#Hero x Villain

[autocrats-in-love]

Prompt (513)

The hero checked their watch. It was officially midnight. They rolled over in bed and bumped the villain.

"Hey," the hero said into the crook of the villain's neck. "Happy anniversary."

The villain grumbled sleepily and pulled the hero into their arms.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

If you're down for it could you maybe do a piece where the Villain had supposedly "Reformed" which everyone found really hard to believe at first but over time was able to convince everyone that they had including Hero (who was potentially their biggest skeptic in the beginning) and after a while of people finally trusting them Villain does something that lets loose the fact that they had never really changed in the first place much to Hero's dismay. ?? What happens and if something happens to Hero because of this is up to you! Completely understandable if it's not something you feel like writing though

have a nice day whenever you do read this though! - 𖢻 Crystal Anon.

Hi there Crystal Anon! I love the name! I can definitely write this for you! Thanks for requesting this, here you go!

Trust

Hero and Villain crept into the old lab, ice and fire at the ready. Hero was ready for a fight, and according to the team’s intel, there was going to be one heck of a skirmish. What Hero wasn’t ready for, however, was that the place was completely empty.

“What the…” Hero lowered their ice shard.

“Maybe someone tipped them off?” Villain suggested.

“There was no way, the intel was airtight,” Hero said, looking around.

Hero crossed the room, examining old beakers of various substances along with dusty equipment.

“This place hasn’t been used in years,” Hero realized.

They sighed, going back to Villain.

“Tell the others to stay at the base,” Hero said, “I’m going to do some recon and-”

A dart whizzing into their leg cut Hero off. They looked down at it, then back up at Villain, who held a tranquilizer gun in their hand.

“You son of a-”

“It isn’t personal, Hero,” Villain said, holstering the gun, “well, not in the way you think.”

Hero pulled the dart out, wincing. They lunged at Villain but fell into their arms instead.

“Shh,” Villain soothed.

Hero could practically hear the smile in their voice.

“It took far too long to gain everyone’s trust… yours most of all.”

“Well, you’re never… getting it… back…” Hero said with effort.

“Maybe not,” Villain conceded, “but I don’t need it anymore.”

Villain swept Hero up into a bridal carry as their vision faded.

“Hero? Villain? What’s your status? Do you need backup?”

Villain tutted, and Hero distantly felt them remove their comms. Then a crushing noise. They went under as Villain gently carried them out of the lab.

…

Villain rushed into the base just as Sidekick was about to head out.

“There you are! Are you okay? Where’s Hero?”

Villain wouldn’t meet Sidekick’s gaze.

“Villain?”

“Hero’s been kidnapped by Supervillain,” they said thickly, “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop them. All I could do was watch as they…”

Villain fought back tears. Sidekick’s eyes widened.

“We’ll get them back.” Sidekick said, “you better come tell Superhero and Teammate.”

Villain nodded a little, following Sidekick to the main hub.

…

Hero fought against the restraints pinning them to the bed. The gag in their mouth was particularly cumbersome, and no amount of noise made it out of their throat save for little muffled sounds that were quieter than a pin dropping. Their efforts were only serving to wear them out rather than provide a means for escape. Tears filled Hero’s eyes, not because they were stuck, but because they had fallen for Villain’s deception. Now they were paying the price. The worst part was, they really had started to believe in them. They should’ve listened to their instincts. Who knew what Villain had in store for them now.

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[serickswrites]

Anymore

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, hopelessness

"I can't do this anymore," Sidekick sobbed as they tried and failed to break free from the power suppression cuffs once more. "I can't watch Hero torture you to death!"

Villain stared at Sidekick, their hollow eyes filled with sorrow as they stared at Sidekick through a mask of blood. "They're not going to kill me, Sidekick."

"How can you say that? Of course they are! In case you haven't noticed, we're both in chains at their mercy. They've beaten us. They've won! And they're going to make you pay the price with your life."

Villain closed their eyes and sighed wearily. "They haven't won, Sidekick. I'm not going to argue with you. But they haven't won."

"You have a plan to get us out of here?"

Villain shook their head. "No."

