Okay so the OG readers of mine that came here from my Crossmare oneshot book might remember an unrefined draft I posted years ago about a shot based on One Punch Man. If you don't then the plot is easy to follow.

Basically all you need to know is that Dream is a well known hero, and Cross is his apprentice in training. During a battle, Nightmare (big evil villain) sends his minions (murder trio) to kidnap Cross as he has plans for him.

This little shot is the aftermath of Cross being captured, and Dream questioning his (least) favourite villain about his whereabouts

😋

"Where's cross?"

"Who's cross?" The villain before him giggled, a manic sound that bounced across the tall walls of brick that surrounded them. The sound was cut short by a cruel grip to the throat, his skull cracking against rough brick.

"I'm not in the mood to play games with you, Villain." Dream scoffed, mouth to twisted into a low frown as he regarded the man in front of him. "Answer my question, I know you can."

The air was stagnant around them, breaths coming out in a foggy puff. It was cold, enough so that Dream could feel the slight breeze biting at his bones through the fabric of his leather gloves.

"I really don't know who you're talking about."  His voice was sly, a lie graced by a smile with lips curled back to reveal sharp, white teeth with canines so pronounced that it likened him to a reptile. That's how he'd earned his villain name. The Viper.

He was an assassin, Nightmare's second in command. He was responsible for the deaths of many - heroes and civilians alike. He could lie in wait for days waiting for a target. By the time said victim realised he was there, they were as good as dead.

"My apprentice, Viper. Where is my apprentice." His fingers readjusted around the man's neck, relishing in the way he felt his pulse flutter. He could see in his eyes that he knew what he was asking for. Unfortunately, that didn't mean that the other would make it any easier for him. He had a bad habit of making Dream squeeze information out of him like an unripe lime - so much effort, so little result.

"Whhat abouut a.. trade?" His grey pupils shone silver for a moment, flicking over him greedily. "Information for information."

Dream sneered down at him. He was used to this ploy. Being Nightmare's second in command had requirements. Providing valuable information on the hero society would earn him a gold star. He could assume that his status as Nightmare's right hand man wasn't spoon fed to him. It was a position that would be constantly fought for. Other villains were probably nipping hungrily at his ankles, hoping he'd fall from his prime spot.

"It will be worth your while!" The Viper's babbling cut through his line of thought, irking him. "And the information I ask for in return is reeaally minor, ssososo small."

Staring down at him, Dream decided to give the boy a chance. "Tell me where Cross is first, then I'll answer your question."

"Nonono, it doesn't work like that." His head shook so violently that it looked like it would snap off of his spindly neck. "I ask first."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" His grip on the man's neck tightened, and he wheezed pathetically beneath the force of his hand. His powers allowed for inhumane strength as well as other perks. If he wanted to, he could snap the other's neck beneath his fingers like a twig. It was a tempting thought.

"No-! Lissten- assassins promise-!"

His arm raised, creeping up in the corner of Dream's vision. The hand was softly caught, crushed against the wall above his skull. The villain was often quick with his hands, able to produce weapons seemingly from mid air. He fought with blades dipped in viper's poison. One cut from his blade resulted in deadly sickness, or worse, death. He'd seen coworkers, colleges tainted by his blade. But he found the man's hand empty, no blade clutched between his fingers.

Beneath him he stared with wide eyes, breath caught in his throat for a moment. "Llike I said.. assassins promise." His right hand raised this time, slower, more cautious. Fingers traced a shaky X over his target shaped soul, as if marking a pledge.

Dream watched him dubiously. The grip on his throat loosened slightly, but the hand that clasped the assassin's wrist remained. "Ask your question."

The answer was almost immediate, as if he'd been thinking of it for weeks. As if it were an urgent question asked straight from Nightmare himself. Except it wasn't.

"What's your name?"

Dream's eye twitched. Not this again. "We're done here." He dropped the other to the floor, watching how his legs buckled and he fell to his knees before him. He turned on his heels, ready to leave the alleyway. It had been a long day. He wanted to go home. He could find Cross without the other's help.

"Hey-! Come back-" Scrambling sounded behind him and Dream twisted, the staff that had been laying dormant by his side now swinging to point at the other, halting his stride.

