mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

The whumper loved to brag about how they’d practically tamed the whumpee, someone who was infamous for how aggressive they were. The whumper had managed to turn them into someone far more cooperative and passive. All it took was a few months of torture and starvation to get them to fall in line.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

whump ask game

can be answered in first or third person ❣️

For Whumpee:

What emotion do they experience most often?

What do they dream about?

How is their pain tolerance compared to the average person?

What’s their least favorite kind of pain?

Would they rather be hurt or humiliated?

What could they be threatened with that would make them genuinely panic?

How do they feel about caretaker?

How do they feel about whumper as a person?

Do they rationalize their pain at all? How do they cope with it?

If they could go back in time, what would they do differently?

Would they trade places with whumper?

What do they think about while they’re resting/healing?

Who do they trust most?

So, what did they learn?

For Whumper:

What’s their favorite way to hurt whumpee?

Do they think they’re justified? Why?

What’s the furthest they would go? 

What would they consider to be too far?

What moments have made them pity whumpee, if any?

Are they squeamish?

What do they like most about whumpee? What do they dislike?

Have they been hurt a lot in their own life? Or have they been relatively privileged?

If they were to trade places with whumpee, would they handle it better or worse?

If they could temporarily feel everything that whumpee was feeling, would their behavior change?

How do they feel about whumpee as a person?

What did they think it would be like before they started? And how does that compare to how its actually been?

How long are they planning on keeping this up?

What would their mother say?

For Caretaker:

What habits have they noticed about whumpee, that whumpee likely isn’t aware of?

Do they know what they’re doing?

What is their end goal with helping whumpee?

How far would they go for whumpee? What would they consider too far?

What advice would they have given to whumpee before they were hurt? 

What advice would they have given to their past self?

What’s the worst state they’ve seen whumpee in?

Do they cry a lot?

What would they say to whumper, if given the opportunity?

Do they like whumpee as a person? Why or why not?

Don’t they ever get tired?

What have they noticed really helps whumpee?

What triggers have they noticed whumpee has?

How are they taking care of themself through all this?

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

Notes on Torturing The Character In The Science Facility

my takes on this trope rarely if ever have anything to do with the character being "special" or being studied for powers they innately have, if they are special its something that was done to them

it's about the medical trauma

it's about the violation and lack of bodily autonomy

the "living weapon" trope, but the key characteristic is catastrophic functionality

i love, love, love the concept of "catastrophic functionality" in a person: character that can tank ludicrous amounts of damage and just Keep Going in virtually all circumstances barring outright dismemberment. They can keep going, so do they "deserve" rest and/or pain relief?

after a lifetime of having their distress treated as whiny and unreasonable, they have what would be a dangerously high tolerance to pain and exhaustion.

another key function of the Science Facility is to fix the damage Character takes, maybe using enhanced healing technologies or 3D printed organs or something. this leads to Character's body being treated as relatively disposable cause "we can just fix them"

extreme version of this: Character can't die even if they wanted to

people who work with Character are informed that they're dangerous and arbitrarily violent, and their fear of Character makes it easier to justify restricting autonomy

It is TRUE, cause Character does not have tools to set boundaries or protect their body other than violence. vicious cycle of being perceived as dangerous and therefore denied autonomy, and being forced to use violence to defend autonomy

the restraints used to hold Character look like major overkill, which underscores how dangerous they are. LOVE this trope

character being desexualized to the point that their non-consent to touch, to being stripped down and examined, or to procedures is trivialized. There is no non-clinical context for their body, and the "clinical" framework eclipses any possibility for bodily violation to be understood as violent.

types of uncanniness: Character looks human but has some subtle inhuman traits or characteristics. (I'm obsessed with reflective eye shine, personally.) OR Character looks like they've been taken apart and put back together, like flesh pulled over a much more unforgiving and indestructible metal scaffold. OR Character gives off "undead" vibes; they're just not quite alive in a way that sets off air raid sirens in people's brains

Often, Character is dead and Came Back Wrong (varying levels of literalness)

anyways yeah. i never stopped writing this trope and probably never will. it's a good one

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

The whumpee didn’t know where they would go after escaping the whumper- they were in completely unfamiliar territory, they just knew they wanted to leave the constant torture and torment the whumper put them through. The whumpee doesn’t know if they’ll be lucky enough to find a kind soul, as they could easily land somewhere worse- or they could just be truly alone, left to rot by the world.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

Your vampires are amazing. Would you write something about vampires for halloween?

"Oh, dear." The vampire studied the vampire hunter with a fierce and searing hunger in their gaze. "That's an awful lot of blood."

The vampire hunter managed a rasping, panicked breath. Their eyes went wide. They struggled to shift, to reach for a weapon.

The vampire smiled.

Lightning quick, the vampire crouched and straddled the hunter, pinning them down against the dirt. They placed a firm hand on the hunter's stomach, applying pressure to the wound. "Ah, ah, ah."