"Then how can you be so certain they haven't won? Villain! This isn't funny!" Sidekick was consumed by their hopelessness. They were going to watch Hero torture Villain to death. They had already watched Hero wound Villain over and over again. They couldn't endure it any longer.

Villain gave a wan smile. "Because, I have a plan to get you out of here."

Sidekick swallowed. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"You won't have to...for long. Just long enough to get Right Hand and the rest of the team gathered and lead the assault on Base."

Sidekick shook their head. "I can't lead a team of anyone. I won't leave you behind, Villain."

"You can. And you will. How else are you going to rescue me?" Villain closed their eyes again. "Look, just promise me when the opportune moment arises, you'll take it. Without question. Without looking back. When I get you the opening to get out of here, Sidekick, you have to run. Run fast and run hard."

Sidekick's eyes pricked with tears once more. Villain was going to spare them from watching Villain die. From being there when Hero finally went to far. From being Hero's next play thing. "I will. But I will get you out of here. You just have to hold on until I get back, Villain."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat

[sunnynwanda]

Could you please please please continue REMEMBER ? my heart stopped reading jt. Maybe include vil's intense emotions, they finally don't have to hide their feelings anymore, feeling they hid for years (perhaps even a decade)? After all that....hero is finally. Finally. In their arms.

Also also I adored ADORED ticklish hero <3 and how vil , after all the years remembered that <333 the tension was absolutely delicious <3333 hero in their clothes <33333

Remember: Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: mentions of past falling out, the morning after, I digress from the request (I hope you still enjoy it despite Hero's POV)

Hero stirred, letting out a low groan and tilting their head to the side for a more comfortable position. The floor under their back is still as hard as it is cold. With another grumbling sound, Hero is drawn into wakefulness, but their brain takes a few moments to process their surroundings and drops the penny. The velvety surface of the carpet tickles their neck, and their chest feels heavy, urging Hero to glance down - only to discover half of Villain's body splayed out on top of them.

The memories of the previous day flood their minds: Villain, the house they grew up in together... kissing.

Oh.

"So that was real..." Hero mutters to themself, still in disbelief over the turn of events. They shift again but fail to find a less straining position for their muscles. I'm too old for such discomfort, Hero thinks, chuckling under their breath.

Villain was never an early bird, so Hero untangles from their hold and gets up, stretching the sore muscles of their back. Definitely too old, though Villain would call them grumpy instead. They look around, grabbing a second blanket from the couch and draping it over Villain's unmoving frame - sound asleep unless in apocalyptic conditions. Hero always found their ability to fall asleep in seconds and stay asleep for as long as they needed remarkable. They sure lacked on that one.

The old grandpa clock chimes eight. Way too early to be awake on a Sunday, but here they were, awake and full of anxious energy. Hero decides to look around - if only to quench the nostalgic yearning they still felt for the house of their carefree childhood. To be fair, their young adulthood here was quite pleasant, too - up until that godforsaken day that tore Villain away from Hero's trembling hands.

They walk through each room, taking their time to reminisce about the past days of undisturbed happiness and wishful dreaming. Boy, did they dream! So many sleepless nights were spent dreaming of countless lives to share with Villain after graduation. One night, they would dream of studying and pursuing a career in academia because they wanted to keep challenging each other.

Other nights centred on opening a bakery, eloping to a deserted island, travelling to the North Pole to be glaciologists, becoming archaeologists in Europe, researching marine life, learning a foreign language and walking the Great Wall of China, opening a small bookshop in the suburbs... It never really mattered what they'd do. The main component was always one thing only - Villain - until the uneventful morning after graduation day turned their life upside down.

Hero groans, shaking their head to rid themself of particular unpleasant memories as they reach the kitchen. This was the epicentre of the world for Villain and Hero alike. Anytime Hero's Mom baked, they would run here after school, climbing on top of the kitchen island and waiting for their shares of still-warm pies and cookies. Villain had an incredible sweet tooth, and Hero's mother took note of that very soon, saving a piece even if Villain couldn't come over. It was rare, but any time Hero tried to complain, their mother would gently shush them, saying that there were things that Hero could not understand yet.