"Go home."

"But it's nnnot fair! You know my name, why can't I know yours?" His voice had a pathetic whine to it, like a child who'd just been denied playing with his favourite toy.

"I never asked for your name, Killer." He didn't miss how the villain's eyes seemed to light up when he spoke his name. It made him feel sick. Around a month ago, Killer had proposed a trade of information; a name for a name. He'd given Dream his own name, only for the hero to shoot him with an arrow and refuse to offer his name in return. Every encounter they'd had since, the man would pester incessantly for a name. Rather irritably, the assassin had learnt that his name began with a D, and ever since the monologue for their battles go somewhat like:

"Daniel? Is it Daniel? Drew? I'm close with Drew- Duncan-? No; you don't look like a Duncan."

Frankly, it drove him insane. But he feared what new ways Killer would find to annoy him with his real name.

"Using hero names is so boring." Killer's incessant whines sounded once more, and he turned to watch the villain grip the end of his staff playfully. "It's impersonal."

"It's staying that way, Viper."

"Nnnono, that's not my name." His face twisted sourly, fingers drumming against his staff. He stared at the other urgently, but upon receiving no response he adopted a different tactic. "You're not much of a hero really, are you? A hero would trade such information in a heartbeat if it meant saving their friend. Oh my.. whatever would the public think if they learnt how cruel their favourite hero can be."

Dream's eyes narrowed, lip curling in distaste. If Killer told Nightmare about this, the word would spread like wildfire across the public. The villain organisation was an immense network. It would only take a few whispers here and some mumbles in back alleyways before the public was fed a twisted misconception that he refused to aid his own apprentice. While he wouldn't mourn a drop in popularity, he couldn't afford for people's faith in him to disappear. Heroes were already under pressure; people didn't trust them to protect them like they used to. Villain attacks were becoming more frequent, and it was getting harder to save everyone each time.

"Fine."

Killer's eyes gleamed, and Dream could have sworn the freak leant closer, hooked on a thread. For a moment Dream considered lying, giving him a false name and hoping that the other would latch onto it, tell him where Cross was and then run away to leave him alone. Part of him knew that Killer would catch him in the lie.

"Dream."

Killer's head tipped to the side, his eyes dark. His body seemed to go still, unmoving. Not even his fingers twitched, sat frozen against the staff that still pointed at him.

"Dream.." His voice was soft, as if he were being careful with how his mouth formed the word. The word was pleading to speak, and he found his mouth enjoyed forming the single syllable. It was short, easy to remember - not that he could ever forget, no. That name would be committed to memory. Even now it was bouncing around his skull, fluttering like a butterfly.

Looking at the hero, he found himself debating whether the name fit his opponent. In some ways, of course it did. It was perfect, like him. But then the name seemed to be more fitting for someone younger, softer. The man that stood before him looked haggard by age, cold and tired. He didn't exactly live up to his namesake at first glance. But that didn't matter. Dream. He was the man he.. well, dreamed of. The realisation was so amusing that he laughed, having no care for whether the other saw him.

"Cross, Killer. Where is Cross?" Dream felt anger claw at him, watching as the other tried to poorly conceal a snicker behind his hand. Had he found his name funny? No, he was certain the freak was laughing from his own internal monologue.

The assassin nodded, still trying to muffle his spew of giggles. He knew he should stop for fear the other would think him insane, but the revelation made him unable to think rationally. Dream. He was called Dream. The name he'd hungered after for weeks was finally his. Dream, Dream was asking him a question, and he knew he should answer. He had promised after all.

"Cross is in sssafe hands, we'll return him ttto you when he's ready.

Dream hissed, thrusting his staff forwards in the hope to wind the other. "That's not an answer-"

But the assassin danced easily out of the way, ducking under a punishing swing of his staff and scrabbling past him to run for the alleyway exit.

"Killer-!" He twisted, running after him with a yell. He should have expected this. The villain was a man to never be trusted, never to be underestimated, and never to be fought solo. He shouldn't have cornered him alone.

In front of him Killer skittered round the corner, bursting into the bustling daylight beyond the dark alley. The sunlight burnt at his eyes, and he found his footsteps clumsy as he pushed through the crowds. He was aware of the hero yelling behind him, and felt something coil in his gut. Dream was awful at chasing him; he always escaped. But he still felt a rush of adrenaline when the other tried to capture him.

