quietbreeze

[quietbreeze]

im so obsessed with the touchstarved hero thing that you did ive read it more than 20 times, a very normal amount yes, would you ever think of writing another touchstarved prompt or even a touchstarved villain one? thank you so much for your work

"I don't mind."

"Hm?" The protagonist looked up, brow furrowing.

"I don't mind when you touch me," the villain said. "That is - it's not horrific."

"Well, I'm glad I wasn't horrific. Life goals."

The villain shot them a look.

The protagonist smiled despite themselves. It was too easy to feel lulled, brain at ease for the first time in far too long, buzzing with all the good endorphins. Intimacy. Closeness. It was impossible to dwell on the danger, for as surely as there was attraction, there was danger.

They leaned in, slowly enough to clearly telegraph their intentions, and pressed a kiss to the villain's chest. Half teasing. Half something infinitely more dangerous, like genuine affection for the terrible idea sprawled beneath them.

The villain held their gaze. They almost even smiled back. They tangled their fingers into the protagonist's hair instead, but didn't tug them away. They let the protagonist settle even closer than before, head against their beating chest.

The protagonist was starting to understand that meant something too.

"It's merely that people don't do it very often," the villain said, voice clipped, carefully controlled. "Touch me, I mean. Or when they do, it's with the sort of casual presumption that makes me want to rip their hands off. You do not presume."

"Well, you did look ready to rip my hands off once or twice." They knew what the villain meant though. When the protagonist had touched suddenly, unexpectedly, it had been less about trying to control the villain and more just needing something to hold onto as the villain kissed them stupid. Instinct. Desire. Need. The villain had known that, hadn't they? "But you're welcome. I mean, any time."

The villain nodded. Once. Curt - uncomfortable, perhaps, with such an open and vulnerable emotion. They cleared their throat.

The protagonist felt another stupid swell of warmth. They could hear the villain's heartbeat slowing beneath their ear, trusting, and it felt like yet another giddy thrill for the day. A complicated and tentative privilege.

They lay together, in their stolen moment of illicit peace.

"Besides," the villain broke the silence after a while. "Next time, I can always ziptie your hands to the bed posts."

"Next time?" The protagonist's heart skipped.

The villain shrugged. "You like touching. You'd look adorable begging for it. I think I'd like to see that."

The protagonist was sure they'd gone all wide-eyed again, flushed and flustered, because that time the villain definitely smiled. They hesitated, then tugged the protagonist's hair.

"Come back here so I can kiss you again," the villain said.

The protagonist obliged, even as their brain whirled through all the villain had said.

How long had it been since someone touched the villain like this? Since the villain let themselves be touched? It was clearly something they craved, enjoyed, just as clearly as it was something more complicated than that too.

They stopped thinking as the kiss deepened. They drew themselves a little closer still, ever-mindful of where they put their hands, and only more conscious now because of that of the way the villain's body responded beneath them. The shiver of breath. The thud of their heart. The way the villain pressed in, only to pull back again, like a starved creature that could only sustain itself in small increments before it became too much.

It was intoxicating. It felt just a little like power. A good, perfect, brilliant sort of power.

As they broke apart, the villain studied them for another long moment, expression unreadable, but eyes almost soft.

"Come on," the villain murmured. "Play time's over. Let's go."

[quietbreeze]

truth potion/serum 😌

“What’s that?” The hero murmurs uneasily under their breath, watching as the villain carefully inserts the needle into the soft flesh of their forearm, making them wince slightly. They watch it plunge into their vein, only daring to tug against the restraints once the needle is out of their skin.

The villain merely sends them a smile. “Nothing that’ll kill you.”

“Let me guess,” the hero growls. “A fate worse than death? Are you really trying this bullshit with me after all this time?”

“You don’t think our dynamic is a conventional one?”

The hero shuts their mouth, contemplating what the villain’s game was. If it was a sedative, it was a slow acting one, since they couldn’t feel any symptoms creeping up on them just yet. It was peculiar - they felt just fine.

