-to-rebel arc.

His pawn-to-prisoner arc.

His peaceful-to-vengeful arc.

His “We’ll go through this together“-to-“We don’t need the others” arc.

His sweet-to-intimidating arc.

His inviting-to-deprecatory arc.

His optimist-to-mysterious-pessimist arc.

His “We can do it”-to-“I am so tired of this” arc.

The way he cares less and so much more at the same time.

The way he is misunderstood.

The remaining constant is his want for justice. His honesty. His will to make things right.

THIS MAN WON’T GIVE ME A BREAK.

MY HEART IS BROKEN WHAT

cold frozen heart

Day 5, dragons!

You ever just... accidentally come up with an au while doodling... and then draw another picture to go with the first... and then mean to jot down a couple of paragraphs on a concept and instead end up accidentally writing a 3200 word fic on a tumblr post? Anyways...

Most witches find their soulmate early on, taking a wander to seek them out before they ever begin their apprenticeship. And why wouldn't they? A witch's soulmate is the one whose magic resonates the deepest with their own, the other half that can draw forth unknown potential in each other's souls, and necessary for any ritual of notable power. It best suited a witch to find them early on to train together, and is necessary for the final test all witches must go through- summoning their familiar. A manifestation of their partner's soul that links them no matter how far apart they may travel.

But Jimmy always dreaded it. He'd seen many pairs come and go from the Roost, how they acted. Watched his own brother and sister find their soulmates, become something more than ritual partners. Then watched his other sister stumble upon her own, only to be told it was too late, only begrudgingly tolerated. A rare occurrence, supposedly. But the real issue was that, Jimmy wasn't sure which fate was worse. He'd thought he'd stumbled upon his soulmate once, and only felt relief when it turned out to not be so.

And so here Jimmy was, on his pilgrimage to the Circle years after his peers, alone, and more theoretical knowledge than practical about any spell stronger than curing a flu. They'd sent him off, but truthfully Jimmy wasn't even sure what the coven would do with him when he arrived. Supposedly help him locate his soulmate, but maybe they would simply kick him out. There was no completing his apprenticeship without them, though.

Lost in his own thoughts, Jimmy didn't hear the strange noises in the woods along the trail, or notice the way his horse's ears bent back in fright. Not until it was too late. A wall of flames burst forth mere feet in front of them. His horse reacted faster than he ever could, throwing herself up onto her hind legs and sending everything not strapped down to her into the ground, before bolting off back the way she'd came.

Jimmy struggled onto his knees, letting out a weak whistle for her to return, but she was long gone. In pain and most of his stuff gone, Jimmy barely had the energy to turn to his attacker.

Maybe that was too generous a term. The man who stumbled out of the woods looked as though he'd taken a worse hit than Jimmy did, soot covering him head to toe and more than a few burns in his clothing. An enormous witch's hat dragged behind him, all its structure lost. When he coughed a black cloud came out of his lungs. Jimmy winced. "Oh, nooo..." The man wheezed, collapsing into the road. "No, no, no, no, no..."

"Excuse me!" Jimmy staggered to his feet, caught between too many emotions to control his tone. The man jumped, eyes nearly popping out of his skull. The strangest little squeak escaped him. "What just happened? You've gone and scared away my horse!"

"Oh, shoot, I'm so sorry!" He stuttered. "I just-"

They both stumbled forward, meant to meet in the middle if not for both of their bodies giving out. Both foreheads cracked into one another and they were down for the count once more.

"Ow." Jimmy huffed while the stranger let out a pained groan.

He shook his head. "I'm really really sorry, I was just trying to practice a spell and it got way outta control and there was boom! And whoosh! And-"

"Slow down, please." A gangly arm was thrown up into the air, signalling the man to stop in a way he could hopefully see. The strange did stop, though little meeps escaped him, something that made Jimmy imagine a runner slowing down. "You're a witch, too?"

The stranger flipped over onto his stomach immediately, excitement in his eyes, and shoved a hand out towards Jimmy. "That's right, that's me! Tango of the Hermitage variety. Well, Evermore variety, now, actually. But that's neither here nor there. If you're on this road then I'm guessing you're heading to the circle like me, huh?"

Tango... He looked much older than one might expect for a witch making the pilgrimage to the Circle. Every coven did things their own way, and if Jimmy recalled right the Hermitage was way outside the Empire, but he didn't know anywhere that trained for that long.