The thickness of the crowds were in his favour; easier to lose Dream. Unfortunately however, while he had to shove and wiggle past people to get through, people seemed to part like the Red Sea whenever Dream walked past. Most of society were forever in awe of heroes. It made their respect for them unparalleled. He cast a cautionary glance over his shoulder, and yelped to see Dream was nearly upon him.

He twisted past a pair of larger men, close enough that he could smell their cologne. Jumping up, he called out in his clearest voice. "Everyone-! It's the hero Seraphim! He's giving free autographs!"

The effect was almost immediate. The crowd, which had previously parted out of respect and awe, surged forwards to surround Dream, encasing him like a swarm of bees fighting for pollen. A hive mind was hard to push through.

Spinning on his heels Killer turned to watch as Dream tried to fight through the crowd, his eyes burning daggers straight into him. He laughed, waving goodbye to the hero with a dramatically blown kiss. As expected, Dream didn't catch it.

Skipping through the thinning out crowd, Killer hummed to himself, mumbling the other's name under his breath over and over. What would he do with this information? He wasn't sure. But he'd make it worth the other's time. Each alleyway he walked past made his soul prickle, remembering how it felt to have his spine crushed into a brick wall by the cities strongest Hero. It had been.. thrilling.

He hadn't expected Seraphim to give him his real name. He had expected more of a fight, more arguing and bargaining before he'd gave in. He had even expected the other to lie, give a false name in the hopes to throw him off. But he'd have recognised the lie. Something would have felt wrong at the other's confession. Despite the guise he may put on to friends and foe alike, he was cunningly smart. He had a good internal sense for whether someone was lying, or trying to plot against him. Dream hadn't done that. He hadn't lied. He had trusted him with his name. The thought made him giddy. So giddy that he didn't notice the figure slouched in the next alleyway until it was too late.

Hands grasped at his shoulders, yanking him so suddenly that he nearly flew off his feet. Twisting in his assailant's grip he hissed, blades gripped in his hands within seconds. For the second time that day he found his spine crushed against the rough brick of an alleyway, and for a moment he let the (stupidly hopeful) thought form that it could be Dream back to rub his face into the concrete. But instead of cold golden eyes, a singular red one stared at him.

"Horror-?"

"Geez Kills, no need for the knife show." The brute spoke gruffly, his pupil rolling down to observe the blade that Killer had positioned inches from his chest. "Could have killed me."

"He always carries the antidote." A second voice joined them, floating from the darkness of the tight alleyway.

Dust. He was one of Nightmare's oldest followers, a mage with powers that gave him magical abilities so strong that he could stop a beating heart with a whisper. He had the ability and equal opportunity to overtake Killer as second in command, but preferred to lurk in the shadows, as far away from a public role as possible. He viewed the Hero society as a disease, a sickness that needed to be purged from their unfortunate country. When Killer had first joined Nightmare's order he knew he had disliked him, resenting him for his lack of social awareness and over-energised nature. But he had latched onto Horror, and the two of them had been stuck with him since.

Horror was like Dust's guard dog. Not under any official position, the man simply stuck to the mage like glue. He was a monster of a man, with a broad, hulking figure and strength 5x the average man. He too had been an early employee of Nightmare's, with no interest of using his powers for good. He'd climbed the ranks steadily, proudly displaying the scars of the battles he'd fought and heroes he'd killed. With Horror's brute strength and Dust's terrifying resolve, the two made a good pair, and often did missions together instead of solo.

While Killer was mostly sent out for solo missions, he'd occasionally been sent to work with Horror and Dust. Their dynamic had been awkward at first, and Killer was sure Dust had plotted to kill him and play it off as an accident many times. But now they had a comfortable partnership, and he'd even started to consider the two villains as friends rather than colleagues. Horror always laughed at his jokes and they shared the same twisted humour. Dust would stay mostly silent around them both, but Killer had caught him laughing or smiling at their comments more and more often lately.

Staring at the two of them now, Killer grinned. "Sometimes I forget to bring the antidote out with me."