Villain never discussed home with them. Sometimes Hero would pout for a day or two, acting offended because their Mom and best friend seemed to be keeping secrets from them. They often ended up forgetting about it by accident and never had the heart to return to the issue. The day Villain left, Hero swore their mother knew. They could tell from the look in her eyes and the way her hands trembled when she gave Villain a hug and kissed the top of their head.

In the days that followed Villain's disappearance from their life, Hero often thought back to their conversations, struggling to find a reason, a clue, anything to soothe the ache in the gaping hole that used to be their heart.

Hero lets out a sigh, sitting down by the counter and rubbing their eyes. They look up, noticing a pile of papers hidden behind the cutting boards. They don't mean to snoop, but it just catches their eye.

Half an hour later, they are still studying the files - documents and newspaper clippings, when Villain's surprised cough draws their attention outwards.

"What are you doing?" Villain's voice is tense, but when Hero looks up at them, their expression is more terrified than anything else.

Hero pauses, searching for words, but no words seem to grace their brain. "What's this?"

"Hero, it's not-" Villain gulps, unable to finish the sentence. How can they respond, really? How can they even begin explaining the abomination that was their family life?

"It is my business," Hero's voice cuts through their hectic thoughts with a sharp tone.

That was not what Villain was trying to say. They open their mouth again, but no words come out, their throat hoarse and dry. "I-"

"Supervillain your father?!" Hero finally asks, standing up from the stool and stepping forward. Villain remains frozen. "Answer me." They demand. Villain nods shortly.

So that's why- oh... Now Hero gets it. All of it.

"H-" Villain tries again, their lips shaking as they aim to form a sentence, only to let out a quiet groan by the end.

"Don't," Hero cuts them off, and Villain expects them to walk away, but Hero steps closer, drawing Villain into a tight hug, squeezing them to their chest. "When?"

"The day before graduation. He found me," Villain's voice is barely a whisper, but Hero hears them, silently nodding for them to continue. "I didn't know what to do; he said I had to leave, that he's my family, and I was supposed to choose him."

"You didn't have to make a choice," Hero pulls them away from their shoulder to see their face. "We'd never make you choose."

"He said your family would never accept me if they knew whose child I am, so I-" Villain cuts off, clenching Hero's shirt for some grounding and dropping their forehead onto Hero's shoulder.

"You dumbass," Hero mutters, their hold on Villain tightening at the feeling of wetness on their shoulder. "You know better than that, Vil."

"You lost your house because of me..." Villain whines, failing to hide their crying voice. "My father did it."

"I wouldn't give a damn if I lost my life for you, idiot," Hero scoffs, running one hand up and down Villain's back in a soothing gesture, the other coming up to card through Villain's hair.

"No! No." They protest, gripping Hero's side with desperate intensity. Hero smiles at that, their expression torn between fondness and anger at their stupidity.

"You wanna see Mom?" They ask, trying to get Villain's mind off their past.

"Can I?" Villain looks up at them through tears, their eyes so full of hope that Hero's heart shatters all over again.  

"Of course you can, baby."

Part 1

Hi sweetheart (s)!

Thank you for requesting a part 2. I really wanted to do it. Got out of hand again - as per usual xD I hope you still enjoy reading it. Let me know what you think :)

xo Sunny

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[the-broken-pen]

Hi! I love love LOVE your writing so much!!!❤️❤️(it’s the only thing sometimes that can help me reorient myself when life sucks)-

Idk if you’ve already written a work like this- but could you write about a villain who fakes being in a relationship with hero to get information. Hero absolutely loves them and thinks that they can finally be happy….but then Villain breaks their heart- while saying they never loved them and that it was all a lie.

and then later on Villain regrets it and realizes they are actually obsessed with hero and go full psycho?

The hero had spent their childhood watching as their parents fought viciously with one another. Slamming doors and breaking plates, and then sullen, withdrawn and nearly silent conversations illuminated only by the dying lamp in the corner of the living room. Whatever the hero’s parents had, it wasn’t love, and never would be. The hero had no way of knowing if it ever had been. 