There he went, getting lost in thought again. Jimmy shook Tango's hand before he could forget to. "Jimmy, of the Roost. And yes, I'm on my pilgrimage."

"Oh, lucky us then, to have some company!" Tango laughed, before it slowly died. Jimmy's brow knit with concern, head lulling sideways into an indent left by the stampeding horse. The man rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, well, I guess not that lucky."

"She took everything I had with her." He groaned. A hand was in his face once more, this time to help pull him onto his feet. Tango winced as he yanked up, swiftly releasing Jimmy to clutch at his forearm with- was his other hand metallic? Now that Jimmy was up close he could see the torn sleeve was not burned away, but cut.

He could ask later, right now Tango was in pain. Jimmy offered out his own hand for once that day, to which Tango relucately presented the wound. It wasn't pretty, deeper than the most superficial burns in other places, but nothing atrocious. Well within his abilities. A spell wove its way through the air on a hum, soothing the wound. He hadn't any flesh to heal it with, but a balm of music was good enough for now.

Tango let out a sigh. "Thanks. I'm kinda low on redstone after that kaboom."

"Redstone?" Jimmy balked, unable to hold back a nervous laugh. "No wonder your spell was so... explosive."

"Hey! that's just how we do it where I come from, songbird." He wagged a finger in Jimmy's face, though from the smirk on his face Jimmy guessed he took no serious offence. "Cheaper than lapis, and plays a lot nicer with ores than glowstone."

"I suppose, but your whole ritual could be washed away by a little drizzle."

"Well, that's what roofs are for!"

Jimmy laughed, "Well, I better get going. It's going to take the rest of the day to make it to the Circle on foot. You should probably go find your soulmate and see how they're doing."

At that Tango went stiff. The jolliness he'd carried in him until then ebbed away, and his gaze cast back towards the woods. "My soulmate, yeah, right... Uh, well, thing is... I mean, where's your soulmate, anyways? Your horse make off with them, too?"

Dread roiled in Jimmy's gut even at the mention, his shoulders slumping. "Ah, thing is..." It clicked then, in the back of his mind. His gaze shyly returned to Tango, who was doing a poor job of pretending to look for something. Jimmy shrugged. "Well, I suppose if we're going the same way anyways, would you join along?"

Tango head swivelled to him in surprise. It took him a moment to come to the same conclusion Jimmy had. When he did a sort of odd smile inched onto his face, something like sympathy but not quite. More comforting than infuriating like Jimmy would normally find similar looks from others who realized he was alone. A nod was shared between the pair, quiet, and they slowly stumbled into the first few steps side by side.

So their journey began. It took no time at all for chatter to return between them. About their pilgrimage so far, about the supplies they'd brought and lost. Tango interrupted to apologize more than once.

Along the way they stopped at a well to retrieve something to drink near a flax field. A few bolls was enough to weave a song that fixed up Tango's coat. Jimmy went to weave the last bit into bandages for the wound he'd soothed, but it had seemed fine on its own already, to both of their happy surprise. Maybe there had happened to be something freshly killed nearby when he cast the spell after all.

"I wonder how they'll do it?"

"Hm?" Jimmy turned to his companion, who was staring up at the sky absently.

"Find our soulmates. My master said they would. I wonder if they have some sort of crystal ball, or maybe you gotta play cards?"

"You mean divination?" A snort escape Jimmy while Tango snapped his fingers and whispered a quite "Bingo!" "Well, I suppose they must read your soul somehow. Our masters said that soulmates are connected by the thread of fate."

"Mine said it's more like making soup." Tango hummed.

Jimmy nearly tripped. "Soup?"

"Yeah! Soup! When you do a ritual your souls mix, and soulmates are the two souls that make the best soup."

"I don't think I like that explanation." He admitted, and Tango nodded in agreement.

"My buddy said it was more like finding the other end of a redstone circuit." His tone calmed, eyes on something in his mind rather than the road. "Like, there's a lamp, and you need two circuits to light it properly. He could feel the feedback through their connection..."

"I see..." It wasn't all that dissimilar in image to the metaphor of choice Jimmy's coven used. A lot more practical though, like everything else Tango had told him about his coven. More practical, less...

Romantic.