The hunter gasped in pain. They scrabbled at the vampire's hand, but the blood loss had already left them weak.

The vampire inhaled deeply, the smile on their lips only growing. With their free hand, they brushed the hunter's clammy hair back from their face. "How many people have you killed to ensure your own survival, do you think?"

"None."

"Oh?"

The hunter clenched their jaw. "Vampires aren't people."

The vampire chuckled. Their grip on the hunter's hair tightened, yanking back, forcing the hunter's back to arch with another groan of pain, and their throat to bare. "You'd make a good vampire."

The hunter shook their head, or tried to. Tears leaked down their cheek.

"No, really," the vampire said. "Your first instinct was to try to slaughter me, even now, at the very end of you. What a murderous little thing you are! I can appreciate that. None of the other hunters around these parts will come near me."

"Just finish it!"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" The vampire leaned down, to ghost their lips against the hunter's neck. "How about this. You can die when you can best me in combat."

The hunter went perfectly still at the teasing prick of sharp fangs. "W-what?" It would have been inaudible to a human.

"You can die when you can best me in combat. Until then, I'm going to keep bringing you back, mortally wounding you, and bringing you back again and again and again."

Vampire venom was curative. It kept their prey alive, their blood fresh and drinkable, for longer.

The hunter's heart raced.

The vampire bit.

The hunter's eyes fluttered, their body jerked, before the venom seeped in. Heat and life and desire and hunger. Intoxicatingly good. The lure of immortality, without the curse of a devil's bargain sealed.

The hunter moaned.

The vampire hummed, pleased.

The hunter struggled then, with greater strength as the wound on their stomach began to knit closed beneath the vampire's hands.

When the vampire pulled back, still straddling the hunter, it was to let go of the hunter's hair and capture their wrists instead. It was to release the pressure on the hunter's stomach, and bring a hand cat-like up to their lips to lick the hunter's blood clean away.

The hunter stared at them in horrified, mesmerised disbelief. Still reeling.

A vampire never looked so good as when they had just fed.

"You're delicious," the vampire murmured, with soft satisfaction. "I knew you would be."

"This is - why would you - I - we -"

"You thought I'd turn you?" The vampire's grin was wicked. "Just to torture you with being what you hate most?"

The hunter shivered.

The vampire laughed again. "No, no. I'll only turn you when you want it, when you beg for it."

"You're insane."

"I'm immortal." The vampire rose to their feet. "I'm ancient." They offered the hunter a hand to help them up. "And I'm bored. Have at, killer."

The hunter reached for the vampire's hand, feinted, lunged.

An instant later, they were on the forest floor again.

"Oh, dear," the vampire said. "That's an awful lot of blood." There was a pause, then, "best of three?"

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

incapacitation

content warning

drugs that make a character woozy and disoriented. slurring words and falling slack, everything too heavy and confusing and muffled

blown pupils, wandering eyes, breathing too much or too little. sweating, shaking, puking, so limp and pale it’s almost like they’re dead

fevers so high a character's mind just turns to mush. glossy eyes tracking the ceiling, listless and unaware until eventually there's sweat sticking all over the sheets and they start mumbling some vague responses to caretaker's questions

tranquilizer dart that brings a character down all at once. one sudden jerk or look of confusion, not enough time to glance at it much less pull it out before eyes are rolling back and they collapse into the dirt

tranquilizer dart that comes on slowly. pulling it out and running and running until each step becomes too uncoordinated, stumbling or getting dragged along by a teammate until even their begging to stay awake, let's go, becomes hazy and distant

struck so hard that everything rings in one ugly roar. staggering or falling, told to sit down, just stay down. so confused and lost, repeating the same questions and forgetting the answer over and over and over again

character so messed up they struggle to follow any part of the conversation. everything too heavy and confusing and muffled, just useless and incoherent and completely oblivious to the situation

nervous prodding or pleading by caretaker, begging them to just stay awake or focus

jostled around by captor, told to get the fuck up and follow orders, easily manhandled around and restrained

mumbling nonsense and spilling secrets. stoic characters without any masks, so confused and broken and vulnerable, slipping and powerless in every sort of way

"you're okay, i promise you're okay"

“ah, shit. you’re a mess—”

