#hero as caretaker

[letters-unsending]

57. Hero x Supervillain, Sick Supervillain

////

A certain thrill seized Hero whenever he saw Supervillain like this: a specter slumped on his side, sheets folded over his hip. He doesn't turn toward Hero as he enters the room. Hero wondered if it was confidence or exhaustion that stopped him from rolling over.

It couldn't be trust.

The moonlight rendered Supervillain's white shirt thin and membranous. His shoulders curled forward and every notch in his spine casted a finger of shadow. With Supervillain like this, Hero could lunge forward and settle a blade between his ribs before Supervillain could swivel around.

"How are you feeling this week?" Hero asked instead, seating himself in the stool beside the bed. He blinked away the thought of blood, of how illicit the shade of red would seem against Supervillain's white shirt and silvery sheets.

"Henchman should've appraised you of my condition."

"They did," Hero hummed, smoothing his hand over the silken bedspread, "I'd like to hear it from you though."

For most of Hero's visits, Henchman had followed at Hero's heel, never more than arm's lengthy away, primed to wrench Hero back from Supervillain if he so much as flinched with ill intent. However, they'd been absent the last few sessions. Their search for a cure took precedence over their suspicions.

Supervillain exhaled a brittle breath. "My power has not regenerated nor has it diminished. Everything else has remained stable since you've seen me last."

"Good." If his power regressed completely, the city's protections, which were keyed to his power, would collapse. "That's an improvement from the last few weeks."

Hero licked the dry edge of his lip. When he had first been instructed to tend to Supervillain, the visits had hardly been so quiet. The sessions had been fraught with blood. Hours passed with Supervillain's sweaty and thinning hands twisting over papery hospital sheets. If the silence wasn't so damning—a resolute indicator of Supervillain's failing health—Hero would've claimed to prefer theses soft cracks of breath over the blare of medical apparatuses.

"You know better than to be an optimist." Supervillain rasped.

"It never hurts to have a little hope," Hero chided, though the words wormed like acid past his teeth. He wondered how much longer he would have to preserve Villain. How long would it take the Hero Organization had time to assemble their own protections for the city? Would Supervillain be able to speak by then?

He squeezed the fabric beneath his fingers before lifting his hand and palming the back of Supervillain's neck. Supervillain no longer jolted at the gesture. Instead, he turned his face into his pillow, and settled with a breath.

////

Supervillain wore a loose shirt; the collar sagged in the back. Blue shadows drew the top of his spine in sharp relief and as Hero held Supervillain's nape, he stared at the jut of skin, and the subsequent vertebrate that sunk past his sagging collar.

He reached forward, flattening his palm to the top of his back.

Supervillain flinched.

Hero jumped in turn, reeling his hand back so only the tips of his fingers remained on Supervillain's back. His jaw worked around an excuse, but any attempt at sound turned to a hiss of air past his lips.

"I don't intend to heal with this hand." He blurted.

Beneath Hero's fingers, Supervillain's back stilled, bereft of breath. "Do you intend to harm?"

"No."

Supervillain's breath returned, a slow rhythm. Hero readjusted his other hand at the back of Supervillain's neck, suffusing a fluttery burst of healing power into his skin. Supervillain sighed, head turning into his pillow; his body followed, curling, back sinking away from Hero's hand.

Hero dropped his hand to bedspread.

He'd been foolish, drawn in by dream-like drapery of moonlight. Anyone would be entrapped by the calm wash of breath and the soft angles of a body at rest—an illusion of tenderness.

"Return your hand."

Hero nearly dropped his grip from the back of Supervillain's neck. He searched for the tells of refusal in his posture, but Supervillain seemed to be a spill of a body, loose shoulders rolling into a lazy curl of spine.

Hero reached and pushed his thumb over the topmost notch of Supervillain's spine. Supervillain's shoulder muscles jumped, but he voiced no disapproval. Hero held his breath and circled to the next vertebrae, feeling about the shape, as if intending to mold it.

