Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?
Love Ur writing!!
aaaaaaa this was such a fun idea - im absolutely in love with this lil dynamic!! hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing it :D
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tw blood, death
Animals. That’s all the agency ever saw the villains as. Animals they could poke and push and test and break into nothing.
So when the jail’s power-dampeners fail, the villains are more than happy to make like the tigers are out of their cage.
The villain to the supervillain’s right is burning the lock on his cell door. The villain on his left has fazed straight through hers. The supervillain steps up to the iron bars across his own cell to look beyond.
VIllains are flooding the corridor, breaking for the stairs one by one. “You,” he snaps as someone passes, and they thankfully slow down. “Open the door.”
Escape might be tantalising, if the villain’s quick glance to the stairs is anything to go by, but no villain ignores a supervillain. They rest their hands against the door for a moment, their brow knitted in concentration for a moment, before the lock clunks open.
They pull the door outward as the supervillain steps into the corridor, waiting impatiently. “Thank you,” the supervillain says shortly.
The villain wastes no time continuing their great escape, chasing the tails of the other villains. Golden light flashes against the walls of the stairwell like fireworks, panicked shouting drifting from above, dull thumping as inevitable bodies hit the floor. The superhero strolls up the steps to take in the carnage the villains are wreaking on the pristine agency.
Gunfire showers the corridor in the light of heaven itself. Agency guards are backed up against the one exit. Most of the villains have already pushed past them into the room beyond, but those who haven’t are springing on them from all directions with fire or ice or electricity or nothing but hatred.
He can see someone familiar through the chaos, the eye of the storm. His gun sprays death, his face twisted into a mix of anger and fear, his eyes set on the villain currently making her way towards him with palms of steaming water.
Almost all of the villains have passed through. Most guards are either lying in a puddle of crimson blood or following the flock into the next room. There’s two of them—his Favourite, and someone he couldn’t care less about.
The villain’s water flicks from her fingers and sprays the guard, earning a pained cry and a cringe away from her. His attention falls to the scalding cutting through his skin, and in one fatal move the villain swipes the gun from his hands.
The supervillain doesn’t have time to intervene. The other guard swings his weapon to the villain, and with a flash of golden light she drops to the ground. The gun clatters to the floor with her.
The two of them heave a breath like they’re free, and the supervillain sees his chance. He sweeps up the gun from the floor, shouldering his Favourite out of the way, before turning it on the other guard and opening fire. The force of the bullets shove the guard into the wall behind him, and his descent to the floor is accompanied by a nauseating streak of red.
The supervillain turns his gaze to the last guard, his Favourite, the one who helped him from the day he got here. The one who saw past the animals and saw a person.
The guard returns his gaze with abject horror, defenceless, trapped. His eyes are wide, his back pressed into the wall, his mouth working in a desperate attempt at what is probably a beg for mercy.
The supervillain doesn’t waste time. He doesn’t have any. He grabs the guard’s arm, earning a startled squeak, tucking the gun under his arm. He can see the burns left on the man’s arm from the villain’s attack; small but undoubtedly painful. He lays a hand over them and the guard hisses and pulls in his grip, whether in pain or fear of pain he can’t tell.
His hand is cool—he can tell from the way the guard relaxes in his hold after a moment. The supervillain holds down a pleased smile. “That’s it,” he says smoothly. “Is that better?”
He lets go and the guard tips his gaze to his skin, unblemished and unharmed. Like the water never touched him at all. His mouth opens. Closes. His brow creases.
“Your power…” he tries after a moment, confused, “they never figured it out. They thought you’d have something violent.”
The supervillain throws him a smile, unhidden this time. “They never expected a healer at the head of evil, did they?”
The supervillain drags him along, following the path of bloodshed like a map. Some villains are still loitering—one of them slinks up to the pair with a grin. They inspect the guard closely for a moment before running the edge of their knife across his jaw in thought. He tries to shrink away but the supervillain’s grip on him holds fast.