Tango made a noise, "Course I'm his best bud, I can't just let something like that go. You shoulda seen his face at the wedding when we lit up the whole arch at the exchange! I don't know if he wanted to kill me or hug me."

Jimmy felt something in him sink. He tried to brush off the strange disappointment, "So even in your coven soulmates tend to get together, huh?"

"Tend to?" Tango's face scrunched up, and he threw his arms out to the sky. "That's just the standard. The sound I made when I went to apprentice under Master Shubble and found out in the Evermore, weddings and soulmate ceremonies were two separate things!"

"Wait, they're the same?" Jimmy pulled a face not dissimilar to the hermit's own.

"The humans in town even call each other soulmates, even thought hey don't have one."

The more things are different... Jimmy sighed, "Great..."

Tango chuckled, something empty of humour. "I'll tell you a secret. I told my coven I wanted to train under Master Shubble to broaden my search or whatever. But really, it's because the Evermore is out in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing but frogs and flies. Less chance of running into someone who might be my soulmate."

"really?"

"Yeah." He groaned. "But you can't finish apprenticeship without a familiar, and you can't summon a familiar without a soulmate. I guess there's no escaping it."

"We could run off." Jimmy blurted out. Both men paused, eyes locking. "To somewhere remote like the Evermore, or, like, a remote town. Where no one will care if we're still technically apprentices. It'd be easy enough to run a ranch or something with what we got."

A sad smile stretched across Tango's face. "That'd be great. Thought about it a few times. Unfortunately, I got plans. And those plans involve spells you can't cast alone."

"Oh." Jimmy deflated. They began to walk once more. Truth be told, Jimmy hadn't decided what he wanted to do. But Tango was right, anything of any ambition would require the power of a soulmate.

Still... "It's nice to know." He mused aloud. "That someone else would rather be without a soulmate.

There was a long silence, during which Tango gave him an indecipherable look. Whatever he intended to say died on his tongue, though, as he faced back towards the road ahead. "They better have a feast waiting for us for our troubles!"

Jimmy laughed. "More troubles than they'd ever realize!"

As lovely as Tango's company was, it couldn't counter the oppressive air that befell them as the Circle tower came into view. They tried to converse but it fell away too easily. Fate loomed ahead, ready to sweep them away like a flood.

But they could at least bring one another comfort. As the tower neared so too did they to one another, until they were pressed up against each other's sides. When they were close enough that people came into view Jimmy's arm instinctively wrapped around Tango's like he always had done as a child venturing out into the market with his siblings. Tango responded in kind, locking their hands together and bringing his metal hand up like a guard to brush against Jimmy's elbow.

They could push through this, Jimmy thought. Just get it over with, and maybe they could help one another find their soulmates. Be there to stand between them, when they could. And then they can get their familiars and never speak to their other halves again if they could get away with it. They just had to get through this.

Almost directly in front of the gates, a Circle witch bowed in greeting, holding two leather garments. "Tango of the Evermore, Jimmy of the Roost. It's good to see you've made it here in one piece."

"Mostly." Jimmy chirped, all the while his hold on Tango's hand tightened.

"We're just setting up for your ritual now. If you would put these gaurds on and follow me, we can get started."

Inside was nothing like the Roost. From Tango's reaction it was nothing like the Evermore or Hermitage, either. The walls were pitch black except for a night sky reflected in them. What night sky, they couldn't know, as it was still dusk when they entered. They made Jimmy dizzy trying to discern his own location relative to them. More than once a toe stubbed.

At the heart of the tower was a room, given reality by the presence of several bookshelves and islands of garden tables. At its centre was a tree, which they were guided to. Upon its bark were countless spells, some worn to nothing and others freshly made, overlapping until they could hardly be separated from each other.

The Circle witch turned to them, brushing their hand along the bark. "This is the Tree of Life. Our coven has protected it for unknown eons, and upon it is the mark of every witch on the continent, past, present, and future. You two will place your mark here as well, today, and join your ancestors in the fabric of life."

"And then what happens?" Tango asks, voice tense. Jimmy ran his thumb over the man's hand. This is how they would find their soulmate? Did they appear int he mind's eye? In the stars or the leaves?

"Then your familiar will be summoned forth from your soulmate's soul, forever bound to connect you to one another no matter where your might be. In doing so, you will be able to resonate with one another at all times, and watch over each other."