“I guess you won’t remember this anyways…”

gaze drifting and blank, too faraway to track anything caretaker/captor is saying. nudged and prodded and pleaded at to no avail, just incoherent and out of it

too weak to move. beaten absolutely senseless or bleeding all over the place, a character just hurting and spent beyond means and sprawled flat against the ground

getting dragged along or stepped on, pinned down as if they're in any state to go anywhere

hypnotized and stunned into mindlessness. repeated mantras and rewired thoughts, a character made pliable and blank and used like a puppet

paralyzed but fully aware, left slack and useless and desperate with limp muscles and depressed breathing. assumed dead and abandoned, grieved over or dumped aside like a corpse, forced to watch and unable to do anything

poisoned and just getting worse and worse. teammates desperately looking for a cure while character deteriorates, puking and passing out and getting high fevers, hallucinating and begging for relief

characters taken out of commission when they're otherwise the strongest one. exposed to a weakness, given magical restraints or cuffs with neural suppressors to keep them docile, targeted and taken out

vertigo taking a character side to side, brought down and useless

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

The whumpee had been in the same cell longer than they could remember- the same lights, the same walls, the same temperature. Being rescued changed everything, the world was vibrant and loud and warm and…the whumpee hated it, it was so loud and the whumpee just wanted to go to their room and shut everything out again.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

Love your writing! Can I request a hero that likes being controlled by the villain because they get relief from their anxiety/stressful life but they are denying it because they don’t want to admit to being overwhelmed?

"Oh god, you're back."

The villain smirked at that particular greeting and inclined their head in acknowledgement. "Long time no see, hero mine."

Anticipation had the hero's heart drumming double time. They shifted their weight, hold tightening on the battered strap of their rucksack. The street was empty, all curtains conspicuously drawn, but there was nothing actually blocking any exits. They could run. They weren't far from home. They might even make it.

"It's okay," the villain said, tucking their hands into their pockets. "You can try, I won't be offended. I know you prefer pretending that you don't like this. That you don't crave this."

"I don't."

"No?" The villain's tone was soft, but their eyes gleamed in the glow of the lampposts. Their gaze was somewhere between gently mocking and not so gently fond. "You're lucky you lie so pretty. It means I'll let you off with a warning. Just the one, because I've heard you've had a rough week."

The hero swallowed.

The week had been exhausting. Atlas would have buckled beneath the weight of the last week too. Anyone would. Wouldn't they? Maybe that was why, beneath the panic of seeing the villain again, there was a much more terrifying chasm of relief. Dizzy, desperate relief. The kind of longing that left a person brained by it. Dumb.

"You heard about that?" the hero asked, in a small voice, even if it was entirely not the point.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

The hero shuddered, to hear the villain say it so bluntly. Maybe if they hadn't, the hero could pretend - what? That somewhere along the way monstrosity and miracle had blurred together like wet watercolours?

"You could walk away," the hero said.

"I could," the villain agreed, placidly. They didn't move though.

"Would you if I asked you to?"

The villain's head tilted, considering the hero at that.

"Mm, I don't think so," they decided eventually. "Then you'd feel like you had to ask. It goes better when you don't have any choice in this matter, doesn't it?"

"You can't just - you can't say that."

"No?" the villain's lip curled up again. They closed the gap between them, casually confident. "You asked."

"Well, yes - but." The hero didn't have a good way to finish the sentence. Mainly because they should have been horrified. They were horrified! It was only..."You're not supposed to say it." The crack in their voice felt far too much like confession. "It's not right."

"Yeah. I'd say you should stop feeling so guilty about liking it so much, but honestly it's entirely too delicious watching you squirm."

The hero made a choked, incoherent sound in their throat. They took a step back, not remotely surprised when the villain's hand snaked eel-fast around their back.

"Ah, ah," the villain said. "You already had your chance to run. Go easy."

The hero felt the very moment that something switched in the villain's voice, their powers humming a siren song in the hero's bones. They felt their body turn to putty as they blinked at the villain, wide-eyed. Their hands settled comfortably on the villain's chest, not pushing back.

It wasn't...it wasn't exactly that their brain switched off, only that everything in them suddenly refused to fully recognise the danger. And there was danger, they knew that, but...

But for the first time since they'd last seen the villain, the knot in their chest loosened. They didn't feel one small straw or loud noise or well-meaning question away from bursting pitifully into tears.

"Good," the villain murmured. "Just like that. There you are. Deep breaths."

Up close, the villain took a moment to study them properly. The hero let them look. Minutes ago, they might have tried to hide, ashamed by the blatant dark circles under their eyes, by everything that the villain would see, but in that second...

The villain's lips thinned a fraction. "I've been away on business for too long, haven't I? Sorry about that."

"How was business?"

The villain didn't bother answering that question, more concerned with grazing their thumb along the swell of the hero's lip where they'd bitten it raw. Their eyes darkened further.

"You look annoyed," the hero said.

"You could have called me, you know."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why would you-" For a second, it seemed like the villain might say something. Then, they simply sighed, and shook their head, muttering something under their breath. They pivoted, so they were at the hero's side instead, snagging the hero's heavy bag onto their own shoulders.

"Walk." The command hummed through the villain's voice again. "I think we've both had enough of your idiot brain for today. You're done for the week."

