#hero and villain snippet

[avvail]

Maybe a hero who’s had a very bad day and (is on the verge of tears) only wants a hug from villain. But maybe the Villain doesn’t pick up on it and makes a snide remark or snaps at the hero and doesn’t realize until hero bursts into tears?? Fluff at the end though please!!!

So sorry if this is too specific!! Thank you if you decide to do it though! ❤️

“Hero,” the villain turns up their nose. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The hero looks tired. There are dark circles under their eyes, and a pale sheen settling over their skin, and it’s noticeable the way they have completed disregarded their mask, and stand vulnerable at their enemies feet.

They shift uncomfortably, hardly meeting Villain’s eyes. They might have laughed if it wasn’t so pathetic.

“I’m not here to fight.”

Their voice is quiet. The villain tilts their head as a wry smirk tugs at the corner of their lips.

“If I had thought you were a threat, I wouldn’t have opened the door to begin with,” they claim. Hero’s eyes seem to dim, sinking even lower to the ground. The villain studies their solemn expression, and can’t seem to understand why they’re acting like this.

“Oh,” they mumble, fiddling with their shirt. Villain’s eyes narrow. This was beginning to annoy them.

“Hero, why are you here?”

They barely even look up at them. Villain considers closing the door and going back to their evening.

“You’re acting so...pathetic,” they snarl, a scowl twisting their features. Hero winces at the tone of their voice, seemingly shrinking in on themselves. “Are you here to grovel? Are you acting?”

That pulls a reaction out of them. “I’m not acting.”

“Then why are you here?” They grit out. “You must have done something real fucking stupid to come to me and ask for my help. Do you really think I’ll do anything for you, Hero?”

Their eyes water. Hero looks horrified, and the villain mistakes the clear hurt for terror.

“I...I didn’t come to—”

Villain steps closer. “What? Have you got the cops surrounding my house? Is your little Sidekick rooting around in my office as we speak?”

The hero’s breaths becoming shallower, eyes blinking rapidly. They don’t know where to look again, and that gives Villain the answer they need.

Scoffing, they shoot them a sharp glare.

“Fuck off, Hero,” they sneer. “Don’t you dare come find me again.”

When they go to close the door, the hero leaps into action, and grips onto it firmly. Villain falters, their tongue sharp and ready to order them to let go, but they freeze.

Hero’s bottom lip is trembling, and there are tears rolling down their cheeks. When their frown melts away, the hero bursts into sobs.

“I had a bad day...” They snivelled, shakily reaching up to scrub their tears away. “That’s all...I didn’t know where else to go...”

Suddenly, the villain understands why they’re here, and their stomach coils with unwanted guilt as they listen to their broken sobs. They step closer, and don’t have to think about wrapping their arms around them and pulling them into their embrace.

The hero sobs harder, simply melting under their touch, and it’s enough to tell Villain that this was exactly what Hero needed.

They bite back a sigh, shushing them.

Villain recalls their harsh words, and analyses each sign in the hero’s body language they had so foolishly missed. They curse themselves inwardly, focusing on rubbing the hero’s back affectionately and carding a hand gently through their hair.

“Come on,” they grumble, glancing at the streets. “Let’s go inside.”

Hero doesn’t let go of them. Not even when Villain spends the night cooking them a light meal, and not even when they’re both sound asleep in each others arms.

[historically-iam-just-a-friend]

the fallen duke turns evil and the knight who hates him

draft-01

as I am pinned to the wall behind me with a sword to my throat I look up into the eyes of my to be murderer and I think to myself ..... I would wage a war for this man and that ass, but than again I wouldn't blame you if you wouldn't think the same in my position. I always had a tastes tad different than those of pathetic shriveling mortals but for it to come to this....a mortal to grant me my end and the only one I ever confide in at that, I mean ewww.

so now to tell you how it came to this, let's backpedal a little

I am the greatest supernatural to ever walk the earth with abilities that triumph over those of the almighty, a duke of the great status. so, basically I am a god.

now a mortal like yourself would question me how I walk the planet you cotton heads inhabit. (ughhh so predictable)

you see you and I have something in common, mortal. I too, like you possess the hurdle of what you earthlings call daddy issues (smile mortal, you have some trait mutual to that of an entity such as myself) and so the said father in question resent me for being too fabulous or so like he puts it "too preposterous, a ridicule to the bloodline". whatever, like i would want to be associated with the lineage of deceitful scoundrels and so he caste me aside and banished me to the human realm with an excuse for me to learn empathy (pffffft) (says the father who locked me in a dungeon and was onboard with the idea to sell me by pound).

when i first walked the land of this realm I felt like this place possessed a weird familiarity I couldn't quite place.

[whump-in-the-closet]

cw: past torture, restraints, whumpee turned whumper

“They…they aren’t coming?” Hero realizes it now. They should have realized it sooner. Their team was never coming. It was never even a question.

They meet Villain’s gaze, their own eyes dry. “They aren’t coming,” Hero repeats.

Their team isn’t coming back for them.