“Let’s be honest,” the hero sniffs, and they don’t miss the way the villain almost laughs in amusement. They don’t know why that’s funny. “If our relationship was a conventional one, you would have killed me the moment you kidnapped me.”

The villain hums, their eyes roaming from their face languidly, kissing their teeth. The hero watches with a stubborn frown as they begin to circle around them, ever so slowly, and it makes them nervous.

They try not to shift.

“You’re right,” the villain sighs from behind them, and they want nothing more than to crane around to keep their eyes on them, but they can’t. Their heart races relentlessly in their chest, clenching their jaw. “Would you rather we adhere to the stereotypes?”

They roll their eyes. “If it means getting killed, then why would I?”

“You’re self righteous and selfless, aren’t you?” The villain teases. “Doesn’t that come with your job?”

“It doesn’t mean I’m eager to die. Dying means defeat, and I wouldn’t ever let you defeat me. You and I both know that.”

The villain stops beside them, a smile on their face that the hero doesn’t like. They send them a sharp glare for good measure, just because they can.

“So, is that a no?”

The hero wants to know where this is headed.

“No,” they confirmed. The villain stepped closer to them, their thumb gently brushing over a tender bruise on their temple. The finishing blow that had rendered them unconscious, making it easy for the villain to drag them here into their clutches. The hero forces back a wince, their eyes hard and determined. The villain loves that look.

“But you’re like that with others,” the villain comments, still stroking their temple. “Other villains, I mean. Especially Supervillain - the typical good versus bad. You know they’d kill you if they could. Stereotypes, after all.”

To hero resists the urge to lean keenly into that touch. “Because I know Supervillain is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Their eyes gleam mischievously. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”

They shift. No dizziness yet, and their vision is completely clear, along with their mind. It’s not a sedative. What are they planning?

“No,” they respond after a moment, and the villain’s jaw ticks. It’s the only sign of irritation they’ve seen from them, but their tongue blurts more before they can stop themselves. “You’re dangerous in different ways.”

The irritation disappears, and the thumb slips down their cheek.

“Dangerous in different ways,” they muse, as if chewing the words that came out of their mouth. The hero’s heart is pounding against their ribcage, and they’re not quite sure why. The villain is incredibly close, feeling pinned down by their cold gaze alone.

“You’re easier to be around,” the hero speaks, trying not to stammer over their words. “I...” I hate you, don’t get me wrong. That’s what they want to say, but their throat closes up before they can. The villain’s thumb strokes the bottom of their jaw, and they shiver, as if encouraging them.

“Because I know you won’t kill me. When given the chance, you go easy on me.”

“You think I go easy on you?”

The hero gives them a disgruntled look. “You never torture me. Last time you kidnapped me, I slept in one of your guest rooms.”

“You were still a prisoner, or did you forget?” The villain scoffs. Of course they had been. The hero had spent all night trying to pick the lock, to smash the windows, but there was no point. They were a prisoner, but it never felt like they were in danger. Not in the same sense they felt when the supervillain almost incapacitated them. It was different.

“That’s not the point,” the hero snaps, unaware of their own rising irritation. They jerk their head away from the touch, feeling as though it was distracting them. The villain has this arrogant smirk on their lips, as if they know exactly what they’re doing. “If I ever kidnapped you, I wouldn’t stick you in a luxurious room. I wouldn’t let you sleep on a bed, I wouldn’t have you here and not torture you.”

The villain hums, their voice dropping low. “You like it when I treat you good?”

“Yes.” No. “I do.” It’s weird.

It takes a single, heart stopping beat for the hero to realise what they’d just said, their brows furrowing in confusion. They open their mouth to say something else, before their eyes flick down to the red pinprick from the needle in their skin. They release a shuddering breath.

“A truth serum,” they breathe. “That’s what you injected me with.”

The villain lets out a dark, amused chuckle. “I was waiting for you to figure it out.”