After a few more vertebrae, Hero flattened his hand, sweeping underneath Supervillain's shirt, following the line of muscle from mid-back back up to his shoulder.

Supervillain lurched forward, Hero seized his hand back.

"I'm sorry."

Supervillain slipped his hand over Hero's hold at his neck, nails curling into valleys between each knuckle.

"Is this what you want?"

Hero's throat tightened. Muscle memory maintained the steady flow of healing power through Supervillain's system, even as his mind and stomach twisted. Would he have even fathomed touching Supervillain in his prime, knowing what he was capable of?

If his hand had been at his neck then, Hero would've had no choice but to squeeze.

But now?

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Fic — 3/3

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

wc: 3k | rating: T | cw: head trauma, brain injury talk | a special thank you to @dame-zoom-a-lot for betaing! <3

The days following Steve’s Houdini act are fuckin’ tense, to say the least.

Eddie had messed up. Royally.

He could’ve sworn that when Steve took off, he’d ducked into the Recovery Center, y’know, the place he was supposed to go! If Eddie had known Steve took a detour and missed the building entirely, Eddie would’ve ran a lot fucking faster than he had. Especially after…

Well, no point in shying away from it anymore; after Steve confessed his love for him.

And how did Eddie return the favor? By being a total bone head and losing Steve for the entire goddamn day! Not to mention a good chunk of the night. Jesus… It’s no wonder Robin’s still sore.

Now, in Eddie’s flimsy defense, Steve had thrown him for one hell of a loop. One that Eddie was still seeing double from. He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around what he’d heard; Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, King of Hawkins High, being into Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson, the drug-dealing ne’er do well hailing from the Forest Hills trailer park. Forgive him for finding the threads a little difficult to tie together! He’s not exactly Steve’s usual fare.

But it had happened.

Things have fundamentally, metaphysically, allegorically and subatomically shifted between the two of them—there’s no getting away from that, no matter how long they try and dance around this.

Steve said he loved Eddie. Love.

That isn’t something you just move on from. At least, it isn’t something Eddie can move on from. Especially when he didn’t even get to say his piece!

The trouble is that Robin’s in all-out guard dog mode with Steve, keeping Eddie at arm's length even after a whole goddamn week goes by. Sure, she’d accepted his apology (albeit begrudgingly), but she isn’t exactly keen on letting Steve out of the house without her by his side—much less with Eddie. It would be kind of heartwarming if it weren’t so goddamn annoying.

Steve isn’t some damsel locked away in a tower, and Eddie wasn’t some knight in shining armor, planning to scale the side of a stone tower to avoid the sleeping, fire-breathing dragon…

But as Eddie stares up at the fire escape attached to the side of Steve and Robin’s brick apartment building… he'd be lying if he said he didn’t sort of feel a little shiny.

Part of Eddie can’t believe it’s really come to this, but… he just can’t stand the idea of wasting another goddamn night tossing and turning, going over and over Steve’s words in his mind. Thinking about the way Steve’s hand felt in his, the way his eyes went all soft when he told Eddie he—he loved him…

Jesus H. Christ, this is way beyond his skill set—he’s way out of fucking league here, but there’s nothing for it. Eddie needs to settle this, once and for all.

So, he takes his bandana from the back pocket of his jeans and presses the flat of it to his forehead while his hands make a tight knot in the back. He zips his leather jacket as high as it’ll go and gives his hands a shake to try and get the jitters out.

It’s not exactly a helmet and plates of armor, but it’ll have to do. Eddie takes a breath, steels himself, then climbs on top of a precariously stacked pile of milk crates that he’d crafted and leaps for the steel ladder. As soon as his feet leave the plastic tower, it collapses under him, clattering to the ground. Eddie knows he shouldn’t look back, but he sneaks a peak over his shoulder and… yep. He really shouldn’t’ve looked. He’s not that high up, but it’s enough that if he falls, he’d be feeling it tomorrow. Might even bust an ankle if he landed wrong.

He turns back to the task at hand; getting to Steve.