Villain crouches down next to Hero, spinning something metallic between their fingers.

Hero flinches away on instinct.

There’s a sharp click as the chains around their wrists are unlocked.

“Do you want to make them pay?”

Hero stands, clutching the wall for support. For once, they feel sure of something. It’s not the unhinged terror from before. Or the unfailing hope of rescue. It’s different.

They’re furious.

“I trusted them.”

Villain rests a light hand on their shoulder. “Trust only gets you so far.”

It got you tortured.

The rage grows inside of Hero. “I want to make them burn.”

[deckofaces]

Electrifying Experiments

Tw: whump, electrocution, captivity, experiment like whump, fainting, creepy/sadistic whumper?(not good at the terms for describing whumpers), canonically a female whumpee but they/them is used, slight dissociation(?), I thinkkk that’s it

Last part || First part || Next Part

This one is longer, so the story is below the keep reading line!

Hero woke when they heard the sound of the door unlocking. They grew to hate that sound, the loud latch being undone followed by the beep from what must have been the result of a card swipe or input code. The door unlocking always equaled a visit from Villain, no one else came in their room, and Hero has not once left it. 

In their time in Villain’s base, Hero discovered they’ve become an extremely light sleeper. Every time they hear the door, they are immediately jolted awake, sucked out of that escape from their dark reality. Which in turn, they never felt fully rested anymore. Even now, Hero’s body felt heavy as they groggily shifted into sitting position. Along with exhaustion, fear lodged a permanent residence. 

Hero’s eyes trailed Villain’s path from the door next to their bed, the sound of each step resounded off the tile in their almost empty room or cell. Villain’s low voice made its way to their ears. “Hello, Hero, dear. We are doing something different today if you would follow me out of the room. I know you are smart enough not to bolt, but I have to remind you it would be in your best interest to stay by my side.”

Hero’s eyes widened a fraction. They were leaving the room? Granted they hated the white enclosure, but they were terrified to think of what they would be doing. However, they didn’t want Villain to have to tell them to get up again. They slid off the bed, their feet gently hitting the white tile. Hero followed the villain wordlessly to the door. 

Outside of Hero’s room, they were led down a long hallway. Doors dotted down the corridor, having said that there were no windows on any of them. She could not see inside, but maybe it would be for the best. 

They took note that the walls and floor outside their assigned room didn’t seem too much different from their room. It all looked very clean and pristine, too clean even, and the walls were of monochromatic colors, mostly whites and grays. The floor additionally remained tiled, though it had more of a decorative hexagon design compared to the plain blocky tile of their room. 

To Hero, the facility reminded them of a more technologically advanced hospital. After they reached the end of the hallway, it opened out into a large space. It was full of activity, everywhere they turned they saw henchmen working on various tasks. None of them looked up as Hero walked by with Villain however. Were they used to Villain bringing people around or were they just too scared to look in their direction?

Hero continued to glance around as Villain brought them through the facility. They saw zero windows, were they underground? That would explain why the base has been so difficult to find.. and if they ever wanted to escape, it made it difficult. Hero couldn’t see any exits either, how did people get in and out?

Hero winced, they immediately were bombarded with a throbbing headache. They put their hand to their head as if that would do anything to soothe their pain. They looked up and saw Villain’s focus trained on them. So it had not been a coincidence.

“You are thinking too much. What did I say about running? Hm?” They stopped walking, waiting for Hero to answer. 

“But I- I wasn’t even thinking about running.. I’ve been following you-“ Hero gasped as their headache felt ten times worse, they squeezed their eyes shut. They were thinking too much? That justified a pounding ache in their head?

“I’m sorry? What were you saying, dear?” Villain watched Hero almost with a sense of curiosity, analyzing them for their reaction. “It won’t happen again, correct?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.. it won’t happen again.” Hero repeatedly shook their head. To their relief, the headache returned to a dull throb and Villain started walking again, beckoning for Hero to follow.

Hero reluctantly continued to walk with them. Although they weren’t walking through the base much longer. They made their way down one more hallway, similar to the first, and Villain stopped in front of a door. They opened it, waving for Hero to walk in first.

Hero fidgeted with their thin white shirt, stepping inside the room. When they glanced around, they saw cameras positioned in each corner of the room. Though as they continued to look around, they rapidly filled with unease, nerves making a home in their throat when they saw a wooden chair and a table off to the side with a notepad and pen. But what made them sick was what looked like conductive pads on the table. 

Hero started to back away, but they ran into something. They spun around and saw Villain standing over them, they choked on a sob. They wiped their sweaty palms on their pants, shaking a little where they stood. No no no no.. 

“Are you alright, Hero? Please have a seat, you look awfully pale.” Oh Hero hated the calmness of their voice. That chair was the equivalent of a death sentence in their eyes. Hero froze in place shaking their head, “Please.. I don’t want to do this.”

“Sit down Hero,” Villain said more firmly.

“No!” Hero shouted, tears filling their eyes. They starting backing away again, but in their fear and panic, they did not realize they were just moving closer to the chair. Villain noticed and started to grin. 