They lean back, creating a rift of air between them where the hero can still feel their warmth. It still feels hard to breathe, their wrists flexing under the restraints, and they grind their teeth hard together. This is dangerous. This was exactly what they were talking about.

“Are you tired, Hero?” The villain’s soft voice questions, enough to make the hero swallow uneasily. Their heart is racing now, so fast they feel like they’re going to throw up. They screw their eyes shut.

“Yes,” they say, feeling fingers under their jaw, tipping their head back. Their eyes open instinctively. The villain almost coos.

“And you love how easy it is with me,” the villain murmurs, admiring the embarrassed, shunted look in those cute eyes of theirs. “Love how I treat you.”

The hero’s fists clench. They desperately try to say no. “Yes.”

“And,” the villain purrs, their thumb brushing along their bottom lip with precious ease,” it’s dangerous because it’s so easy to shut your brain off. So dangerous to let your guard down around me. Easy to manipulate, as much as you wish that wasn’t true.”

The hero almost whines. “Yes.”

“Do you think I’m manipulating you?” They ask, their voice a hushed whisper, like a soft lull in their brain. The hero squirms, but they still can’t look away, not even daring to swallow. The villain leans in closer, their lips so close to theirs, and their voice turns dark. “Do you think it’s working?”

Who knew the hero’s weakness was simple acts of kindness. The villain had never thought going so easy on them would make them putty in their hands. But it did.

The hero bites down on the inside of their cheek, straining not to answer. The villain’s fingers curl around a lock of their hair, tucking it behind their ear tenderly. Too tenderly - the hero loves it.

“Better not fight it,” they hum. “It’ll hurt.”

“Yes,” the hero finally gasps, the throbbing pain in their head easing. They almost feel out of breath, trembling under each of their cunning touches.

The villain’s eyes gleam, leaning forward to kiss them. The hero had been so adamant they could never defeat them, and it almost makes them crackle. Maybe never in the stereotypical sense, but they had proved this was not a stereotypical rivalry; what was true defeat if they didn’t conquer them, after all?

@badthingshappenbingo

[quietbreeze]

you can find me on campus committing social blunders

[quietbreeze]

Hi! I love your writing

Could you do something like the villain finding out his nemesis hero is member of his nearly extinct (fantasy?) species?

Like the villain thought he was the last of his kin?

"You..." The villain's eyes widened. "You're..."

Between wearing either heavy make-up and coloured contacts in his civilian guise, or his hero mask when he wasn't, the hero could usually pass as human.

Unfortunately, his mask rested utterly useless in the villain's hands and he hadn't had time to do a full face before rushing out the door. The inhumanity of him was thus blatantly visible beneath the villain's devouring gaze.

"A monster?" the hero snapped. "That's rich coming from you, you-"

The villain reached up and, with the careful press of a button, his own mask slid away.

The hero froze.

The hero stared.

The whole world, and all that he was fighting for dropped away as his heart leapt and his mouth went dry and it felt like every atom in his body hummed with recognition.

The villain's eyes were the same purple shade as his own - a dark orchid-esque colour that humans couldn't quite filter properly and had no entirely accurate name for. The line of his cheek had the same glimmer of scales, though the villain's were a shimmering pearl compared to the hero's blue. He hadn't filed his teeth down to blend in like the hero had either. They were carnivore-sharp.

Dragon. In his more humanoid form, certainly, but a dragon nonetheless.

Just like the hero.

Several key facts slid into place.

"Oh," the hero said, breathless. The old language suddenly felt ready and perched on his tongue like a waterfall. He swallowed it down.

"I thought I was the only one left."

The hero's brain churned, as he struggled to compute the astounding evidence in front of him. Because he couldn't - the villain couldn't - except he obviously was.

Had he been stealing for his hoard?

"I thought I was alone," the villain said. "Are there others?!"

Mutely, dumbstruck, the hero shook his head.

He'd thought he was alone too. For so long, so very very long, he'd thought he was the only one left. And now - now. The hero scrambled belatedly to his feet, with a groan of pain. He could feel panic rising. Panic and hope and fury and longing.