There’s a terrifying moment where he’s not sure if he can pull himself up, but somehow, he finds the strength to do just that. If only Coach D’Amour could see him now!

He grunts as he pulls himself up onto the platform, belly getting scratched against the grates as he goes. Eddie scrambles to get his legs underneath himself. Then, he stands, dusts himself off and takes the win, graceless as it was.

The fire escape is rickety and fucking loud as he takes the steps two at a time. It’s cold enough that even the quickest touch of the steel railings drains all the heat out of his fingers, so he just keeps them balled up, swinging at his sides. The wind is especially chilly up here too, something he hadn’t noticed on the ground, but now that he’s up a couple of floors there wasn’t anything for the wind to buff off except the side of the building and, well, Eddie.

By the time he reaches the third floor, his nose is running and no doubt red and irritated looking, and he’s woefully out of breath.

Kind of a pathetic knight, he thinks as he sniffs back the worst of it, wipes the underside of his nose on the sleeve of his jacket to get rid of what’s left.

The light in Steve’s room is on, reaching out to him through the lines of Steve’s shut blinds.

His hand is raised, wind-chapped knuckles knocking against the glass of his window before he can plan out what he’s going to say. He just wants to see Steve. Get eyes on him again. Work this out.

It’s a painful few seconds before Eddie can see movement from inside the window. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he impatiently waits for Steve to let him in. His breath fogs the window.

Then finally. Finally! The blinds are pulled up. He smiles and—

Oh Christ on a cross. That’s not Steve.

Eddie’s stomach damn near falls out of his ass as the woman on the other side of the glass screams, as shrill and high as if she were next to him.

And of course she’s in a fucking towel.

Eddie slaps one hand across his eyes and the other up in surrender, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Shit, Jesus, I—I’m not a pervert, I swear!”

Debatable, his brain supplies, entirely unhelpful in an emergency situation. But hey, what’s new?

“I was looking for my friend, not—Please stop screaming!” He screams.

“Eddie?” A familiar voice calls from below.

The hand on Eddie’s eyes lift and looks down through the metal grates under his boots. “Steve!”

Steve’s hanging half out his window, peering up at him with a bewildered expression on his face. “What’re you doing?”

Eddie holds his arms out like it should be obvious. “Seeing you!” He snaps.

Eddie’s attention is briefly yanked back to the scandalized looking woman in the window in front of him. “I’m—yeah, I’m gonna—” He backs away, and swings around the escape before thundering down the stairs, shouting another apology up in his shameful retreat.

Steve backs up in order to let Eddie in. He climbs in as gracelessly as ever, all knees and elbows, stiff from the cold. He slides the window shut behind him once he’s in, dropping the blinds for good measure.

He wonders if Hopper is getting a call about a long-haired, wild-eyed, deranged looking peeping Tom at this very moment.

“Smooth.” Steve says from behind him, an edge of playfulness.

When Eddie turns and finally gets a good look at Steve, who looks especially comfortable in his flannel sleep pants and worn sweater, hands on hips. “I was looking for you.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Steve snorts softly, “third floor, remember?”

“I counted! Ground floor, first floor, second floor, third floor.” Eddie says, using his hand to indicate his pattern of thought, moving it up a tick with each floor.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. And even though Eddie knows Steve’s laughing at him, he can’t help that warm feeling that pours through him, filling him up. All his cracks and edges, sealed up with Steve’s effortless being.

“No.” Steve raises his own hand, mirroring Eddie’s. He begins notching as he explains, “ground floor, second floor, third floor. The ground is the first floor, dude.”

Eddie frowns. “What? Since when?”

Steve levels Eddie with a flat look. “Since like, the civil war, dude.”

Huh. Eddie frowns. Mulling over the new bit of information. That would’ve been nice to know.

“Why were you even doing out there in the first place? We have things called front doors. And, y’know, phones.” Steve crosses his arms across his chest, losing a bit of steam as the words left him. Like he’s realized exactly what Eddie being here, in his rooms, meant.

“I had to see you.” Eddie says, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world, “Face to face, just me and you.”