“You are making this far more difficult and painful than this needs to be.” Villain strode over to the frightened hero, placing their hands on their shoulders. They shoved Hero down and they collapsed into the chair. They did not even need to use their abilities to get the weak hero to fall into it. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Villain crooned, Hero’s eyes widened when they fell into the seat. 

“I-“ Hero’s voice caught in their throat. Villain hummed softly and wiped their tears away with the pad of their thumb. 

“Here is what is going to happen, dear,” Villain crouched down in front of the chair. Hero tried not to appear disgusted by the nickname. “I’m going to attach those pads to you-“ they were interrupted by Hero letting out a strangled sounding whimper. They refused to meet their eyes, opting to stare down at their wrists and mindlessly pick at the power suppression cuffs they wore, hoping it was a very bad dream.

“Shhh..” They gently took Hero’s hand away from messing with the cuff before continuing. “I want you to describe the pain to me, how it feels to you. Do you understand?”

“W- why.. I don’t- I don’t understand,” Hero shook in their seat. “Why..”

“You do not have to understand why, but do you understand what I require of you?” Villain pressed.

Hero hated how they had no choice in the matter. They didn’t understand, they didn’t at all, but Villain always refused to take ‘no’ as an answer. They weakly nodded.

Villain stood back up before walking to the table off to the side. “Good, good..”

As Villain walked back, each step they took seemed to echo and ring in Hero’s ears, louder and louder until they were back in front of them. They whimpered when they felt the pads being put on their skin. “Please..”

Villain didn’t reply, rather they walked away back to their table. They picked something up, Hero squinted their eyes. It was tiny, they could only assume it was a remote of some kind. They couldn’t dwell on it before with a soft click, Hero’s world erupted into agony. 

They could barely hear their own screaming over the excruciating pain. Intense burning scoured Hero’s body, they felt as if something pierced every part of their figure. They cried and yelled for it to stop- they never felt something quite so horrible.

When Villain eventually let up, Hero was left gasping and crying in their seat. What did they do to deserve this punishment? Villain didn’t tell them why, they wished they could understand. 

They looked up and saw Villain approaching them through their tears. They put a hand on their back as if to try and study their shaking. “Hero, describe to me what that felt like.”

Hero let out a sound between a whimper and a sob. They looked down at their lap and brought their shaking hand to their face to wipe their eyes. Villain tilted Hero’s head back up afterwards. “Speak with words, or did you forget? Do you need to go again?”

Hero slightly shook their head, they stared at Villain. They opened their mouth to speak, but they couldn’t find any words to talk with, closing it again. The hero gazed at them pleadingly, questions instead sat on the tip of their tongue. They spoke them in their head with such severity, they almost thought they said them out loud. Why why why why, repeated over and over again. They hated everything they felt, why did it happen to them. When would they go home? Would they go home?

Villain tsked and dropped Hero’s head, they could barely hold it up so it dropped. “I can’t read you mind, explain it to me Hero or I will remind you what the electricity feels like.”

They turned away from Hero and started to make their way back to the table. A small smile formed on their lips when their path stopped with a sudden shout from Hero. “Please-! Wait, I'm sorry! I’ll talk!”

Villain spun around and walked back to the hero. “Perfect, I knew you would not need a reminder. Now tell me, describe the pain the best way you can please.”

“I-“ Hero stuttered, swallowing before trying again. “It felt absolutely horrible, it-“

“More specific,” Villain interrupted.

Hero crossed their arms, hugging themself and getting to the point, not wanting to risk electrocution again. “I-it’s so hard to explain- I- The best I can describe it being is that it felt like burning mixed with being pierced by something over and over..” Hero shuddered, thinking back to the pain they experienced moments prior.

“Wonderful..” Villain breathed, grabbing their pen and clipboard to write down exactly what Hero said. They clicked the pen and looked back up once they finished. “Anything else of note?”

Hero stared down at the white tiled floor. The ground appeared so unpigmented, so bleached, it seemed to pierce their eyes, was everything there always this white? “..No.”

Hero still held their gaze towards the ground. They could hear Villain walking away, likely back to put the clipboard down on the table. Their footsteps seemed to reverberate off the walls, sounding farther away and then getting loud again. Hero could see their shoes out of their peripheral vision. Oh they hoped they were done. That Villain had their fun and that they could go back to their room and then-

Screaming echoed off the room’s walls once again. Their eyes shot up frantically only to realize Villain held no such switch as they did before. They could taste the sick flavor of iron in their mouth, accidentally biting down on it. 

It felt exactly as they described. Flames scoured their body, except none were there. They could feel the sensation of piercing, the sensation of stabbing, but nothing touched their skin. More specifically, it was electrifying, maybe even worse than when they felt the real electricity.

“Stop! S-stop-! Please!” Hero cried out. They gripped the chair until their knuckles turned white. The pain wouldn’t stop! They knew the source came from Villain, but they still searched around themself and nearby as if to find a way to stop it. In the end they never found anything to stop the agony, Villain had complete control. 