Jimmy jerked back in surprise. "What? And we can do that on our own? they don't have to be here? What if they aren't done their own training?"

The coven witch's eyes narrowed, flicking to Jimmy, then Tango, then back once more. "I don't understand what you mean. Have one of you come along without completing your training?"

"Of course not!" Tango grumbled. "But our soulmates might not be? We haven't found them yet, can't you tell even that?" The tension of the situation was getting it him, Jimmy could almost feel it, squeezing on his own heart. Jimmy paused. Hold on...

"Your soulmate is right here?" They said, though it lilted as their hand hesitantly gestured to Jimmy. They looked deep into Jimmy's eyes once more, before nodding.

Jimmy and tango's eyes met, wide and searching. Soulmates... His soulmate was Tango? He didn't know what to feel, his mind choosing to go numb instead, before Tango's shoulder bumped his. It broke both from their trance.

"You're my soulmate." Tango breathed out, disbelieving.

"You aren't suddenly into the idea of marriage, are you?" It was meant to be a joke, but Jimmy still felt his heart clench. His friend had once said he never wanted to marry, adamantly repeating so over and over, and yet now he was at Jimmy's sister's beck and call like the words had never been spoken. It sank worry into his bones, as he looked into Tango's awestruck expression.

But he needn't be, and perhaps he should have known better, but in his defence he'd only known his soulmate for a few hours now. Either way, Tango gasped, almost gagged, and whipped his head back and forth so hard Jimmy worried he'd snap his own neck. "Of course not!"

They stared at one another, the situation finally fully sinking in. And then both burst, laughter filling the air.

Of course Tango was his soulmate. The perfect match for his own soul. What did the stars care for whatever other meanings people imagined onto their machinations, after all?

"Whenever you're ready." The Circle witch gently reminded.

They stepped forward, each taking one of the glittering red stones at the tree's base. It was one spell, Jimmy drawing the outer circle while Tango worked on the inner symbols. When it was fully drawn they stepped back and faced one another. Exchanging one last nod, Jimmy began to sing.

They started as a flicker. Jimmy could feel it in his own chest, while he watched it occur to Tango in tandem. Not a tug, but a brush, and a flutter as the lights grew. It felt like his soul was melting and pouring out of him to mix with Tango's. Like soup, he mused with good humour.

The lights burned their brightest before they dimmed into tangible shapes, not unlike metal being worked into form. Just as it reached the point where Jimmy could begin to discern the small creature before him there was another flash. Not of the ritual, but from the beast. When his eyes opened again before him was a little serpent, frilled neck bright like the sun, and body slithering on the wind. He put out his arm, and it bounced in the air until it landed, four sets of claws piercing into the leather armour.

Across from him he caught sight of Tango, beckoning forth a yellow feathered serpent. He yelped, having outstretched his dominant arm instinctively and receiving little needles digging into his flesh for his trouble. Lucky they were so small. A giddy feeling washed over Jimmy, eyes darting between their new companions.

"Dragons!" Tango practically cheered. "Oh, Impy's gonna be so jealous!"

"A rare form, indeed." The Circle witch agreed, before stepping aside. "And that concludes our part in your venture. We deem you full fledged witches from here on, free to do as you wish with your power- within our laws, of course."

"What now?" Jimmy breathed, suddenly overwhelmed with possibilities he never thought within his reach.

Tango made a little noise, and Jimmy was beginning to suspect he might have to get used to that. Not that it would be hard. "You mentioned something about a ranch, on the way here?" He said, head tilted and grin toothy. "I mean, we might be full witches, but I got a sneaking feeling we both have some serious practice to put in."

"I know a lovely little place." Jimmy said, lighter and more excited to use his magic than he had been in years.

"Then let's go home."

Hey! I love your writing so much. I think I read almost all of your stories.

I was wondering if you could write an angst to comfort story with a henchman who made a minor mistake and is absolutely freaking out because their previous boss didn’t allow for mistakes and the Supervillain and current leader would comfort them?

I think it would be so cute!

Bonus point if the henchman is ruthless in fights and normally very stoic and cold.

I hope you have a nice and once again, I love your writing ❤️

A Misplacement

Henchman braced as Supervillain swept into the room, their grandiose presence seeming to bring everyone in the office into a more upright posture. The henchman stood impassively with their hands clasped and head slightly bowed, awaiting any orders that might be heading their way after the rather dramatic entrance.