“Can’t we just—I don’t know, pretend all of… that never happened? Hell, it might drop out of my head one of these days anyway. Lots of shit does.” Steve’s says, sounding so fucking defeated that it sends a sharp pain through Eddie’s chest.

“Hey,” Eddie makes a face, gets in Steve’s space, “don’t be a jerk to yourself.”

He ducks his head in an attempt to meet Steve’s downturned gaze, which he reluctantly returns. He’s got these big, warm eyes, the color of dark honey—the kind that are hard to look away from, so Eddie rarely does. He’a got a staring problem, he knows, but… damn. Can you really blame a guy?

A nerve in Steve’s jaw jumps when he clenches his teeth together, and salt pools begin forming along the rim of those familiar eyes. When he speaks, it’s stiff. Barely above a whisper. “I’m embarrassed, alright?”

“You don’t gotta be embarrassed, man.” Without thought, Eddie’s hands go to Steve’s arms, fingers hovering around his elbows. Eddie tilts his head again to try and keep eye contact again but Steve seems determined to avoid it.

“Easy for you to say.” Steve huffs, and sits down on the edge of his bed, slipping out of Eddie’s hold, arms still crossed over his chest. “You didn’t totally humiliate yourself in front of your—friend.”

The word, one in which Eddie holds in a most sacred of views, sounds distinctly hollow when Steve says it.

“Steve, listen to me, just for a sec, alright?” Eddie gets down to the floor, one knee buried in the carpet while the others bent out in front of him. “This is my fault.” He confesses, voice full of remorse.

Finally, Steve looks at him. His brows twitch together as he makes a face. “Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true! I—I didn’t mean to, but I’m not exactly big on the whole impulse control thing, as you know, and, thinking back on things I probably… I probably let a few things slip.” Eddie explains, his rings clinking together lightly as he gestures with his hands.

Steve, however, doesn’t look any less confused. He blinks. “What?”

Eddie lets his head fall forward in a moment of defeat as he attempts to gather up his fleeting thoughts. It’s like chasing wet, feral cats up there!

Still, he picks himself back up. For Steve.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s knees. Feels the warmth under the soft, worn flannel. The hard muscle. Alive, whole. He tightens his grip. “Steve, I’ve been crazy about you since the first time I ever saw you. Don’t roll your eyes—I’m serious! You sat in front of me in math one year and you forgot your pencil. We were having a test that day, and you asked me if you could borrow one of mine, so I let you have the one I was using. You chewed up the end of it, squashed the eraser to all hell, but then when you gave it back to me, you smiled, thanked me and said, ‘I owe you one.’ It—okay, yeah, so it sounds, like, really small, and probably pretty pathetic, but… I was totally starstruck, man.”

At some point in his little spiel, Steve had uncrossed his arms. So Eddie takes the opportunity to clumsily take Steve’s hands, his insides feeling like a kicked hornets nest. Buzzing. He swallows. “I still am.”

Steve keeps his mouth shut, but there’s a knot in him that’s loosening, Eddie can tell. He’s just gotta keep tugging. He squeezes Steve’s fingers.

“The feeling was cranked up a few hundred clicks because of all the, y’know, near death experiences we went through together. But you get it now, right? You get how this is all my fault?”

“Eddie, you don’t have to—” Steve starts, hands stiffening in Eddie’s hold. Slipping away. But Eddie holds firm, decides to just fucking say it. If Steve could, Eddie could too.

“I’m in love with you too.” He blurts out, and now that he’s said it out loud, it’s like there’s a dam that gets busted inside of him; he can’t stop the rush of words that follows the confession. “That’s what you were seeing. That’s what you were noticing. I thought I was being slick, just keeping it friendly or whatever. Flirting, yeah, but I didn’t think you’d ever actually reciprocate. Because, honestly man, I’m not really used to people taking me all that seriously. ‘Zany, pot-head Eddie, can’t trust anything that comes out of his crooked mouth!’”