And then the hero had watched as time after time, their sister loved someone with her whole heart and was left shattered on the hero’s doorstep at the end of it. Fairytales that ended with no happy ending, ripped up love notes and a hundred playlists made for people their sister could no longer bear to name out loud.

The hero had watched their entire family reach for love and fall flat every time, and had resigned themself to a fate of the kind of heartbreak you cannot escape. The kind that hangs over heads like a cloud and fogs mirrors.

And then–

The villain. The hero had met the villain, and the villain had smiled, and they thought maybe, just maybe, they had beaten the curse. That they were meant for the soft kind of love they had only imagined when they were young, before the pain of it got too great.

The hero had let the villain intertwine themself into the hero’s life, and they had thought they were okay. They had thought they had made it. 

Which was why, now, they couldn’t seem to make themself think anything sensical at all.

The villain settled the file in front of the hero gently, on the table they had picked out together with as much care as one was capable of. They almost, almost, looked like they regretted it, face soft and breakable.

The villain cleared their throat in the silence. “If you just read it–”

“What, can’t say it yourself?”

The villain stopped, swallowing. This was the first time in a very long time the hero had seen them look unsure.

The hero scoffed at them. “I know about Project Pegasus.”

The villain went very, very still. They looked down towards the folder.

“So then–”

“This?” the hero picked up the folder, waving it once. They tossed it onto the floor without looking. “I’ve already read it. Two weeks ago.” They stared at the villain, and did their best not to blink. “I just hoped it was fake.”

The hero wondered if maybe, this was what had happened to their parents. If they had spent all of that time fighting and hating one another and crying in darkened rooms just so they could spend the rest of it constantly reaching back towards one another. Pretending that the file wasn’t real. That the fights were nothing more than a blip in existence and not the roots of a rot so deep it would never be fully cut out of them. 

They had wondered about a lot of things, curled on the bathroom floor around that wretched file, but mostly they had wondered if they had always been meant to end up here. If this was what being doomed felt like. 

The villain blinked.

“You hoped it was fake.”

The hero felt a little like they couldn’t breathe. They sucked a shallow breath in through their nose anyways. 

“If you–” their voice broke. “If you were me, would you want to believe it?”

The villain’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes,” the villain said, but in the space where they should have explained themself, where they should have said it was fake, and that they loved the hero more than anything, and that this little apartment meant everything to them–they said nothing.

“So, what,” the hero snapped, voice wet with barely held back tears. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you? That this was an accident? That you’re sorry again? That you never meant to hurt me–”

“No,” the villain corrected gently. “You were always meant to fall in love with me.”

A tiny sob wormed its way out of the hero’s throat before they could stop themself, and they pressed their shaking fist to their mouth before anything else could follow, turning away.

“It was just about the information,” the villain said, and the hero shoved themself back from the table, just to get further away from the love of their life.

“You knew what you were doing,” the hero said bitterly. “You know me. You knew. You knew I would never be able to get over this, and you did it anyways–”

“It’s my job,” the villain protested, and it took the hero everything in them to remain standing. “It wasn’t personal.”

“You made yourself my world, you made yourself into my everything, you made me fall in love with you–”

“I never made you do anything.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. This was your goal, wasn’t it? Own up to your accomplishments. Go on. Tell me how proud you are. Do it.”

“Hero.”

“I loved you,” the hero was screaming, maybe.

And there it was. Past tense.

Loved.

The villain stepped back like the hero had slapped them.

“Hero,” their voice was barely a whisper.

The hero picked up the file. Rifled through it once more.

“Hero–”

The hero held out the file. The villain didn’t take it, hands remaining limp at their side.

“Take it.” They gestured with the file. “Take it, and get out.”

The villain sucked in a breath.

“Hero,” the villain said again, uselessly. 

“Tell me you love me, then. Tell me you meant it.” They gestured to the file once more. “Tell me that this is the lie.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

The villain opened their mouth, and for a second, the hero hoped–

“I don’t love you.” 

The hero wished the villain had just killed them. 

“I never loved you. It was all a lie. A really, really pretty lie.”

The hero wanted to say something elegant to that. Something biting and vicious and jagged in the same way the inside of them felt right now. They wanted to say everything they had felt earlier, every thought that had cut them so that it could cut the villain too.