Finally it ended in an instant. Hero gasped for breath but slouched in their chair, defeated. Their head hung, now the energy to keep it up seemed too much. However a barely noticeable throb in their head forced them to look up at the villain who crouched in front of them. They barely registered that they held a clipboard, their vision seems to run together and blur. 

“Hero, can you describe to me now what that felt like?” Villain looked at them eagerly, sharing the same enthusiastic curiosity a child might have.

Hero swallowed the small bit of blood pooling in their mouth, their face looking pained as they did so. “The same,” they managed to choke out. “The same as before..”

Villain’s eyes seemed to light up at their response, Hero could not stand to see that kind of twisted excitement on their face. They looked down at the floor and squeezed their eyes shut. 

“You did well,” Villain’s voice rang through their ears. “Stand up, you are going back to your room now.”

Hero’s sight blurred heavily now but the words ‘back to your room’ caused them to immediately stand up. They never wanted anything more. 

An onslaught of dizziness immediately washed over them. Their face wore a pale sheen, they swayed on their feet, and everything spun. 

Black spots filled their vision. Were they going to pass out? 

It only took a few more seconds before they last remembered collapsing onto the tile. They heard a noise of disapproval from Villain before black took over their vision.

———

tagging: @thelazywitchphotographer, @lilywolfgray, @justalittlecorrupted, @kadeee00, @rainy-knights-of-villany, @onlywhump

[creweemmaeec11]

Reverse Tropes

Soulmates - Your soulmate is destined to be your greatest rival in life.

Amnesia - Instead of losing memories, they start getting memories that aren't theirs.

Forced Marriage - Forced Divorce.

Captured Prince - They think they've captured the prince of the opposing kingdom, but they've actually just captured a normal, random civilian.

Chosen one Prophesy - There is a prophecy about *someone* saving the world, but it doesn't actually say who...

Born with Special Marks - It's actually a mark that tells a person what they *won't* be good at.

True Loves Kiss - True Hates Kiss, good luck convincing someone who truly hates you to kiss you.

Love at First Sight - Hate at First Sight.

Rags to Riches - Riches to Rags

Found Family - You need to find your actual, related family.

Misunderstood Villain - Misunderstood hero. They are trying to be evil, why does everyone like them!?

It Was All a Dream - They thought it was a dream, but it turned out to all be real.

Secret Identity - The secret Identity is the one everyone knows, somehow, everyone has forgotten your normal identity...

Villain Defeated by Friendship - Villain defeated by hatred.

Bad Boy & Good Girl - Good boy and bad girl.

Stalking/Obsessive Love - Avoiding the person they like to try and ignore their feelings.

Monster x Hunter - Hunter x Hunter, both thinking the other is a monster, or Monster x Monster, both thinking the other is a hunter.

Hero Gets Framed - The wrong villain gets framed.

Yandere - but it's two going after each other.

[the-modern-typewriter]

The villain, who doesn't typically celebrate much anything gets invited to an event (holiday, gala, birthday, etc) by hero with no strings attached.

This is a Secret Santa snippet gift @snowshowerwriting 😊 Have a great one! I hope you enjoy.

---

“…And I was just wondering if, maybe, if you’re not too busy, you’d want to go with me?”

The villain stared at the hero for a long moment, watching the colour slowly creep up the hero’s cheeks and all the way up to the tips of their ears.

Snow begin to drift and eddy lazily on the empty rooftop around them.

“Only if you want to,” the hero said. “Sorry. You’re probably too busy, what with being…you. Forget I asked! It’s not a big deal or anything I just—”

“—You want me to go to the peace ball with you.”

“Only if you want to!”

“Why?”

The villain could think of a dozen reasons why, but none of them exactly fitted with their impression of the hero in front of them.

The annual peace ball was a tinsel-strewn, glittering festive affair designed to promote good will across the city by forcing all heroes and villains to join together in a night of absolute truce. No fighting. So help anyone who tried scheming, though of course everyone still did. Good will to all super-powered men, women and others on earth!

The villain had been invited before, in the first few years that the ball was hosted, by a few of the boldest players on either side of the roster. They’d always said no. Never mind that they’d never been much one for making a big deal out of arbitrary times of year. The hero in front of them was not a particularly bold creature, though, heroics aside. Nor were they the sort to want to make some kind of statement.

The hero was bafflingly genuine. Too true to themselves to be of much use in politics, and too powerful for most to want to risk taking a run at them. Powerful enough, certainly, that they didn’t need the villain’s protection or the implication of an alliance between them. Good enough, surely, that the villain struggled to envision a scenario where the hero tried to enlist them over mince pies.

Indeed, as far as the villain could tell, the hero had absolutely nothing to gain by having the villain on their arm.

The hero’s head tilted at the question. “Because I think it would be nice?”

“I’m not nice.”

“Well, no. But it would be nice to spend more time with you. But only—”

“—Only if I want to,” the villain finished.