“Oh, isn’t this one pretty?” the villain purrs. They give the blade a flick for emphasis, and the guard flinches as the edge cuts a crimson line into his cheek. “Can’t wait to show the agency what happens to good little boys like him.”
“No one touches him, understand?” the supervillain snaps coldly. “He’s with us.”
The villain scowls, clearly unsatisfied with his answer. “Oh, we keepin’ pets now, boss?”
“We don’t keep pets, [Villain].” His gaze turns to the guard for a moment, a touch softer, almost thankful. “They’re not animals.”
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Could we get Cowboy!Ghost getting drunk off his ass making a fool of himself and being overly affectionate, confessing his love to Goose, all in all just being a mess of a drunk pretty please?
Of course Maelstrom anything for you 💜 I have a cowboy!König in the works for you and more cowboy!Soap "corruption kink" Mactavish cooking.
Simon is absolutely smashed. It's his own fault really, you told him you'd drink him under the table and he hadn't believed you. He isn't used to moonshine, you really should've stopped him before he got to this point, but it was so fun watching him go shot for shot with you. You're pretty sloshed yourself, but he is just... it's cute, it's really really cute.
You're crouched in the grass between his knees, rubbing his thighs, trying to ground him just enough that he won't vomit all over the place. Although that might be a good thing, get some of the liquor out of his system. No, the way he was boasting about being able to hold his liquor makes you think he'd be upset if you let him throw up.
"God, you've gotta get off your knees princess, give a man ideas." He slurs and if you weren't already so smitten with this man you might fall a little harder.
"Alright, shut yer eyes though, don't want you trackin' me with the spins," you wait for him to finish his grumbling and follow your order before you stand. You make the executive(drunken) decision to straddle his lap and he thumps his head onto your chest as soon as you settle on his lap.
His arms circle your waist and you let him hug you close to cuddle. You try not to coo at him as you thread your fingers through his hair, but he's so sweet like this you can't help one little affection. He grumbles more in response.
"Nobody told me you were gonna be a cuddly drunk," you grin, fingers dipping under his mask to scratch the back of his neck lightly. You press your thumb behind his ear, easy pressure points to keep the nausea at bay.
"'M not," you mumbles against your chest, you bite your lip and try not to laugh, "'m jus' in love with you." You are very much not laughing at that. Your fingers still and you feel Simon nuzzle against you, searching for more attention.
"You love me?" You whisper, because you don't want the rest of the group to hear. Their fun dims in the background, your world narrowing to just you and the man in your arms.
Simon hums an affirmative, "Want you to marry me, have my stupid fat babies."
"Babies? Plural?" Your brain latches on to the only thing it can, there's a non-zero chance Simon has blacked out and this is not how youre going to get engaged, "What happened to not fit to parent?"
He tips his head back, resting his chin against your sternum, the stars reflected in those gorgeous brown eyes you love so much. "I could do it with you," he tells you, and your heart could burst at how soft and honest he sounds, "I'm better with you."
God actually maybe this is how you want to get engaged. You want to bottle this moment, this look in Simon's eye, and save it for the rest of your life. His head moves with the steady rise and fall of your breaths, he looks at you like he never wants anything else than what he has right now. Just you and him sitting under the stars, breathing together.
You kiss him and he tastes like the best moonshine you've ever had, like canned peaches and stale tobacco, like the rest of your life, like Simon. His lips move against yours slow and gentle, he can never believe that a girl like you is kissing a guy like him. He savors everything you give him and then some.
The way you look when you wake up, the way you stretch your arms over your head and groan when you think no one's watching, the way you make every allowance for him and never ask him for anything but him in return. Why wouldn't he love you? Why wouldn't he tell you, show you, every chance he got.
"I love you too," you tell him softly, and his chest clenches so tight he thinks he might be having a heart attack out of shear joy.
"I'll get you a ring," he promises, and you really hope he hasn't blacked out because he's going to be real embarrassed in the morning if he remembers this.
"If we're being proper about this you gotta ask Daddy for my hand," you tell him just to watch him pout and shove his face back into your chest.
"Maybe we elope."
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