Horror scoffed, bumping the other's shoulder lightly with his fist. "You're reckless, Kills. Come on now, the boss is looking for you."

Peeling himself off of the wall Killer scampered after the two villains as they turned down the alleyway, tucking his knife safely away. When he'd been younger and (more) foolish he had often nicked himself with his own blades, accidentally injecting viper venom into his soulstream. The constant exposure to that and the antidote meant he'd built up a pretty good immunity to his own poison, but he still carried a vial of the antidote around with himself just in case.

Walking in pace with his friends he wiggled between them both, playfully linking their arms. "You wouldn't believe the day I had guys. It was crazy- just- mad! Insane-!"

"Oh yeah?" Horror locked their arms firmly before lifting his elbow high up in the air, so high that Killer hovered, feet brushed against the floor cartoonishly as he laughed. "How come?"

Killer snickered, tugging the other's arm until the other popped him back on the floor. "Seraphim. He told me his name."

Dust cast him an unimpressed look. "I thought you were told to stay away from him."

"He found me, not the other way round." Killer rolled his eyes, the lie light on his tongue. "But good news is he's no closer to finding his feisty apprentice."

Horror grunted, peering round the corner to the next alleyway before they marched onwards. The tunnels would be nearby. "I heard the apprentice spat on the boss today."

"Ooh, feisty." Killer had stopped listening really, his mind too preoccupied on Dream. He numbly heard Horror saying how the action had ended with Cross being thoroughly drugged, and once he woke up Nightmare expected Killer to interrogate the new possible recruit. It sounded like a lot of effort, but maybe he could get the Hero to tell him more about Dream. Yes, that could be a good opportunity.

Still linking arms with Horror and Dust Killer rambled to the other's about his latest obsession, doing his very best to explain that he didn't like the hero, he just found him entertaining.

Unseen to the assassin, Horror and Dust shared knowing, amused glances as they slipped into the shadows, leaving the bustle and noise of the hero society far behind on the surface world. They knew to keep an eye on the younger man. Nightmare had already warned them of the consequences of what would happen if Killer's interest in the Seraphim became anything more than childish fascination.

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Hours later they gathered stood flat roof on the surface world, eyes cast up to the stars and laughing as Killer told of how he'd snapped Cross' wrist when the apprentice had tried to luge at him. He'd of course missed out the details where the man had been in position to snap his neck, and would have done if he hadn't reacted fast enough.

Horror's laugh was low, a deep, and gravelly noise that was easy to pick out in a crowd. He flexed his arm out above him, wrist twisting as if he were imagining his own bones being snapped.

Beside him Dust's laugh was softer, raspy. It was one of the rare moments when he had his face exposed, mismatched pupils flicking over Killer's shark-like grin. He liked him, really. "Okay, so you never told us - what's Seraphim's real name?"

For a short moment Killer went silent, feeling an odd sort of possessive nature claw across his soul. That was his information to keep; he had earned it. But Dust's stare was joined by Horror's, and he felt an odd pressure to act casual about it.

"Dream. His name is Dream."

"Dream?" Horror's nose scrunched, voice high pitched as if to mimic a fussy child. "How wet. Eugh, boring. That's the guy you're obsessed with?"

Dust snickered, bumping Horror with his elbow upon seeing Killer's irritated twitch. But he wouldn't deny it's hilarity himself. He hadn't expected such a.. soft name from the cold hero. Well.. He hadn't always been cold.

"Piss off you two." Killer stared up at the sky once more, ignoring Horror's high pitched mimicking as he recalled the events of the day. A hand slowly crept up to his throat, rubbing at the spot that still bore a dull ache from the hero's touch. Dream was dangerously addictive, and he knew that he shouldn't entertain this sick game much longer. However he knew it wouldn't be so simple. Fighting addiction was a tough battle.

He found himself smiling, fingers pressing into his throat to mimic the other. Absentmindedly,
he hoped the spot would bruise.

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Tehehe they're so silly

Next update should be soulmates or one night
Onlyyyyyy

I move into uni this week I'm scared oh man oh god oh my it's spooky. Point is updates might slow (is it even possible for them to get any slower you ask? Time to find out)

Thank you to Zye because she came up with the hero name for Dream I was struggling Fr

Love ya

-Jess-