The hero’s blush deepened. It was possibly one of the most adorable things that the villain had ever seen. Still, the hero stood their ground and waited for an answer, arms folded grumpily against their own overly expressive face.

“Yeah,” the villain said, smothering a smile. “Okay. Sounds…nice.” They kept their voice light. Casual. Their heart hammered in their chest, giving an almost painful squeeze at the bright grin that shamelessly crossed the hero’s face.

“Yeah?” The hero raised their eyebrows. “Nice.”

The villain snorted.

The hero’s grin grew, delighted. “I’ll pick you up at seven? Unless you’d rather meet there?”

“Seven is fine, but I’ll come get you. What address works?”

They made the arrangements, the hero practically fizzing, like they really were looking forward to a night with the villain at their side. No strings attached. It was…well. It was really was so damn nice. There was a rare, warm feeling buzzing in the villain’s chest.

Still.

“You do know you’re going to get hell for turning up with me, don’t you?” the villain asked. “Whatever your reasons.”

“Mm.” The hero made a show of thinking. “I fought a literal mutated snowman last week, but you know what really scares me? Other people’s dumb opinions at the Christmas party.”

The villain found themselves laughing.

“Honestly,” the hero said. “I don’t know how we’ll survive.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You could get hell for turning up with me. Whatever your reasons.”

“It’s cute that you think anyone other than you dares to give me hell about anything.”

“I could be a terrible, hellish date.”

“Oh yeah?” The villain took a step forward, before they could stop themselves. A belated lightbulb flicked on inside their head. “Is that what you are then? My date?”

“I mean—" The hero’s eyes widened. They floundered. They bit their lip, drawing the villain’s attention immediately, and parties were lame but that mouth was absolutely not. “Only if you want me to be!” the hero said. “We can just go as friends. Long suffering colleagues. I’m not trying to—”

“Oh, no. You’re my date, darling. No taking that back.”

“Oh, thank god.”

That time, the villain utterly failed at smothering a smile.

“Oh, crap. I mean—” The hero scrambled for a more eloquent, less relieved, cooler response. They came up endearingly blank.

“Nice?” the villain offered.

The hero narrowed their eyes, playful. “You’re mocking me. Rude.”

“I would never dream of mocking my date.”

“No?”

“It wouldn’t be very festive of me.”

“Oh, yes. Because you’re such a big fan of festivity and seasonal celebrations.”

The villain blinked, mostly out of surprise that the hero had been paying enough attention to even notice that. Maybe they shouldn’t have been surprised all things considered. The hero was smarter than they let on. “And yet,” they said, “you invited me to a seasonal celebration.”

“Well.” The hero shrugged, mostly managing careless that time. “Limited opportunities to take you out anywhere else. I think people might panic if I just turned up with you for a dinner.”

“We’d be served very quickly. I do tend to clear our restaurants with my presence.”

The hero snorted.

“So what does one do at a peace ball?” the villain asked, voice a murmur.

“There’s food. Drink.” The hero recovered themselves, reaching out and taking the villain’s hand, drawing them a few steps closer, leaving footprints in the snow beginning to coat the roof. Their voice softened too. Liquid caramel. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“You done much of that before?”

“You might have to teach me.”

“Well, we start by you wrapping your arms around me like this…”

The villain might have shivered. The hero might have grinned, humming a made-up tune beneath their breath as they swayed together.

The weeks until the ball flew by.

***

People did stare when the two of them walked in. The villain chose to believe it was because the hero looked absolutely gorgeous, despite their dubious choice of wearing a festive jumper to what was clearly supposed to be a black tie event. The jumper was red and said ‘yule can do it friend’.

Maybe the hero was bold, in their way. The villain definitely thought, in the last few weeks, that they’d underestimated their sometimes-enemy.

There were a lot of people crowded into the city hall venue. Pretty much everyone. The villain abruptly missed their usual peaceful night of strolling around the city, relishing the way that the streets emptied as everyone bundled away to wherever their festivities were.

No panic. No screaming or nervous looks. No chance of some would-be-hero showing up demanding what the hell they were doing.

The hero set a steadying hand on the small of their back, studying their face, and their easy read of the villain’s emotions should have been alarming. It was alarming. It was also…

“You good? Do you want to go and grab a drink?” the hero asked. “What can I get you?”

“I don’t drink in public.”

“They have hot apple juice and hot cocoa too. Some fancy mocktails.”

“You don’t mind that I’m not joining you on the champagne?”

“Why would I?”

Some people, the villain thought privately, minded. They had specific ideas on what a party was supposed to be like and felt judged should the villain deviate from that pre-determined idea. The hero led them through the party, expertly weaving people.

“So?” the hero waggled their eyebrows. “What will it be?”

The villain retreated from the stand with an alcohol-free glass of sparkling. Easy to blend in, even if the taste was nothing special. The two of them watched the room for a while, trying out the various different canapes in the buffet, chatting.