Every time the villain let them go, it was harder to force themselves to leave.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

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.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

once in a while I get such a hunger for your prose and I just can't get enough. can we get another hero x villain nsfw snippet? with the villain taunting the hero for being so vulnerable (it doesn't have to get to the nsfw part, lead up is also fine. either option, up to u)

"God, look at you," the villain said. They wrapped their fingers around the hero's neck but didn't squeeze - didn't have to. "So vulnerable. So exposed."

The hero swallowed.

With their enchanted armour on, the hero was never really vulnerable. Nothing could penetrate it. Nothing could break it. They'd literally had the large majority of a building fall on them once, and it was the building that cracked around them, instead of the suit.

But now...

"You're just like everyone else," the villain said.

The hero shivered helplessly and couldn't remember the last time that was true. All they could think about was the heat of the villain's palm, of the way those fingers could constrict, or do any number of other things.

The villain pushed, shoving the hero a few steps back and onto the bed.

In the suit, the hero was unmovable. Out of it...

The villain didn't follow, taking the opportunity to study the hero as they stood over them, head tilted to one side.

The hero started to sit up, only for the villain to stop them with a soft click of their tongue. They froze, breathing shallow in their throat.

"I could do anything to you," the villain murmured, echoing their thoughts. "Anything at all. And you wouldn't be able to stop me right now even if you wanted to. You're so damn weak, aren't you?"

It was not a question.

It was a dangerous feeling. Raw. Utterly novel. Maybe, even, a little intoxicating.

The suit couldn't, after all, be ripped away or stolen. The hero had to be the one to take it off, and choose to keep it off, no one else could do it for them.

The hero bit their lip, gaze locked on the villain, tracking their every move with blown pupils.

"Yes," they said. "For you."

The villain was on them again in an instant, straddling the hero's hips, pinning them easily.

The hero sucked in a sharp breath, but still felt light-headed, even more so as the villain's hands dragged down their chest, along their stomach. Their heart stuttered as the villain's mouth pressed warm and wet against their throat, kissing first, and then with a hint of teeth that made the hero's back arch.

They were invulnerable in the suit. They were also untouchable.

They did not last long at all beneath the villain's expert ministrations.

The villain laughed then, somewhere between mocking and fond, and the hero squirmed. They pushed the hero down flat and considered them again.

"Pitiful," the villain said. "At least you're pretty huh?"

A blush burned the hero's cheeks. "Well, you certainly think so."

It made the villain grin, not remotely fooled by the defiant mumble. Their fingers rose, tracing the flustered heat, before they flipped the hero like it was nothing, grabbing a fistful of hair to turn their head.

Their lips pressed against the hero's ear.

"You'll look even prettier with all my marks on you," the villain whispered. "Or did you think we were done? Because I think I'm going to make sure you can still feel me for days when you put that suit of yours back on."

The hero squeezed their eyes shut, fingers winding harder against the sheets.

"Say please," the villain said.

"Please."

The villain laughed again, soft.

And then, they did exactly as they promised.

The hero was back the following week.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

When a stoic Whumpee is seen fraying at the edges. They ignore the way their hands shake, their breaths are uneven, and only a thin, straining thread of will is keeping them upright.

Maybe they’ve been poisoned. Maybe they’ve worn themself past exhaustion. Maybe Whumper has found a secret to use against them, and they are fighting to remain in control of themself.

And they are failing.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

tumblr has an AI toggle you should turn on to prevent your work being shared with training models/etc! it's under settings & visibility.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

Hi! Absolutely love your writing :) Would you be willing to do a enemies to lovers but with hero x villain? Maybe with like a controlling villain and the hero secretly likes it but is defiant externally? Sorry idk if that made sense lol

Thank you in advance though if you're able to!

"You can't just keep crashing my dates."

The villain glanced over their shoulder, raising an eyebrow in a mimicry of an emotion that didn't quite reach their eyes. "No?"

"No." The hero stalked closer, stopping in front of the villain, in time for them to turn. "I'm not yours."

"No?"

"No!" The hero's heart gave a little skip, at the possibility that the villain would then look at them and then say (in a growl, or devastatingly matter-of-fact, or in a teasing purr) 'yes, you are' or 'you're most certainly mine'. The villain had done it before.

The villain tilted their head, offering the hero one of the two glasses of wine they had just poured.

The hero took it, anticipating.

The villain didn't say anything, simply watching them as they took a steady sip.

The hero's face burned but they refused, stubbornly, to look away.

The villain set their glass down on the counter behind them. No rush.

The hero imagined the villain grabbing them, kissing them, as they had done before too. Twirling them, glass flying and wine sloshing, and pressing them up against the nearest flat surface. They would change every no to yes and please and more.

They both knew the routine, the dance of it. It didn't need saying.

"Your dates look increasingly like me," the villain murmured. "Have you noticed?" Their hands stayed, agonisingly, at their sides, as they leaned lazy against the counter.

The hero blinked, not expecting the comment. They took a sip of the wine instead of replying, hoping that perhaps an equally steady silence might come across as cool and mysterious instead of flabbergasted.