Instead, all they managed was a choked, “Get out.”

They threw the file at the villain.

The villain didn’t bother to catch it, letting it slam into their chest. It thudded against the floor, papers spilling out in a halo around the villain’s feet.

A part of them wanted the villain to argue further.

A part of them just wanted the villain dead.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said once more, and then they were gone.

The villain had known as soon as the hero had thrown that file that they wanted the villain dead. 

That they were more likely to claw their own bones apart than willingly reach for the villain’s hand again, and the logical part of their brain was viciously pleased about it.

It made this whole thing easier. No lingering attachments to further butcher. Just a field, burned so badly nothing would ever grow in it again, and god, wasn’t that convenient for their mission. 

A tiny, smothered part of their brain, however, wouldn’t stop screaming.

They drowned it.

But then the villain would catch themself glancing to their side in search of a smile. They would wait a beat too long after they said something, would wait for laughter, and then there would be none, and they would curse themself for it, and that little part of them would come gasping back to life and start screaming again.

Possibly it was that little part of them that had made them send a message to the hero, offering the apartment. It was the least they could do, right? Fuck up their life and then get the fuck out of it. 

But the texts had said delivered, but never read, and three days later when the villain used their key to open the lock, they found themself stepping into a mausoleum and not a home. 

They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Dust hanging in the air. Blank squares left on the walls where pictures had once hung. Empty cabinets, empty floors, empty rooms; no, whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

For a reason they couldn’t name, they went from room to room, searching for something without quite understanding what. It wasn’t until they had come full circle back into the living room, fingers coated in dust and an aching chest, that the villain had realized. Ghosts. They were looking for ghosts. 

Because there was nothing better to describe the way they felt right now other than haunted. And if there was something, anything, of the hero left in here to burn, to destroy, to exorcise, they could use it as an excuse–

There was nothing left of the hero. There were no ghosts. This place was just dead.

The villain made a shuddering little sound, and slammed the front door closed behind them when they managed to stumble into the hallway. 

This was an easy mission, it was–

–two years and dates over ramen and houseplants–

–something even a new recruit could do–

–i love you’s in the dark and the scent of the hero on all of their clothes and–

–something the villain was trained for, countless hours spent–

–laughing and crying and rainy days and sunny ones–

–learning how to fake love, and somehow–

–the villain had forgotten it was fake.

The villain couldn’t breathe.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love, too.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love too, and they had just set their entire world ablaze around themself.

Fuck.

It really only made sense, then, that they found themself standing on the roof of their old apartment building as it burned. And when that didn’t work, they moved onto the next, until a third building went up in flames beneath their feet. They knew the kind of message it would send, and they knew exactly who that message would get sent to–

The hero landed on the other end of the rooftop, as far away from the villain as they could possibly get. 

“Stop,” the hero hissed, teeth clenched. “Stop lighting things on fire to get my attention, just stop–”

“I’m in love with you,” the villain said, voice wrecked, and the hero reacted like the villain had shot them. They stepped away, feet bumping against the edge like the fall was a better option than the villain.

“No,” the hero said. They shook as they said it. “Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I love you,” the villain said again, and the hero pressed a hand over their own heart.

“Stay away from me,” the hero managed after a moment. Another deep breath, and their hand dropped back down to their side. “Go do whatever it is you need to do, go ruin anyone else’s life, and stay out of the wreckage of mine.”

“We have a life together,” the villain tried. If the hero could just see, could see that they could fix it– “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I was so, so stupid. But you can’t just leave, please, just let me fix it–”

“I told you to get out,” the hero said, and there was nothing soft in their eyes as they looked at the villain. “What about the way I said it made you think it was temporary?”

“Hero, please, let me fix–”

“Villain,” the hero said calmly, voice sharp. “Some things aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”

All of the air left the villain’s lungs in a pathetic sort of wheeze.

“You’re my everything,” the villain choked out. “My whole world, and I’m so sorry. I was–I made a mistake, but you can’t just throw us away–”

“No,” the hero spat, and the villain flinched. “You burned that world to the ground. You’re standing in the ashes of it. You don’t get to come to me begging for it back.”