It felt better with the hero at their side. They so obviously knew what they were doing at a party, smoothly carrying conversation with anyone who came over, but not in a way that made it seem like they were schmoozing. It didn’t make the villain’s skin crawl. The hero mainly got excited about and asked for pictures of everyone’s pets. Whenever anyone tried to comment on the fact that the two of them were there together, the hero said cheerily that it was “nice, wasn’t it?”

They’d catch each other’s eyes as whoever it was left. An inside joke. It had been a long time since the villain had been in on an inside joke. With the hero, it was a little thrilling.

Of course, as the evening wore on, there was dancing.

The movements were familiar, after all of the hero’s ‘lessons’ in the lead up to the ball. It made it easy to ignore the rest of the room, and the gaudy tree, and the awkward feeling that they might destroy their reputation for the sake of a party. The hero didn’t care about their reputation, did they? They just did what they wanted to.

“So,” the villain said. “What else does one do on a date?”

The hero’s eyes lit up, better than any fairy-light or candle. They stroked their fingers along the nape of the villain’s neck. The music took the opportunity to change to something slow and intimate, inviting everyone to press a little closer. It should have annoyed the villain, but with the hero in their arms, grinning at them, it couldn’t possibly.

“Well,” the hero made a show of considering. “There’s hand-holding.”

“Indeed.” Their fingers wrapped around each other as they moved.

“And kissing.”

“Ah, kissing,” the villain said. Their gaze dipped, inevitably, to that mouth worth going to parties for. “You might have to teach me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve kissed before,” the hero said, amused. “But I’m always happy to provide a refresher.”

“Part of being a good, heroic citizen I imagine. Helping out the needy.”

“Needy, are you?”

The villain opened their mouth. They registered what they said.

“You’re blushing,” the hero said.

“It’s rude to point it out and mock your date.”

“I would never dream of mocking my date,” the hero said. Then, finally, the hero leaned in to kiss them. Sweet, honeyed, and the warm thing in the villain's chest glowed. They dragged the hero closer, wanting more, more, more. The hero laughed with breathless pleasure and nipped at their lips.

The next year, the villain vowed right then, they were taking their hero somewhere private.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“I’ll admit,” the villain whispered, their hand slowly sliding along the hero’s leg - from their knee to their thigh to be precise - “I’m a bit rusty.”

“You?” the hero asked.

“We haven’t seen each other in six months,” the villain said. “That’s enough time to rust.”

“I thought you would have gotten your fun elsewhere.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Softly, the villain pressed a kiss to the hero’s throat and the hero (stupidly so) forgot their responsibilities very quickly again.

The hero didn’t consider themselves particularly greedy in bed. They took what partners threw at them and usually, that was enough. With the villain, it felt different. They felt more confident, they felt terribly secure. The hero wasn’t a passive party anymore.

“Six months are enough to move on,” the hero whispered.

Their stomach dropped when they realised that the villain was giving them a hickey. Instinctively, the hero grabbed their enemy’s clothes but only got a hold of one of the bullet proof vest’s straps. Though the hero tried to pull them closer, the villain didn’t move until they were done on the hero’s throat.

With a wet sound, they parted.

“You’ll understand how desperate I am right now, then.”

“Is it smart to continue this?” the hero asked. Six months. Six. Often, their thoughts would circle around the villain. As if they were an addict.

“…do you want to continue this?”

“Well, yes…”

“Then what’s the problem?” Again, they leaned in and this time, they left a trail of kisses on the hero’s neck.

Within milliseconds, shivers ran down the hero’s spine and their brain fried. Their heart was loud enough for both to hear.

“I don’t know…maybe something changed, maybe you changed.” The villain looked at them, their usually focused and serious eyes suddenly soft.

“Love, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe there is someone else you…” The hero took in a deep breath. Six months were a long, long time and if the villain had found someone else during that time…someone who was simply more fitting, the hero didn’t want to stand between them. The villain was charismatic, chatty, nice when they had to be. Surely there had been someone who had shown interest while the villain was in hiding.

“You’re aware I am extremely picky when it comes to my partner.”

“Yes, I know. But—”

“And stupidly loyal.”

The hero didn’t know what to say to that. They knew what loyalty meant to the villain. It wasn’t a term they used carelessly.

“Don’t worry,” the villain murmured. They pressed an innocent kiss to the hero’s lips and continued with another one that was a little more daring.

The hero had almost forgotten what it felt like to be kissed. What it felt like to have the villain’s tongue in their mouth.

Even as the villain pulled away, the hero couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

“You’re my nemesis,” the villain reminded them. Two of their fingers traced an invisible path down the hero’s chest. “You’re irreplaceable.”

The villain was methodical. They were gentle. Their hand stopped on the hero’s lower stomach.

“And now, be a darling and spread your legs. I’ve been craving the sounds you make for half a year.”

[automeris-io-moth]

Short #5

"Shush, you're okay," Villain soothed, a warm hand running through Hero's hair, mask long ago discarded on the floor, filthy with blood and dirt. 