The villain smiled. "Say please."

"W-what?"

"Say please if you want me to screw your pretty brains out until you can't think straight."

The hero spluttered. "That's not - I'm not - that's not why I'm here." They undoubtedly would say please, but it had never been so close to the start, so when there wasn't any excuse they could possibly give for the desperate needing of it.

"No?"

"No." The hero swallowed.

"So you don't go on your little dates just to wind me up?" The villain finally straightened, taking a step closer.

The hero stepped back, but didn't run, didn't want to. Mesmerised. Their mouth felt very dry. "No." Such a lie.

The villain's smile grew. "You don't secretly wish I'd kiss you, claim you, in front of all of them?"

"No." The hero jutted their chin up. "I'm not a thing to be claimed."

The villain advanced; the hero back-tracked.

"You don't," the villain continued, a honeyed murmur, "say no, because you love all the ways I can persuade you. Because then you can pretend you don't want this. Because you like watching me take control of you."

The hero's back hit the wall. Miraculously, the wine didn't spill, still clutched uselessly in one hand.

"No."

"Mm." The villain set their palms on either side of the hero's shoulders, and the hero felt the very air between them might start vibrating with the urge to close the gap. "Perhaps I'll never crash one of your dates again then."

The thought was unbearable. The villain was bluffing, right? They had to be bluffing.

The hero wet their lips. The villain's gaze dropped to follow the movement, then flicked back up to the hero's eyes.

"You're a bastard," the hero whispered, because it was true and it wasn't no.

"Why yes," the villain's eyes gleamed, "I am." They waited.

The hero's stomach squirmed. "Are you actually going to make me say it?"

"I thought I didn't control you. I thought you weren't mine."

The hero shivered.

"So how could I," the villain leaned in to the hero's ear, still not quite touching, "possibly make you do anything?"

"...please."

"What was that, love?"

"I hate you."

"Do you?" The villain's lips finally pressed against their skin, kissing down their neck.

"Yes. So much." The hero's head fell back, offering more of their throat. The wine glass drooped in their hand.

"Don't spill on my floor."

The wine glass righted with titan concentration. There was nowhere to put it down.

The villain kissed them; soft, so soft, a promise of so much more to come.

"Would you like me to stop?" the villain asked against their lips.

"...no."

"No?"

"No."

The villain hummed and kissed them again, a little harder. The wine glass wobbled treacherously in the hero's hand once more. The hero's other hand clutched the villain's shoulder.

"I think we're done with the stage in our relationship where you pretend to date other people," the villain said, when they pulled back, breathless. They caught the hero's chin, and their stare was, for a moment, serious.

The hero scrambled past the kiss-drunk haze, brow furrowing. "It's actually bothering you?"

"No," the villain said, in the same tone that the hero said no, meaning yes.

"Okay." The hero leaned in to kiss them, just once, reassuring.

Tension eased out of the villain's shoulders. The wicked playfulness returned, and they shoved the hero back against the wall again. The next kiss was a consuming, hungry thing, and the hero could only chase after more than they were given, gasping.

The villain nipped the hero's neck, before giving a chiding click of their tongue. It once again sent an anticipatory shiver of delight down the hero's spine.

"Oh, would you look at that," the villain said, with soft and bewitching menace. "You spilled my wine. However shall I make you pay me back for that?"

"Make me?" The hero bit their lip. "You think you can make me do anything? Please."

The villain grinned.

There were no more dates with other people after that.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

Escapology

“The game,” Damien murmured against Lysander’s ear, “is simple. Are you paying attention? I’ll only say it once.”

Lysander twisted his head on the plush mattress, trying to get a good look at the other man behind him. He couldn’t. Damon’s grip was firm on Lysander’s wrists, and the weight of him kept Lysander easily pinned down to the bed. Lysander did his best to pretend he didn’t enjoy that as much as he did.

“I’m going to set the timer for one minute,” Damien said. “And, every time you fail to escape within those sixty seconds, I’m going to make the task more difficult for you.”

“I’m not going to fail,” Lysander said. “Do you seriously still think I don’t know how to get out of a pair of handcuffs?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Damien’s voice was perfectly placid by contrast. “Remember, if you want out, all you have to do is say please.”

“Yeah? How about, ‘screw you?’

“Bit early in the night for that. Maybe I’ll let you if you win.”

“There’s no if!”  

Lysander had been working with some variety of lock for almost as long as he’d had proper motor control in his fingers. He’d always had a weakness for locked things, for secrets, and for the physical and mental puzzle of untangling himself out of any situation he’d found himself in. He knew how to get out of something as simple as a pair of handcuffs! And if he did, perhaps, enjoy being restrained it was an enjoyment made greater by the inability to free himself.

He could always free himself.

Maybe, if he couldn’t, he wouldn’t have ended up in this room. With him.