The villain felt unmoored. Like the world had shifted one step to the left and they had no idea what to do with their limbs anymore, no idea how to keep existing.

“But I love you.”

“The only person who feels anything when you say that is you.”

This time, it was the villain who stepped back.

“Please,” the villain whispered, and the hero closed their eyes.

“What were you expecting to happen. That I would forgive you? Would fall back into your arms? You could tell me that you’re sorry in every language for the rest of your life and that wouldn’t make what you did hurt me any less. So why would you think you could light a building on fire, tell me you love me, and then make everything go back to the way it was?”

“I–I don’t–”

“There is no back,” the hero said firmly. “There is no undo.”

“I don’t know what to do,” the villain said. A tear dripped off the edge of their chin.

The hero appraised them.

“Learn to live with it.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I can’t live without you, okay, I can’t–”

“Then die.”

The villain froze. They waited for the hero to take it back, but the hero just stared at them, face stony and cold. An avenging angel on the edge of the rooftop, firelight flickering at their back and smoke rising into the air, not an ounce of sympathy left in their bones for the villain.

And before the villain could say anything, say that the hero couldn��t possibly mean that, the hero spoke again.

“I mean it. You are not my problem.”

The villain was choking. They were drowning on air and the hole they had left inside of themself when they ripped the hero out of their life and the hero was just watching them–

“Please,” they said pathetically, and even as they said it they knew it was futile.

The hero didn’t bother to give them another response.

They watched the hero leave without saying anything, smoke beginning to sting their eyes and nose as their hands shook. 

It felt terminal. It felt world-ending. It felt deserved.

They wished the hero had just killed them.

[the-bar-sinister]

Obsessed with villainous displays of affection.

violence on their beloved's behalf.

deranged compliments and praising bad deeds.

stealing nice things for their beloved.

jealousy and possessiveness.

encouraging their beloved to be worse.

crimes together.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hiii! Could you please write some hurt comfort hero and villain? Where it has a “who did this to you” vibes! Thanks! No pressure if you don’t want to!

"You look..." The villain's gaze travelled slowly up the hero, taking in the hard lines of them, the uncanny iciness that had replaced a once warm, familiar face. "Different."

"And you look like hell. Let's get you out of here."

Despite the fact that the hero had just blown the villain's chains to smithereens, the villain didn't move. They leaned heavily against the cold concrete wall of their cell, still staring.

The hero's fingers flexed agitated at their sides.

"I can - if you're hurt, I can help you stand. I don't - you're safe now."

It was like an act they didn't know how to play any more. The script was the same, but the tongue behind the words was a sharper thing. A whittled thing. Made hard and venomous with desperation. Like the world had taken an axe to everything that made the hero them and started hacking.

"Who did this to you?" the villain demanded.

"What?"

"You're all..." Their head lolled, as they tried to tilt it customarily to one side. Their broken fingers hurt too much to wiggle them effectively in the hero's direction, but they did their best. "Not you. All..."

"They hurt you," the hero said. Flat. Deadly.

The villain wet their cracked, swollen lips. Their voice came out raspy. "I heard screaming."

"Yeah." Something dark and protective simmered in the hero's eyes. It looked awfully a lot like 'they deserved it'. Like how the villain's eyes used to look, through a mirror darkly, until the pain scorched through everything cold and steely inside them.

"You killed people. You killed...you came for me."

"We need to go," the hero said, through gritted teeth. "We need to get you out of here. Come on." The hero ducked down, only to falter when their gruff tug immediately made the villain's whole world go fuzzy with hurting. The touch turned gentle as the villain flinched. The hero's hands floundered, like they no longer knew the language of caring, but still remembered that they wanted to try.

A stupid prickle of tears stung the villain's eyes.

"Who did this to you? Who-"

"-Please," the hero said. "Put your arms around me. You need to work with me here. Please."

The villain wrapped their aching arms around the hero's shoulders. The hero lifted them up, holding them oh so carefully. Being upright was still enough to make the villain's vision pop and then blacken.

When they regained consciousness, they were walking through a slaughter house. Blood everywhere. As if a hurricane given teeth and claws had ripped through the building.