Hero disagreed, grunting as a half-thought response, still navigating on the frontier of consciousness. Trying, and failing, to slap the other’s hand away. 

“They did quite a number on you, no one would believe they’re supposed to be your friends.” Villain whispered the last part, a hand reaching for Hero’s belt, taking their weapons out, and throwing them to the side. Hero’s hand could only twitch “One can only wonder what would have happened to you if I hadn’t asked for you unharmed.” 

Carefully, Villain brushed a single tear going down Hero’s cheek. They hadn’t noticed they shed it. 

“There’s no need to cry, with me you’re safe.” 

_

Masterlist

[chaotic-scraps]

The villain found the hero stocking cans in Big Box Store.

"Is this why I haven't seen you lately?" The villain asked disappointingly.

"Heroism doesn't pay," the hero said. "My folks want me doing something more practical with my time."

The villain leaned on a shelf. "They do if you work for the Agency."

The hero grunted and plopped a particularly enormous box down. "The Agency rejected me multiple times. I have to- ugh -earn money somehow." They sliced the box open violently. "Besides, you think those hospital visits were cheap?! Move over. You're blocking the shelf."

"Wow, someone's a little grumpy," the villain said. They shifted to block the shelves even more.

The hero slammed down a can. "I told you to MOVE OVER--"

"Hero!" Someone barked.

Hero froze. The manager.

"I am deeply sorry for their behavior," the manager hurriedly said to the villain. "Hero, you do not under any circumstances raise your voice at one of our guests. That is not Big Box Store behavior. Apologize this instant or consider this your dismissal."

"Sorry," the hero mumbled.

The manager glared expectantly.

"I'm very sorry," the hero tried again. "I should not have raised my voice. It was not a reflection of Big Box Store values, and it will not happen again."

The manager gave a satisfied nod and left.

"... You think I can get them to make you kiss my shoes?" the villain snorted.

The hero launched at them.

By the time the fight was over, half the canned foods aisle was in shambles. Needless to say, the villain had their nemesis back the next day.

However, the hero started receiving a generous stipend from an anonymous benefactor, making the job search a bit less urgent...

[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.

[watercolorfreckles]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her. 

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip. 

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity. 

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active. 

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility…

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

 Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking. 

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across. 

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again. 

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…” 

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee. 

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing. 

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection. 

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.” 

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning. 

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper. 

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face. 

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better. 

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot. 

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist–wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it’s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces. 

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight. 

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

Part 2

[avvail]

no thoughts just thinking a villain/supervillain with a harem of hero thralls

The hero had to bite back a pained hiss on their tongue as they were shoved down to their knees.

Fingers twisted into their hair and yanked their head up, just for them to see the supervillain seated on the throne, the one creature that they, and many other people, had been rebelling against for months.

The vampire was donned in lavish robes, seated upon their throne with their thralls surrounding them, in a sight that made them sick.

The supervillain hadn’t even given them any attention, instead gorging on a bloody feast from one nestled in their lap, their eyes closed and their arms wrapped comfortably around their neck. Others were draped over them in various places, some at their side and some at their legs.

When the hero tried to look away, the fingers yanked on their hair, forcing them to watch.

“What now?” The supervillain grumbled, pulling his teeth away from the thralls neck, just to slide his fingers down anothers arm and bring their wrist up to their mouth instead. The hero watched those deadly teeth sink into delicate flesh, and they shuddered.

“The rebels,” a guard announced, giving the hero’s hair another obnoxious pull. “Found them along the southern river. We managed to catch this one.”

The hero felt sorry for them - the thralls used to be heroes, too, just like them. Now, as willingly and happy as they all looked to be given attention from such a creature, their master, they didn’t want to imagine the sorts of things they were made to do.

The supervillain tilted their head back, licking the blood off their lips as their intense eyes fell to the hero. They tried not to tense, but they felt their body betraying them regardless.

One thrall moved up to kiss the supervillains neck. Why did they have to be so indecently dressed?

It felt like the vampire was analysing every little bit of their body, and a part them even wondered if they could hear what they were thinking. A deep sigh fell from their lips, finger brushing through another thralls hair, whose head was draped along their thigh.

“Bathe them,” they spoke, their words almost hypnotic. “I’ll decide what to do later.”

The hero’s heart hammered. In relief, or fear? They didn’t know. They had thought the vampire would kill them immediately. As they were hoisted into their feet, the hero stubbornly grit their teeth, refusing to even make a noise.

Some thralls glanced over at them, their red eyes almost standing out in the shadows, but once showered with more attention, their eyes wavered and they tangled themselves back with their master.

They could feel the supervillain’s cold eyes following them as they were roughly escorted out, and hoped they didn’t suffer the same fate as the others.

[lux-aurea-lunae]

Prompt 4 - Revenge

Hero found Villain sitting on the edge of a roof. They sat down beside them, trying to see what was so captivating about the view that Villain hadn't noticed their arrival. Finding nothing, they decided to break the silence. "Your end target is Superhero."