“Henchman. Grab Hero’s file for me, will you?”

Henchman knew a command when they heard one, just as they had been prepared for.

“Yes, sir.”

Supervillain brushed by, still speaking as they walked.

“You can stop with that ‘sir’ nonsense. I respect the dedication, but you could really stand to lighten up a bit. It’s Supervillain,” their boss called, rounding the corner into their private office before Henchman had a chance to retort.

It would take more than that to trip Henchman up. They knew the rules, and ‘sir’ was just the tip of the iceberg.

Fight well, follow orders, and keep their head down. That’s all Henchman knew how to had to do. The trap of casualness was not one they would be falling into anytime soon.

They walked briskly to a cabinet against the wall and jingled a small set of keys from their pocket. They found the correct one almost automatically and went straight for the initials they knew Hero would be filed under. They dug past a few folders, brow creasing as they passed the suspected location. Semi-frantically, Henchman pulled out two other drawers, digging through those too to no avail.

Henchman froze. Hero’s file. It was gone.

Numbly, their gaze shifted across the room to the shredder that they had used yesterday to purge some older files at the request of their supervisor. Their hand shook as they closed the drawer of the filing cabinet.

Follow orders, until they can’t. Then it becomes, accept what comes next.

Blankly, they stepped towards their superior’s office. They paused at the door, shoving all their thoughts down into a tiny box they sealed shut with the mental equivalent of an excessive amount of duct-tape.

They could face the punishment. They always could.

The door opened with a click and Henchman allowed their jelly-filled legs to carry them into the center of the room, stopping there and reassuming the stiff posture and clasped hands that they reserved solely for moments spent in the presence of their boss.

“You can just set it on the desk,” Supervillain voiced dismissively, not looking up from the task at hand, which seemed to be signing some papers spread out in front of them. When no file placed itself on their desk, Supervillain rested their pen and questioned, “Is there something else?”

When they received no response, the supervillain lifted their head and immediately took notice of their employee’s current state.

“Henchman, are you alright?”

Supervillain had risen from their large leather arm chair and was now heading towards their subordinate.

“You just look a little pale. Come, sit down will you?”

They grabbed Henchman by the shoulders and led them to sit down in the chair that they had just occupied.

They hadn’t so much as touched the cushion before the words started to spill out of their mouth, lacking the usual curtness Supervillain had grown used to during Henchman’s lengthy employment.

“The file. I’m sorry. I must have misplaced it yesterday with some old papers. It’s not an excuse,” they added hurriedly. “I know and I understand that you need to-“

Their boss shot observant eyes to Henchman’s hands, which they had unknowingly started wringing in their lap.

“Is that what this is about? The file?” Supervillain questioned incredulously.

Their stoic, ruthless fighter who had never been anything but absolutely dependable on the battlefield was now ashy as a ghost and squirming after being asked to deliver a file.

“I messed up. I know the consequences-” Henchman explained almost robotically before their boss cut them off.

“Consequences? Henchman, we can just print another one. They’re saved in the cloud. It’s no big deal. It takes, like, two minutes. I know the printer is slow but it’s certainly not worth crying over.”

Crying? Henchman would never-

Oh. There was liquid trailing down their cheek now, running from the corner of their eye to the bottom of their jaw.

Oh no. Their boss would never forgive them for this.

Their boss, who was-

Henchman braced for sharpness, but Supervillain met them with nothing but soothing words.

“Breathe, Henchman. Breathe.”

Supervillain still had them by the shoulders, but now they were in front of them, kneeling and modeling deep breaths with their whole body and maintaining eye contact with a completely frozen Henchman.

“Are you breathing? I don’t hear anything.” Supervillain shook them gently and their employee finally took one big breath in without breaking the rigid professional composure they were still so desperately clinging to.

“That’s it.” Supervillain encouraged, signaling them to release the breath with an exaggerated deep sigh through slightly pursed lips. “You’re doing so well.”

Henchman’s facade broke with a loud, hiccuping sob.

At that, Supervillain wasted no time smothering them with a tight hug, holding on for long enough that Henchman was able to stop hyperventilating and start matching the pace of the lungs pressed up against them.

Only when Henchman’s face started to burn hot with embarrassment from their situation did their superior finally pull away, but only far enough to look them in the eye as they spoke.

“You transferred from Villain’s office, correct?”