The villain closed the gap in an instant, as if scared the hero might run. He curled one hand around the front of the hero's suit to hold him in place, pinning him back against the wall with a matching strength that suddenly made so much more sense. The wall behind them gave an ominous shudder.

His stare raked over the hero's body, like he could slip beneath his clothes and perform a full catalogue or history, before snapping back to the hero's mouth. His teeth.

"What did they do to you?"

"They didn't do anything. I -" There were too many questions, it was too big. The hero had no idea where to start. He reached out to grab his mask back from the villain.

The villain hurled it aside, well out of the way. His freshly-freed hand gripped the hero's wrist. Tight. Possessive.

"Why are you protecting humans?" the villain sounded somewhere between bewildered and livid. "What's wrong with you?"

The hero bristled, the fury clearing his head a little bit too. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You nearly torched half of London, are you insane?"

"They hunted us. I thought I was the only one left. Are you -"

The villain swore in old tongue. Fire-tongue, though the hero had guessed that much.

He could practically feel the heat rising off the villain, sudden and foreboding. His instincts swerved this way and that; torn between the violence of enmity, of every vicious memory they shared, and all the sheer longings of a home he'd thought lost forever.

Before he'd even fully realised it, he'd reached out, palm searching the villain's chest in turn, finding his heartbeat. Slow. Much slower than a human's could ever be.

Dragon, dragon, dragon.

Kin.

The same.

His.

"Oh, god," the hero said.

"You even sound like them," the villain said, tone not quite kind enough to be wonder. "I really thought you were human. What did they do to you?"

"They didn't do anything! Just - shut up. For one second, just shut up. I need to think. Because you - you're - oh god."

There were many arguments the hero could have made, never mind that the whole point of a secret identity was to fit in, but all he could focus on was the enormity of it.

He wasn't alone.

They weren't alone.

He didn't have to be alone.

The villain's hands moved up to his face, clutching his jaw, cradling him. The purple of his eyes began to deepen to flame.

"Come with me," he said, fully switching to the old tongue. "We shouldn't be fighting each other. You're young - you must be young if you're on their side - we'll talk. You'll tell me everything."

The worst person the hero knew was the only one who could possibly begin to understand.

It was all too much.

The hero ripped himself free, and bolted.

[quietbreeze]

The hero knew they'd be found one day.

So they weren’t entirely surprised when they were ambushed in their house, drugged, and dragged off to the enormous castle that they used to call home. But their anticipation didn’t stop the dread from pooling in their gut as they were tossed, unceremoniously, onto the ground.

They stifled a groan, flexing their bound hands behind them as they tried to shake off the last of the sedative in their system. Someone grabbed the scruff of their collar and yanked them up to their knees before pulling down their blindfold.

They blinked several times at the ground, squinting through the sudden change in light. As their vision cleared, the marbled pattern of the throne room's floor came into view and they involuntarily stiffened.

"Dismissed."

Fuck. That voice. The cold, cutting power laced in every syllable, the venom in each word that had haunted the hero's dreams for years, even after they escaped. Or so they thought they did. The hero's mouth went dry.

They kept their gaze trained down, hearing the guards behind them leave and close the doors with a harsh, resolute click.

Silence stretched between the hero and the villain, who sat languidly on the throne in a grotesque show of vanity. Of pride.

After a moment, the villain sighed. "So you thought you could get away."

The hero swallowed, hard. "I guess I was just playing hard to get." They hated how unstable, how hoarse their voice was.

The villain chuckled dryly. "You, my prized possession, the greatest weapon I've ever had the pleasure of crafting, were just playing hard to get." The hero heard them shift in their seat. "I'm sure that's a fantasy you'd love to be true, but I knew you'd run. Did you really think I haven't dealt with this before?"

"Guess I thought I'd get lucky." The hero looked up then, to stare the villain straight into their eyes.

The villain held their gaze and smiled, flashing teeth. "Unfortunately, even the most precious treasures are always found at some point." They tilted their head, brow furrowing. "Come here."