In the year they've been chasing Villain, they noticed that their schemes seemed to be building to something, but Hero had never been sure of what. "If you're here to talk me out of revenge, it's not going to work," Villain stated bluntly, not taking their eyes off the street below.

"No, I wasn't going to. I know what they did to you. I'm sorry that happened. No one deserves that." Villain finally looked at them.

"Then why are you here?" they asked sceptically.

"To talk you out of murder?" Hero asked hopefully. Villain scoffed. "Think about it. If you kill them now, they'll be regarded as a hero who tragically lost their life to a villain. I know you'd hate that."

Villain mauled that over. "What are you suggesting?"

Hero relaxed a bit, relieved Villain was hearing them out. Now they just had to sell their idea. "Instead of killing them, why don't you destroy their reputation? Expose them for the fraud they are?" Hero handed Villain a flash drive. "That has a bunch of Superhero's incident reports on it: property damage, civilian casualties, the works. Everything you need to ruin their image."

Villain looked between Hero and the flash drive in their hand, a vindictive, triumphant smile spreading across their face and an unmistakable fondness directed at Hero. Then they declared, "I don't care if I'm legally a criminal. I'm going to find a way to marry you."

[chaotic-orphan]

Concussed villain gets kidnapped?

Villain showed up on Hero’s doorstep, heaving in breaths as they slammed their fist on the door. Their arm was ridiculously heavy, and it took everything in them to throw it mercilessly against the wooden door. The effects were meagre knocks that Villain prayed Hero would hear.

If Hero was even home.

What if they were working tonight? Fuck, why didn’t Villain think of that? Their head was pounding so they rested their forehead against the cool wood, letting out a shaky, shallow breath, trying not to anger the fire in their ribs. Blood continued to trickle from their hairline down over their eyes and dripping onto their cheeks.

That wasn’t good.

They heard footsteps behind the door and Villain almost broke down there and then, relief flooding them like a tsunami of feeling, washing away everything that was keeping Villain upright. Tears poured down their cheeks at the thought of safety, hero looking after them… their hero. They could tell them about Superhero’s plans.

They could tell them… Villain put a hand against the door and pushed themselves backwards. They would’ve fallen if not for the arm that snaked around their waist. Villain blinked dumbly and glanced down. Arm around—?

Before they cry out or scream in warning a hand clamped over their mouth and Villain was ripped away from the door and into the shadows. Villain thrashed, struggling in their attacker’s grip, all their screams and cries muffled to nothing but silent pleas.

The door opened and Villain’s struggles renewed but Hero wouldn’t be able to see them from here. Hero wouldn’t know they were even there!

“Hello?” Hero asked into the darkness and Villain whimpered against the hands holding them in an iron cage. Villain threw their body forward, back, trying to dislodge their attackers arms but they didn’t budge even a little.

“If you want Hero to continue to draw breath, Villain, you’ll come quietly.”

Villain froze at the voice. That was… Superhero… the reason why Villain was in this state in the first place. Villain’s struggles renewed as Hero stepped out of their house. If they could even sense something was amiss so close to them then they would investigate. Hero would have to investigate, right? And Hero was in danger too!

Villain had to warn them, they had to!

“Hello?” Hero asked, a note of agitation creeping into their voice.

I’m here! Villain wanted to scream. Hero please! I’m right here.

A pinch in their neck and Villain’s fruitless struggles seized, their blood running cold. They flinched as cold liquid was pushed into their neck. No… no, no, no, no. “That’s it, Villain,” Superhero whispered. “Don’t fight it.”

The hazy world blurred even more and Villain fell back against Superhero’s chest, the fight leaving them almost instantly. What did Superhero drug them with?

Their eyelids shut and Villain forced them back open, with a gargantuan effort. The last thing they saw was Hero frown and close the door before their entire world faded to black in the arms of their enemy.

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #254

Hero wrapped the emergency blanket around Villain's wet and trembling shoulders. "You know, when I let you escape into the woods, I didn't know you were going to get lost. Or that you sucked so bad at wilderness survival."

Villain managed a half-amused exhale through their clenched teeth. "And you know so much?"

"Actually, yes. My camp is about a mile over that ridge. You think you can make it that far?"

Villain fought their stiff legs into the standing position, stumbling a bit on the way up. "What, you can carry traumatized civilians, but can't spare a bit of muscle for your nemesis?"

Instead of quipping back, Hero suddenly scooped them into their arms. "I certainly can if you need me to."

[creweemmaeec11]

Why is asking permission for certain things, both romantic and platonic, one of the cutest, most heart-fluttering things ever?

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Would you like me to carry your jacket?"

"Can I hug you?"

"Would it be alright if we cuddled?"

"Can I play with your hair?"

"Might I walk you home?"

"Can I tickle you?

"Is it okay if I kiss you goodbye?"

"Can I hold onto your arm while we walk?"

"Can I rest my head on your shoulder?"

"Is it okay if I call you (nickname)?"

"I'd really like to kiss you right now, if that's okay with you,"

"Would you let me take care of you?"