Ive Got Too Many Notes In My Notes App - Tumblr Posts

Cuddle, an intense cuddle scene in the dark grotesque hallway filled with soft sobs, until its the villain flinching from the same dull fuzzy ache in very core of their heart, their skin feeling tingles against the warm of the cozy couch and flurry blanket wrapped around them with the hero sound and softy breathing in their arms. Their small hands cluched on the material of the loose shirt in their smol fist.

Now this is so wrong because they were just suppose to return the favour in time when they need. They almost lost the hope with a heavy longing heart to be ever to see hero again, but here they are giving in with their plead to, "...just hold me for once...hold me tight..." with their heart crumbling like cookie in their pious hand.

Actual ask:I always write promts of unfolding scene, lol. Can u do a quick monologue from villain while cuddles.

I craved reading the energy ur dailogue fumes with. Finally finding ur a/c here was like discovering a new nirvana. Congratulations on having just another supporter *flashing u my best giddy smiles* lol

The hero was sound asleep in their lap, and the villain was panicking, just a little. Not panicking exactly—their schedule wasn’t exactly conducive to panic attacks—but they were….frazzled. Yes, that was a good word for it.

They shifted slightly and the hero mumbled their displeasure. The villain froze, because what were they supposed to—they carded their hand through the hero’s hair as soothingly as they could. The hero quieted, hand clutching into the villain’s shirt.

The villain sighed with relief.

The hero looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted you find in hospital rooms and gas stations at 2am. Maybe that was why, when the hero had sobbed, “Can you just—hold me, for a second, I just—“ the villain had let the hero collapse into their arms.

The villain, selfishly, was glad they were asleep.

The hero needed the rest, sure, but mostly the villain had just wanted the hero to stop crying. They didn’t know how to handle that. They weren’t a gentle person, someone who knew the correct words at the correct moments; but the hero was. And the hero deserved the same kind of comfort in return, so the last time this had happened, the villain had tried their best.

The last time, the hero, crying and bloody and entirely a mess, looked at them, said their name in a collapsed hallway, and the villain had—not panicked, because they didn’t do that—become increasingly frazzled.

And then the hero had been in their arms, and they were sitting on the ground, because the villain had hugged them.

The villain was an idiot.

They swore it wouldn’t happen again, because it couldn’t. The hero could never be their friend, and the villain could never be theirs.

It happened again.

It was happening now.

And the villain, secretly, was glad the hero was asleep, because they just wanted this moment, this forbidden thing, to last. Because if the hero saw the villain’s face right now, the hero would know that the villain cared.

The villain couldn’t care. They weren’t allowed to.

But desperately, they did.

For now, they simply brushed the hero’s hair back. Held them tighter, resting their chin on the top of the hero’s head. They let themself have this stolen, forbidden, soft thing.

Because they knew, when the hero woke up, it would be gone.

So, they listened to the hero’s breathing, and selfishly, hopelessly, let themselves care.