The hero did not move.

The villain tapped a finger, and an invisible force pulled the hero taut, dragging them towards the foot of the throne. They grit their teeth, knowing better than to struggle, but hating the agonizing memories that flashed through their head of when they used to fight back, of what the villain was capable of beyond simple commands.

"I see you've grown into disobedience after so many years," the villain tutted. "That's certainly fixable, but what I want to know," they dragged a hand through the hero's disheveled hair, who shuddered at the familiar touch, "is if you still remember what I've taught you." Their touch suddenly turned sharp as they grabbed a fistful of—

The hero's body reacted to the pain before their mind did, and they kicked their leg around, slamming their foot into the villain's forearm. Apparently they still remembered a thing or two.

They landed on their stomach, panting as they faced the wide expanse of the gilded room before them. The villain crouched down beside them, placing a boot on their back and squeezing the air from their lungs.

"Look at you. You could've had all this," the villain hissed in their ear. They grabbed the hero's chin, forcing them to look up. "You could've been by my side, sitting with me on the throne. But you chose to run and try to become someone who could overthrow me, the very person who created you. You are nothing, nothing, without me."

For the first time since they've been back, fear struck the hero deep in their heart. "Please," they breathed, and immediately realized their mistake.

Begging was a weakness. A crack in the boulder. An infection in a festering wound. And the villain saw it all too well.

"Forgiveness," the villain murmured, honey-sweet, "is for the traitors. Punishment is for the cowards. Which one do you think you are?"

As the villain's hand tightened on their face, the hero closed their eyes, knowing the question had already been answered for them.

[quietbreeze]

Heyo!! I love your writing, especially your hero x villain!! If you're willing, could you maybe write about a Hero that's being kept by a possessive Villain that is obsessively in love with them? Hero is treated lavishly, but they're still locked up and if they misbehave or try to escape they get restrained or knocked out. If you do write this, thank you so much in advance. And if you don't, thank you for taking the time to read my request anyway!

"Such a spoiled thing," the villain said, in an amused tone of voice. Their lips pressed against the hero's ear, from behind. "You're lucky it looks so good on you."

The hero swallowed, but said nothing. They traced the reflection of the two of them standing in the mirror - enough that they couldn't be accused of shying away, but avoiding the full picture.

The cut of the suit was flawless. The fine, painfully expensive material soft and silken against their skin. The villain's fingers on their hip, where they'd turned the hero squarely towards the glass, were firm and possessive. The villain's free hand moved up, gripping the hero's chin to get their attention, to get their eyes to meet.

The raw want in the villain's stare made something confusion twist in the pit of the hero's stomach. Dizzy dread. Heady terror. Guilty pleasure, giddy and squirming, because it was all so close and yet so very far from what the hero had wanted.

The villain loved to pamper and indulge them. They liked watching the hero eat the most sumptuous of food and drink, luxuriate in hot baths and spa treatments, sleep in the finest bedding.

It was inevitable that clothes would follow. Casual clothes, at first, and now this; formalwear so keenly tailored that the hero could feel the fabric clinging to them like the villain's hands all over them.

The hero had never been able to afford or indulge in nice things, and when they first met the villain, before it all went wrong, it had taken their breath away. Of course, there had been guilt and embarrassment, even then, in the sheer level of extravagance the villain would throw at them so carelessly, but even too...

"What do we say?" the villain asked.

In the mirror, the hero looked like somebody else entirely. A stranger. The two of them looked like they belonged together. A perfect, beautiful fit.

"Thank you." The hero's mouth felt dry.

They were a prisoner. The consequences of displeasing the villain, or trying to leave, made that more than clear. But when the world outside was pain and hardship and struggle, it was difficult to entirely hate the gilded cage. To not feel the niggling corrupting relief that the villain didn't want to hurt them. Only drown them in hedonism. A sweet, honeyed poison.