Henchman nodded in confirmation, sniffling quietly and averting their eyes.

“Ah, I see.”

Supervillain went right back into the embrace and continued it for as long as Henchman let them.

A few tissues and a short talk on acceptable treatment of workers later, Supervillain eventually exited their personal office, entering the greater office area and addressing the first worker that they encountered.

“Other Henchman, pull Villain’s file please. Send me the address.”

Other Henchman nodded, immediately sliding their chair over to the nearest filing cabinet and beginning to thumb through the labels in the drawer.

“Got it,” Other Henchman signaled by waving a file in the air, already typing out a message on their computer.

“I think it’s time I pay someone a visit,” Supervillain declared as they sauntered out the doors, their phone dinging with what was undoubtedly the location of their newest nemesis.

"You poisoned me." Hero's hand goes to their throat, already feeling the burn, the effect of the toxin. They realized the moment they took a drink from pretty red wine Villain suggested they share.

"Not poison. Not exactly." Villain tuts. "Truth serum. It's considered a minor toxin but by no means dangerous to the average person."

Hero's eyes widen. They feel the sting of betrayal, harsher than the burn in their throat.

"Why?" They croak. "Was this the only reason you suggested dinner together?" Their eyes burn.

Villain eyes them for a moment. "You're privy to a lot of useful information about the other heroes. Information I could find useful. As for your other question," They drawl, "Why? Would you be upset by that?" Villain almost smirks.

Already feeling the effects, Hero is unable to lie. "Yes." They answer quietly. They try to avoid Villain's gaze, waiting for the interrogation to begin, meal abandoned. "I was happy when you asked me." Their words spill out of them unbidden.

They miss the surprised look on Villain's face at this admission. Quiet settles over them for a long moment.

"Looking forward to trying to mend my villainous ways?" Villain eventually huffs. "Did you hope that a nice dinner together would have been enough to change me?" Their tone borders on defensive.

Tears threaten to spill over Hero's lashes. They try to get control of their emotions, but the serum is doing something to their control, their inhibition.

"No." They confess. "No. I just wanted to spend time with you." They still can't meet Villain's gaze, the table below beginning to blur.

"Why?" Villain asks, sounding incredulous, sounding almost spooked. "We're enemies. I've nearly killed you countless times."

Hero gulps, trying to stop the words from coming out, mentally clawing at themselves to stop speaking. They tumble out anyway.

"I like spending time with you." Their hand goes to grip the table, to steady themselves as they lose control of their own voice. "I like spending time with you especially when we're not fighting."

"Stop it." Villain demands. Now it's their turn for their voice to wobble.

"I really like you." Tears brim over Hero's cheeks now, and they hear Villain suck in a harsh breath. They can't stop the words now that they're flowing out. The dam has been broken.

"Stop talking. Stop it." Villain sounds more desperate now.

"I was hoping you'd kiss me tonight."

The table shakes loudly as Villain stands, dining ware nearly falling over. Hero finally looks up at them, trying to blink away their tears. They see Villain's hollowed expression. They let out a rattling breath.

"This was a mistake." Villain finally says. Hero sees the way they dig their nails into the table cloth, before their vision is blurred by more tears. "I shouldn't have done this."

"Dinner..? Or tricking me?" Hero's voice is rough, raspy.

Villain is silent for a long moment. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done." Now it's their turn to not meet Hero's eyes.

"I'd let you take me to dinner again." Hero gulps, the truth still spilling out of them with ease. "I wish you'd take me to dinner again. Even if you trick me another time." Shame swirls in Hero's gut as they admit to this pathetic truth. It doesn't matter how many times they get burned, it won't change how much they imagine Villain's lips on theirs, their hands on them.

"I need to go." Villain's throat bobs. They shove themselves away from the table harshly, the wine spilling over. Hero watches them leave as their tears drip below.

Hello. I heard you wanted ideas for a snippet so here I am.

Why not write about a supervillain inviting the hero to a dinner to a fancy restaurant. The hero would accept and he would be either dumbfounded or happy to be treated well (or any feeling you would like but something strangely positive). The supervillain would be a gentleman, the hero would be able to eat what he truly wants and not what is cheaper (broke hero perhaps?)…

I feel like I’ve been super specific already so I hope you enjoyed the prompt and if you pick this prompt, hopefully you’ll have a good time writing it.