The conversation, in short:

INT: BAR OUTSIDE OF LYSANDER’S SHOW - EVENING

Enter LYSANDER, daring and brilliant young escape artist, who crosses the room through a flurry of impressed fans and people begging to know just how he does it. He comes across a dashingly handsome man in the process of ordering a drink. This is DAMIEN. They look each other up and down, and strike a conversation. It escalates.

LYSANDER

You didn’t enjoy my show?

DAMIEN

Oh, I enjoyed it. But escape artistry is just a con - you always have a hidden way out. A trick.

LYSANDER

You think it’s a trick? I’d like to see you try and hold me!

DAMIEN

Alright.

LYSANDER

Excuse me?

DAMIEN

I said alright.

LYSANDER

You think you would be able to keep me, a professional escape artist, from escaping you? What, do you tie people up for a living or something?

DAMIEN

Yes.

Lysander stares at him.

DAMIEN

I work at Siren, down the road. The BDSM club. I’m a professional rigger.

Lysander continues to stare at him.

DAMIEN

Have I scared you?

LYSANDER

…So when should I come over?

“Do you have any more questions before we start?” Damien asked.

“You could at least cuff my feet for round one. This is just insulting.”

“That wasn’t a question. Do you have any questions?” Damien asked again, this time with an unmistakable amusement.

Lysander shook his head.

Damien pulled back from him and Lysander rolled onto his back. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched as Damien reached over and started the timer on his phone. He let the small silver key drop down on the bed.

“Are you not even going to try and hold onto it?” 

“55 seconds left…”

Lysander lunged for the key. His hands were behind his back, but he snatched it off the sheets with his mouth and spat it back over his shoulder, only slightly showing off when he caught it deftly. He scraped the silver up against the lock in search of the small hole that would spring him free.

The cuffs clicked loose and he looked up towards Damien with a smirk, somewhere between cocky and disappointed all at once.  

“I told you,” he said. “Honestly, after all your talk I thought you might last at least thirty seconds. They pay you for this?”

Damien hummed, not even watching. He was digging something out of his closet.

“You wouldn’t even have got them on in the first place if I didn’t let you,” Lysander added.

“Yes, yes, you’re very impressive. You did miss one detail though...”

Damien turned to face him, and his smirk back was that of a challenge matched.

Lysander’s spine straightened instinctively; a thrill shooting up him, though his brow furrowed with confusion.

“I said,” Damien set a bag down on the bed. “Escape.” He pounced, and Lysander went down again hard with a yelp and a tangle of limbs. He grappled with Damien’s hands, but was shoved down again, relentlessly. His wrists were yanked behind his back and the lock clicked into place. “I didn’t say, ‘get out of the cuffs,’ did I?”

Oh.

Lysander panted for breath, absorbing that new information in with interest. He tried to hold back a grin.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bastard?”

“Usually around the same time they’re begging me for more.”

He still sounded so calm, so implacable. It made Lysander want to wind him up and up and up until he lost it; another puzzle to undo.

“So how am I supposed to win, then?” Lysander asked, musing. “Get off the bed? Get out of the room?”

“Now you’re getting it.” Damien’s hands were busy wrapping a thick belt around Lysander’s arms, clinching them together at the elbow. “Except, of course, for one small thing.”  He stepped back, and re-set the timer, eyes full of a dark heady promise. “You’re not going to win.”

***

The alarm sounded.

Lysander was not winning.

Damien had bound his ankles after he lost round two, then his knees after round three. After a round four, he attached Lysander’s wrist cuffs to his ankles and left him in a hogtie.

Lysander had just lost round five.

He curled his fist around the key, not about to give it up without a fight. He didn’t have to. The only thing he’d been tasked to do was escape, not obey, or behave by any means. He scrambled back, keeping his gaze locked on Damien, his mind racing through his albeit limited options. Every time he’d managed to get himself free in time so far, he hadn’t managed to get past Damien.

Damien, who sauntered closer now with the sort of lethal grace more commonly seen in jungle cats.

Lysander swallowed.

“You’re looking tired,” Damien said. “Want to give up?”

“I want to point out that I’ve undone all of your ties.”

“And yet here you are, still helpless on my bed.”

Lysander swallowed a second time, but it didn’t make his mouth any less dry, especially when Damien went and said things like that. His back hit the headboard.

“I’m not helpless.”

“Not yet. We’ll get there, don’t worry.”

“I’m not – I don’t –” Lysander floundered. He didn’t know how to finish without lying and lying was not allowed for safety reasons.

Damien paused at the other end of the bed, considering him in turn.

Lysander realised after a beat that he was waiting for the end of the sentence. He exhaled, and squared his shoulders.

“Well,” he said instead. “I’m not going to just give you the key.”

“Of course not.” Damien said. He had that amusement in his voice again. He grabbed Lysander by the ankle cuffs and yanked him bodily down the bed. “Come here, then.”