The villain bit their lip, as if they were already imagining sinking their teeth into the hero's soul, savouring and devouring them. The grip on the hero's hip tightened as the villain exercised restraint against simply taking what they wanted.

"What's the occasion?" The hero asked.

"Do I need an occasion to give you what you deserve?"

The hero swallowed again, but it did nothing to make the dryness in their mouth go away. Their hands twitched at their sides.

They could pull away, they could push the villain off them.

The villain caught one of the hero's restless hands, lightning quick, but only brought it up above the hero's shoulder so they could press a kiss to the knuckles. They smiled, like the devil surely smiled, and adored all the ways a heart could burn.

"We're going to go out," the villain said. "You've been so good for me, haven't you? You deserve a treat."

The hero shivered.

Out. It had been so long since the hero had last tried to escape. Out. Into a place with actual people, who the villain didn't employ, where escape would feel like it was possible. Where the hero would have to try to run, even if they knew it would go badly. Despair clawed at them.

They didn't know if it really was a treat, or some kind of cruelty, for the villain to periodically dangle the notion of freedom in front of their eyes. They thought the villain might mean it kindly, lovingly, but that just made it worse.

"It won't go like last time, will it?" the villain asked, even if it wasn't really a question. "That got so messy. All those people." They sighed. "I do hate seeing you cry. You know that."

"Yeah." The hero dropped their gaze once more, waiting for the villain to be done staring their fill.

Yeah, they knew. It would be bad. But the alternative was sitting there, in some restaurant, and smothering whatever was left of the person they used to be. Not trying to go anywhere. Not being anything other than the villain's most prized pet.

They couldn't do that.

The villain surely knew they couldn't do that.

Insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. And the villain's love, from the start, had always been a mad, wild, forest fire of a thing. But maybe, if the hero kept doing the same thing too, they were no better.

The villain's hand moved to their throat, humming peacefully, as they fixed the hero's new tie and pulled it just a little bit too tight.

The thousand pounds of bespoke suit would be bloodstained and ruined before the night was over.

[quietbreeze]

i’m such a “i want your attention” but “won’t bother you” kinda person

[quietbreeze]

theyre in a polycule

[quietbreeze]

Text: I am working the necromancer’s society dinner when four of us waitstaff are murdered and revived. Memories hazy, we are tasked with identifying the masked killer over dessert.

[quietbreeze]

Having someone match your wit or your weirdness without hesitation is actually so fucking comforting and fun.

[quietbreeze]

i am quite honestly very exhausted with this starbucks feminism that preoccupies itself with the centering of rich white feminine women in the neoliberal capitalist lens and typically no one else.

[quietbreeze]

All the heirs are doing their best to avoid inheriting the utter mess that is the kingdom.

[quietbreeze]

opening the weather app. saying “oh lord” and closing it again

[quietbreeze]

Would you be willing to do more enemies to lover tropes in hero x villain?

"You have a date?"

"If you don't want me to date other people, screw me yourself."

There was a beat of absolute silence. The hero abruptly realized what they'd said. They whirled to face the villain, eyes wide. "I didn't mean - that is - I don't know why I just said that."

Everyone around the room were gaping at the two of them.

The villain's head tilted, oh so slowly, to the side. Their gaze burned into the hero.

"I was being flippant," the hero said.

"Mm."

"You know, because you're possessive."

"Am I?" The villain's voice was silken.

"So I was just getting in there before you said something snippy."

"Oh? Is that what you were doing?"

The hero glared at them, face hot, stomach fluttering.

"Leave us," the villain said.

Everyone around them scattered.

The hero cleared their throat, not speaking until the last door had fallen closed. They wrenched their gaze away to anything, anywhere, except them. "It's not a serious date. I mean - they're not you."

The thing, whatever they were calling it, that they had with the villain was infinitely complex. Consuming. They were the most important person to the villain, and vice versa, and they both knew it but...

But they'd never kissed. They'd certainly never slept together.

