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Write with Me

Part One

Below is a writing prompt that I decided to go with today! Feel free to use the prompt and read on to see how it inspired me. Hey, and if my little blurb inspires you, take it and run with it!

“Underestimate me. That’ll be fun.”

Seeing him standing there, hands nonchalantly in the pockets of his dark colored pants, I had this overwhelming sense of anger. An anger so potent and all-consuming that even looking at his eyelashes made me irritated, because they too long for a boy to have, too long and too dark. And a boy like him—with an ego bigger than the planetary system itself—didn’t deserve beautiful eyelashes like that.

His eyes twinkled when they caught mine, a grasp that was unshakable, no matter how hard I tried. “You’re staring at me.”

I refused—refused—to let him get to me, mainly because getting to me was what he lived for. He found a strong sense of joy in poking at my buttons, gloating in the fact that I had yet to find his. “I’m waiting for you to come up with a plan that actually makes sense,” I snapped back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Walking into the enemy’s territory blind isn’t going to be as fun as you make it sound.”

He rocked back on his heels, pressing one hand over the spot his heart should’ve been, because I knew he didn’t really have one. He couldn’t have. “Ouch,” he whistled low under his breath. “You think I’m wanting us to go in blind? To walk us in to a certain slaughter?”

I leveled my gaze on him, pushing away any and all thoughts about his beautiful lashes and focusing on the coldness of his personality, a cold that could frost summer leaves. “I think your high sense of self-esteem will have you taking the team into a situation we aren’t prepared for.”

“Right,” he murmured, taking a step toward me. It felt predatory, a lion dragging his paw through the dirt as he approached his next meal. “Because my high sense of self-esteem is going to bring death upon our team.”

“It will,” I said resolutely.

“Bullshit,” he replied pleasantly, proceeding to step further, closer. “I get it. Being stubborn is your thing. But you don’t have to attack me like a child when things don’t go your way.”

He’d gotten too close and said the wrong thing; my fist swung in response, not even allowing me to get my feet planted before it swung away from my body. But he’d caught it before it neared his cheekbone, my target, and gripped it hard. With one swift pull, he brought me toward him; my chest hit his and I gritted my teeth against the pain in my knuckles.

His eyes were knives, ready to cut out my throat. His smile was a wicked twist, belonging to a fairy prince, a master of deception. “Go ahead,” he whispered against my cheek, voice deadly low. “Underestimate me. That’ll be fun.”

“I hate you,” I got out, every cell in my body straining away from him.

His teeth glinted, and he tossed my hand back at me. “Oh, I know, sweetheart.”

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