It felt like Lysander should say ‘I don’t want to be helpless,’ but that wasn’t strictly true. He just didn’t want to let Damien do it. It was one thing during his shows when the various ties were complex spectacles, when he had to be conscious of nerve damage and height and a dozen different variables all at once. Damien wasn’t picking anything complicated that would be a particular mess to get out of. Perhaps that was the point.

Lysander kicked, all but throwing himself off the bed.

Damien reeled him back, working the key free from Lysander’s grip, before wrapping an arm around him.

“I’ll let you pick your forfeit,” Damien said, softly. “Would you like to be blindfolded, or would you prefer to be gagged?”

Neither concept was exactly new to him. None of this was exactly new to him, and yet it was different. He hadn’t expected how intimate it would feel, or the way that he couldn’t find the steady calm he usually found when he was working methodically free for practice. What he normally did was rote. It was him against something inanimate. Knots could be tricky but they were predictable.

It was impossible to think of Damien as something inanimate. Lysander’s heart raced, and he felt hyper-aware of his every movement, and the warmth of Damien’s hands and the scent of his cologne on the air. It was a little intoxicating.

For the first time, Lysander considered the possibility that he might actually lose this bet.

(He was fine with that.)

***

Lysander couldn’t see, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t move an inch. He was, well and truly, stuck.

Christ he couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he caught his breath, his muscles trembling with a peaceful sort of exhaustion. He couldn’t possibly get out of this anymore, could no longer fight, so it was okay to settle. His defiance had splintered. In the dark, he was a creature of sensation alone, world narrowed down, no audience to think of. It was overwhelming and…nice.

He didn’t think he’d get this feeling again.

Damien carded his fingers idly through Lysander’s hair, laying on the bed beside him. He seemed to be taking a moment to catch his breath too.

“Alright?” he asked.

Lysander made a sound of agreement.

Damien’s nail trailed down, curving along the edge of Lysander’s jaw, tipping his head up a fraction.

“I suppose,” he said, “that you are not a total con artist.”

Lysander huffed. He supposed he could say the same about Damien not being completely arrogant coming up to an escape artist and telling him he’d clearly never been properly tied up before.

“Ready to come out?”

Lysander was back the following week.

They both agreed it was simply excellent practice after all.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

You're writing is amazing!! <3 If possible, is it alright to do something focusing on an embarrassed/shy sidekick that got injured in battle, and has to let the (flirty) hero tend to their wounds/wash hair/feed them because of how weak they are at the moment? Bonus points for a very touch starved sidekick, and some tension.

"Sit down."

"It's fine, I can-"

"Sit." The hero met their eyes. "What sort of mentor would I be without giving you the appropriate post-battle aftercare?"

"You don't have to phrase it like that," the sidekick mumbled. They did sit, though.

"What?" The hero grinned, opening up the first aid kit. "Aftercare?"

The sidekick looked down, horribly aware of the heat radiating off their face.

The hero laughed quietly; warm and fond.

"The injuries aren't that bad," the sidekick said. "I'm just tired." So very, very tired. Their limbs felt like melted marshmallows; pitiful goop.

"Mm, no wonder. You were very impressive out there."

"Just doing my job." They shivered as the hero began to make quick work tending to their minor wounds, touch warm and strong and confident. They tried not to lilt into it. They blamed the exhaustion in the fact that they did.

"And now I'm just doing mine, hotshot."

The hero pressed closer, shifting so that they could take the sidekick's weight. They stroked their fingers, entirely unnecessarily, entirely lovely, through the sidekick's hair.

The sidekick's eyes fluttered closed. A small, embarrassingly needy sound left them. "S-sorry."

"Don't be. You're sweet."

"I'm useless like this."

"I think it's adorable." The hero placed the last plaster over a cut on the sidekick's temple. "You never let me look after you normally. I like it."

"Well, I'm supposed to be supporting you...."

The hero pressed a kiss to the sidekick's temple.

The sidekick's eyes, for all of their tiredness, snapped open. They glanced up at the hero.

The hero smiled again. "Kissing it better. Did it help?"

The blush returned full force. "You're ridiculous."

"I could kiss the rest of them too. Just one might be a fluke. It's not scientific."

"So stupid." The sidekick covered their burning face with their hands.

"So cute."

"Don't tease me." It was another mumble; torn between the delicious squirming feeling that the teasing left in them and the sheer horror of it, that the hero might be mocking them.

They didn't think the hero was mocking them, though. They weren't the sort. Did they flirt with possibly everything? Yes. Were they unkind? No. But that didn't make it real. That didn't make the desperate rise of hope in the hero's chest any easier to bear.

"You are cute." The hero did a last check over the scrapes and scratches, before moving. They pulled the sidekick up into their arms, cradling them like they weighed nothing. "My cute little absolute devastation of a powerhouse."

"It was nothing." The sidekick clutched hold, stomach swooping.