Sure, the hero would probably get antsy if they thought the villain was going out with someone who might become first priority. But it wasn't - they weren't - the hero hadn't even been the one to bring up the bloody date!

The villain rose to their feet.

"You're walking dangerously close to one of our lines, hero mine," they warned softly. They sauntered closer, seemingly lazy, except that was the one thing that they never were. "You look startled enough that I can believe it was an accident. We could forget about it."

The hero watched them, a little mesmerized, heart pounding. The villain stopped in front of them.

The hero opened their mouth.

The villain tapped their lip. "Ah, ah. You're not getting away with another flippant comment after that. Think."

The hero closed their mouth. They swallowed.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that when the air between them began to crackle, the hero would say something snarky or careless to diffuse the tension. Nine times out of ten, the villain went along with it. Eight times out of ten, the hero didn't say something quite so dumb in a room full of witnesses.

It wasn't fear. It was terrifying, but it wasn't fear. It would have been so much easier if they were simply scared.

The villain set their hands on either side of the armchair the hero sat in. The hero let themselves be bracketed in with the same slow deliberation as the villain had approached them.

The hero exhaled a breath.

"Good," the villain murmured, studying them. "Now. Would you like to take that back?"

The hero said a lot of crap to the villain that they never took back. They were the only one who did. They watched the villain for a beat, every atom wondering what it would be like if the villain's hands slipped from their careful placement on furniture onto flesh.

The dates weren't like that. The dates were never like this.

But, lord, it would be such a stupid thing to do to cross that line.

The hero tipped their chin up, holding the villain's gaze again. "Do you want me to take it back?"

"If you don't, I'm definitely taking what you said as a challenge."

"Ah, yeah. That's fair." The hero wet their dry lips. "Fair warning."

"So?"

It had happened before. A threshold moment. A teetering. The villain's eyes would go dark, like they currently were, tracking everything. They'd let it go, though. If the hero asked. They always did. For all of their obvious possessiveness, the villain was never the one who brought it up.

"So," the hero dared, before they could stop themselves.

The villain's eyes notched another inch darker, more molten. Their nails dug into the upholstery.

The hero shivered; delicious and awful all at once. Intoxicating.

"So you were being flippant?" the villain prompted.

"So flippant. Unforgivably reckless. I mean, we're a terrible idea."

"The worst," the villain agreed. "Your dates are much sweeter."

"You can be sweet. When you want to be."

The villain clicked their tongue, warning.

The hero grinned back at them. Wild. Drunk, perhaps, on the vertigo of such reckless possibility, such foolish wanting.

They were at the line again. The hero was boldly brushing it with their toe, smudging at it, taunting.

The villain waited.

"You're sweet to me," the hero said. "Despite yourself." They leaned in, and up. "Tell me to stop."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No."

"No," the villain echoed. Then they grabbed the hero by the hair and kissed them.

[quietbreeze]

“how’s the writing going?” i’m glad you asked! my room has never been cleaner and i’ve decided to take up baking

[quietbreeze]

baby i can help you blur the lines between platonic and romantic relationships sooo easily

[quietbreeze]

my top bit of advice going into the new year: compliment people. especially strangers. literally everyone you interact with if you can. when you buy coffee in the morning compliment the barista's tattoos. when you're chatting with a coworker tell them that by the way you like their outfit. always find something they've chosen to do on purpose. nail polish, jewellery, tattoos, hair colour/style, statement accessory, outfit, etc are all good bets. things people hope will be noticed. things that aren't too personal so it doesn't make them uncomfortable (eg probably not their physical features). i've gotten into the habit of scanning everyone i talk to for something about them that i think is cool so i can tell them. it's a great habit because it makes me notice people and realise just how many neat little details there are in people's presentation of themselves that might pass me by if i wasn't paying attention. and it brings out so much joy. you'd be surprised how much it disarms people to receive an unexpected compliment from someone they don't know. it is the most sincere smile you will see all day long. it feels nice to make people happy but it also means you win the social interaction. establish dominance by complimenting a stranger's earrings and disappearing into the fog