"Did I do this?" the villain asked.

"No, love."

But that wasn't quite right.

"No, I mean - I was gone," the villain said. Their head felt so fuzzy with everything they had been given, but the sharp edges of the hero were so clear, if only they could find the words to paint the picture half as well, let the knowledge swirling inside them settle. "You were on your own. How long have you been trying to rescue me?"

"It's going to be alright, okay? I've got you. You're alright."

"Are you?"

"I'm not the one who's been tortured!" It came out a snap, and maybe the villain should have flinched after an eternity of raised voices and raised weapons, but they didn't.

"You don't do so well on your own," the villain said instead, softly. "You never have."

The hero's throat bobbed as they swallowed, convulsive, choking something down. "Don't."

The villain raised a hand, rubbing their thumb over the gaunt line of the hero's face.

The hero flinched back.

"It's going to be alright," the villain said. "You're going to be alright. I've got you."

"You -" The hero laughed then, a broken thing. They jerked their head to the side but it didn't hide the tears glinting in their eyes. "Maybe let's not focus on me right now. You were - what they did to you - they told that they - I should have got here faster."

"I'm sorry they used me against you."

"Don't."

"Tell me their names?"

"They're all dead."

"Tell me anyway."

"I killed them."

"I know, love. Tell me anyway."

The hero swore, but the villain could practically watch some life creep back into those icy eyes. Some horror. Some thing that wasn't a stranger. Their hero. The hero held them a little tighter, cradling them a little closer against their chest.

"Just - later. Let me get you help. You need help."

Well, the villain couldn't argue with that. Still. Their own body didn't feel half as perturbing as the way the hero's eyes iced over again, determined to see through the job, to not shatter no matter what they'd done to get to where they were. To get the villain back. To save them.

They tucked themselves closer to the hero's chest, to their heart - thumping proof of life, proof of hope, proof that maybe they hadn't entirely lost the thing they cared about most of all.

Who did this to you?

But the villain didn't really need to ask.

The answer was always their own name.

[gassymasky]

Imagine being a vigilante just trying to protect your city. Everything is fairly normal, until you meet a certain villain. Unlike others this one seems to like being hit. Likes being beaten to a pulp, handcuffed and thrown in a cell. It's to the point their "crimes" are just obvious attempts to gain your attention. One day, after months of flirting with you, you give the villain what they want. Instead of dragging them to jail you drag them to the nearest thing to bend them over. Taking them hard and fast. Reshaping their guts roughly as you spank, grope and degrade them. And them absolutely loving every second of it.

[kaiwewi]

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

[villainousauthor]

"I'm sorry," Villain murmurs, trailing a soft kiss down the side of Hero's neck. "I'm sorry."

Hero rolls their head back, giving them complete access to their shoulders, knowing they're giving too much trust as those teeth nip gently at their flesh.

"You're not sorry," Hero's voice comes out in whisper, almost solemn, as if speaking too loudly will break the sanctity of this stolen moment. "If you were sorry you'd quite. You'd stop hurting people." Those warm lips travel back up to their ear, pressing another kiss, another graze of teeth against the bottom of their jaw.

"I'm not sorry for what I do," Another kiss pressed tenderly to their jaw, to the underside of their ear. "I'm not sorry for what I am." Villain's voice is low, a calm rumble. They press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to their shoulder. "But I'm sorry it hurts you."

As they speak this last part, they bite down ever so slightly, drawing blood as Hero gasps quietly, before pressing an almost apologetic kiss to the spot.

"Yeah." Hero's voice is thick now with unspoken emotion and unsaid words. "Yeah, I know."

[the-cypress-grove]

Insults (Fantasy Edition)

They're as useful as a wet blanket in the middle of winter

I could talk to my horse and have a better conversation

She did love her family, but she'd rather have an ocean between her and them.

He was the kind of man to stumble across rational thought quite by accident and dismiss it as absurd

'Quite frankly, I'd rather eat Hemlock.'

I know the gods do not exist, because if they did, they would've struck you down by now.

Well, you're clearly got some troll ancestry.

That's probably the wisest thing you've ever said and yet still you are wrong.