Dinner with the Villain

This was so fancy to write lol, I love how it was more specific. I hope this is what you had in mind.

Warnings: Poor living conditions

The hero stood outside the restaurant, staring up at the glowing sign with a mix of disbelief and apprehension. Le Clair de Lune was the kind of place they’d only ever seen in movies—crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, waiters in tailored suits. Not exactly the kind of spot you’d expect to be invited to by your arch-nemesis.

But here they were, clutching the embossed invitation in their hand, the words “Join me for dinner. 8 PM sharp. No capes.” scrawled in the villain’s elegant handwriting. They’d almost thrown it away, convinced it was some kind of trap. But curiosity—and the gnawing hunger that came with living on instant noodles—had won out.

The moment they stepped inside, a waiter greeted them with a polite smile. “Ah, you must be our guest of honor. Right this way.”

The hero followed, their boots squeaking awkwardly on the polished floor. They felt out of place in their patched-up jacket and scuffed jeans, but the staff didn’t seem to notice. Or if they did, they were too professional to comment.

The villain was already seated at a table near the back, dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than the hero’s entire apartment. They looked up as the hero approached, a smirk playing on their lips.

“You came,” the villain said, their voice smooth and amused. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Yeah, well,” the hero muttered, sliding into the chair across from them. “Free food is free food.”

The villain chuckled, gesturing to the menu. “Order whatever you like. My treat.”

The hero hesitated, their eyes scanning the menu. The prices were astronomical, the kind of numbers that made their stomach twist. But the villain had said whatever you like, and the hero wasn’t about to pass up the chance to eat something that didn’t come out of a microwave.

They ordered the most expensive steak on the menu, along with a side of truffle fries and a dessert they couldn’t even pronounce. The villain raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, simply sipping their wine as the waiter took the order.

“So,” the hero said once they were alone, “what’s the catch?”

The villain tilted their head, feigning innocence. “Catch?”

“Yeah. You don’t just invite me to a fancy dinner for no reason. What’s your angle?”

The villain leaned back in their chair, their smirk widening. “Can’t a villain simply enjoy the company of their favorite adversary?”

The hero snorted. “Favorite adversary? You tried to blow up my apartment last week.”

“And yet, here you are,” the villain said, gesturing to the table. “Eating my food, drinking my wine. Clearly, you’ve forgiven me.”

“I haven’t forgiven you,” the hero shot back, though there was no real bite to their words. “I’m just… curious.”

The villain’s expression softened, just slightly. “Perhaps I’m curious too. We’re always fighting, always at each other’s throats. I thought it might be… refreshing to see what happens when we’re not.”

The hero didn’t know how to respond to that. They were saved by the arrival of their food, the aroma of perfectly cooked steak making their mouth water. They dug in without hesitation, savoring every bite. It was the best meal they’d had in years.

The villain watched them eat, their expression unreadable. “You know,” they said after a moment, “you don’t have to live like this.”

The hero paused, a forkful of steak halfway to their mouth. “Like what?”

“Like you’re always one paycheck away from disaster,” the villain said, their voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re a hero. You save lives. And yet, you can’t even afford a decent meal. It’s… tragic.”

The hero set their fork down, their appetite suddenly gone. “What are you saying?”

The villain leaned forward, their eyes gleaming. “I’m saying you deserve better. And maybe… I can help with that.”

The hero stared at them, their mind racing. This had to be a trick. Some kind of manipulation. But the villain’s expression was sincere, their offer genuine. And for the first time, the hero wondered if maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have to do this alone.

“Why?” they asked finally. “Why would you help me?”

The villain smiled, a rare, genuine smile. “Because even villains have their soft spots. And because… I think you’re worth it.”

The hero didn’t know what to say to that. So they didn’t say anything. They just picked up their fork and kept eating, the weight of the villain’s words settling over them like a warm blanket.

For the first time in a long time, they felt… hopeful.

Masterlist

Prompt (517)

“People don’t take me seriously enough,” the villain said. “How can I look more intimidating?”

“Well, for starters, you can stop inviting your enemies to lunch dates to survey them,” the hero said.

The villain chuckled sarcastically, but wrote the answer down anyway. The hero sipped their coffee. A wry smile curled their lips.

“You’re paying, right?” The hero asked.

“Shut up. Yes. Next question.”