"You saved my life."

"You save them. I save you. It's nothing."

"Hey." Some of the flirting dropped. The hero waited for the sidekick to meet their eyes. "It's not nothing. Thank you."

The sidekick swallowed, but managed a nod.

The hero carried them through to the spare bedroom, and for all of the sidekick's flittering nerves, they were half-asleep by the time they arrived. Sapped of strength and energy. It made it easy to go along with the hero for once, to let them tuck the sidekick beneath the sheets.

The world felt lulled.

The hero caressed their cheek, taking another moment to study them, gaze intent.

The sidekick slid theirs away, breath catching.

"I'm not teasing you," the hero said, softly. "I'm quite genuine in everything I've said or done. I wouldn't tease you. Not like that anyway."

"Oh."

"Get some rest, hotshot. Good job today. I'll be in the other room if you need anything."

The sidekick wanted to stay awake. They wanted to tug at the string of the hero's earnestness, whatever the hell it all meant. Their eyes were already closing again, the room tunnelled at the corners.

Their last act was to reach out, woozy and weak, and take the hero's hand. It felt like the bravest thing they'd ever done. Far bolder than that day's fight.

The hero stopped. They mattress dipped with their weight.

"Okay," they said, stroking their thumb over the sidekick's knuckles. "I'll be here."

And, even when the sidekick woke up hours later, they were.

[mel-the-pirate-prompt-reblog]

Could you please do a villianxhero prompt?

They were on the same side. Sort of. Temporarily. Admittedly, it had been a temporary that had stretched on far longer than either of them had expected.

It had been nearly a year.

"I wouldn't," the hero said, as one of the villain's circle stood up to go find his absent leader in the study upstairs.

The villain's left-hand simply sneered at the hero before continuing on their way.

The hero sighed. They could feel a headache forming, but they moved to rise either way, with the celestial tug of everything they were.

"I wouldn't."

The hero glanced over at the villain's right-hand.

The right-hand smiled at them. "It serves him right. And it wouldn't do him bad to remember how much of a buffer you are when you're around."

"He'll get hurt."

"Then he should have listened to you, shouldn't he?"

Well, the hero didn't exactly have a good argument for that. While they'd learned to get on well with the villain's right hand, they still clashed frequently with the obnoxious and entirely too sycophantic left.

"Seriously," the right-hand said, softer. "It's not like you're planning to stop absorbing the worst of them any time soon, is it? Pick your battles."

"They're not that bad with me."

"You know how to handle them - better than anyone."

"Don't let them hear you say that."

The right-hand snorted.

They both looked up, towards the ceiling, towards the villain seething with setbacks out of view.

Something crashed.

"I'm not going to say 'I told you so,'" the hero said. "That feels mean."

"Don't worry." The right-hand sounded positively cheery. "I will."

The left-hand slunk back downstairs before they could respond, pale and shaken. It was, admittedly, a little satisfying. The villain was definitely a bad influence.

But, also, really. The villain telegraphed their moods fairly obviously and they'd got better at retreating when they felt inclined to be vicious. It wasn't a spoken boundary but it was a boundary to anyone paying attention.

It was possible that the hero paid too much attention. They just couldn't quite seem to stop.

"They told me to send you up," the left-hand muttered, with great resentment.

"Bold of them to assume you can send me anywhere."

"Please," the left-hand spat.

The hero grinned at them, before standing.

The right-hand's eyes gleamed, like they knew something that no one else had cottoned onto yet.

The hero shot them a two fingered salute, before they made their way upstairs. They rapped their knuckles against the door before entering.

"I've been summoned," the hero said, leaning against the door. "And you look like hell."

The villain scowled, dragged their hands through their hair.

The hero winked back at them.

The villain's glare intensified, but the tension slipped from their shoulders. "My head is killing me," the villain said. "I'm going to slaughter the next person who interrupts me."

The hero hummed, moving over to the sofa in the corner of the room. They flopped down, all casual like. The villain didn't even make a show of being casual or pretending to work for a minute more before they beelined over, all but shoving their face into the hero's neck.

The hero raised their eyebrows, surprised, then softened. The cupped the back of the villain's head, stroking through the dark locks. The villain melted against them. The hero felt something inside them ease too; a jungle cat finally settled and purring.

"It's disgusting that you're one of the few tolerable people left in the world," the villain said.

"Woe betide the minions. They try so hard."

"Don't take their side. You're mine."

The hero huffed, but didn't correct it, far too busy stifling a smile. Mine. It shouldn't have got to them like it did; there was a time when the word would have made them snarl with fury. They tucked their chin atop the villain's head. The connection between the two of them buzzed pleasantly.

They didn't ask if the villain wanted to talk about it. Inevitably, though, they did.

When the two of them wandered downstairs three hours later, the villain was themselves again.

"So," the right-hand asked, when the two of them were alone. "When's the wedding?"