Do you just sit there all day and hope some sort of sentient through floats in your direction

She was tolerable. From a distance.

They were often wrong but never in doubt.

[autocrats-in-love]

Prompt (512)

"Punch me in the face," the villain said.

The hero rolled their eyes. "Or we could have an adult conversation."

"You're no fun!" The villain's henchman said, annoyed. "Just do it."

The hero rubbed their temple. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

An Offer You Can't Refuse- Part 4

Part 3

Hero was now quite convinced that Supervillain did not live in a house, but rather, some kind of castle disguised as a house. The corridors and rooms went on and on, and each one served a purpose somehow. Everywhere Hero looked, there was a henchman on guard, watching them. As they followed Supervillain throughout the enormous estate, their hopes of escape dwindled and dwindled until it was replaced by a sinking feeling with a hint of despair thrown in.

“And here are the gardens,” Supervillain said, crossing through the conservatory and into a gorgeous jungle of biodiversity. Rather than a lawn, the ground was covered in moss, and the flowers that bloomed above it all appeared to be perfectly cared for.

Hero froze when they saw a familiar face, one that had just been hit with a snowball this morning.

The henchman that had fought them waved awkwardly, then went back to tending the hedge.

“But you said-” Hero started.

“That that particular guard would only be fertilizing my plants from now on, yes,” Supervillain said, “I daresay their gift was for gardening rather than watching little heroes. I should’ve known, really. I must apologize again for their behavior. I don’t think they were expecting a snowball to the face.”

Hero blushed a little, embarrassed.

“I know you were just defending yourself,” Supervillain chuckled, noting the change in demeanor, “I don’t blame you.”

Supervillain led Hero on, past a beautiful wisteria tree and an apiary to a koi pond.

Supervillain handed Hero a cup of fish food.

“Go on, they love the stuff. Pig fish, I call them.”

Hero looked down at the pond, then scattered the food. Several koi fish came swimming right up, gobbling down the pellets and darting away. Hero smiled; it was fun to watch.

“I think you’re going to like it here in time,” Supervillain said, walking Hero over a little stone bridge to an aviary, “I know it will take getting used to, and I don’t intend to rush you. I just ask that you try.”

Hero looked up at them.

“Why… why did you buy me? I asked you earlier, but you never answered.”

Supervillain let a lorikeet perch on their hand. They held out a cup of nectar to it, which it sipped gleefully.

“The alternative was to let that general have you. Your life would have been torture. I couldn’t let you become a living weapon.”

Hero watched a sparrow fly by.

“So…you bought me… to save me?”

“Well it isn’t completely as selfless as all that. I did keep you after all.”

Supervillain let the lorikeet take off from their hand.

“Why did you keep me?” Hero asked.

Supervillain paused, then nodded to a scarlet macaw.

“You see that bird over there?”

Hero followed their gaze.

“You are meant to buy them in pairs, otherwise they become very lonely and depressed. I’m still looking for a mate for him. Without companionship, the aviary might as well be a bigger cage.”

“Isn’t it a bigger cage anyway?”

“Maybe,” Supervillain considered, “I relate to that macaw. You can have all the power and wealth in the world, but what good is that without someone to have it for?”

Hero’s cheeks started to burn as they took in Supervillain’s words.

“Anyway,” Supervillain said, opening the aviary door for Hero, “I still haven’t shown you the indoor theater. Hurry now, Amelia likes to escape.”

A flamingo honked, trying to scurry out with them.

“Amelia! No,” Supervillain said firmly, “stay! Stay… stay.”

They closed the door behind the irritated pink bird and headed back to the manor. Hero had a lot to think about.

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[spacebubblehomebase]

Hello, my fellow DC fans! Miss me? 👀✨

Back at it again with some Supersons! I've always wanted to draw an evil Jon and while their pose above may seem quite forward, in my head, they're just a hero and a villain with no history and no future. Doomed enemies if you will. It's funny how much more tension they have here because of it than when I actually try to draw them as a ship. I blame it on my asexual ass confusing intimacy. To think I actually finished drawing this just now too! The power of delulu has returned stronger than ever, bae-bee! XD -Bubbly💙