Eddie shakes his head, scoffing at his own blind spots, “But… you saw right through that shit—right through me. You didn’t make it up in your head, Steve—you felt it. You were right.”

Steve’s got a funny look on his face, but he nods. A lock of hair falls over his forehead, but he doesn’t remove his hands from Eddie’s to fix it. “You love me?”

That’s like asking if the sun would rise tomorrow morning. Of course. Of course.

Eddie pulls one of Steve’s hands and flattens it onto his chest, over the leather.

“Every time my heart beats, it's your name it calls out, man.” Eddie says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he sees the red creep up on the apples of Steve’s cheeks. “D’you feel it?”

Steve gives a breathless chuckle, hesitating for a split second before he nods, playing along.

Electricity hums under Eddie’s skin, the resulting static snaps in the air around them. Eddie presses Steve’s hand against the wall of his chest a little harder, so that he can feel the pounding a bit better. Then Eddie whispers in time with the rhythm of his lovesick heart, giving it a voice, “Ste-vie, Ste-vie, Ste-vie…”

He keeps chanting until Steve’s grinning, eyes glued to their joined hands. It’s a fleeting thing, though. Eddie watches as that hard-won smile drops and a pinched look takes its place. “Even now? Eddie, I’m not—I don’t think I’m the same person I was before.”

“Are you kidding me? Especially now. In sickness and in health, right?” Somewhere in his brain an alarm sounds, but he doesn’t pause long enough to acknowledge exactly why, lest he lose momentum, “look, Steve, even if you are a little different from the guy you were in high school, you’re still you.”

A beat passes. “What if I never get better?”

“Steve, you will, the doctors said—”

“But what if I don’t? Jesus, Eddie, what if I get worse?” Steve’s voice had gone progressively more hushed as he spoke, as if he were so afraid of its possibility that even voicing it felt risky. Made it real, even in that small way. It’s something Steve’s thought about, Eddie realizes. Agonized over, even.

“Then I’m the lucky son of a bitch that gets to take care of you.” Eddie says, sure as shit. Truthfully, he can’t think of anything else he’d rather do, even if Steve hadn’t done a completely insane thing like falling in love with Eddie. His love isn’t conditional. “S’long as you’ll let me.” He tacks on.

It’s like a wall crumbling. Brick by brick, Eddie watches Steve’s resolve collapse. The rim of his eyes shine with unshed tears, his brow relaxes and his chin twitches. “You sure you want that?”

He scoffs, eyes wide. “It’s all I want.” He answers, quickly. A reflex. Who wouldn’t want to be with Steve Harrington? Eddie thought he was lucky just to be in the same fucking orbit as the guy, but now…

Now, as he watches a smile slowly spreads across Steve’s face—fucking Adonis incarnate—it feels like he won the goddamn lottery.

“Okay.” Steve utters, so softly that for a second Eddie thinks he’d imagined it.

“Okay?” Eddie asks, trying his damndest to keep from imploding. He’s fucking vibrating in his skin.

Instead of answering Eddie, Steve decides to clarify himself by leaning forward and pressing his mouth against Eddie’s.

Fireworks go off inside of Eddie, every inch of him. All lit up. Feels like he’s shining just as good as any knight.

One of Steve’s hands snake their way behind Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer, while the other remains held over Eddie’s jackrabbiting heart. Their lips part, and their kiss deepens. Eddie tries to keep up.

They eventually end up on Steve’s narrow twin bed laying side by side, legs entangled, kissing until their mouths go dry. Eddie swipes a calloused thumb over Steve’s cheek, savoring the feeling of the barely there stubble, the heat from the blush that never seems to subside.

They don’t speak for the rest of the night. Not even a ‘goodnight’ after Steve crawls over Eddie to flick off his bedside lamp, tugging the comforter up around their shoulders as he settles back into the safe harbor of Eddie’s arms. They don’t need words. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight, all they need to do is to rest.

Whatever comes after, they’ll deal with it together.

—

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[distracted-obsessions]

Ok, but imagine Villain/Henchman/Assassin Whumpee being found by the heroes while they raided Supervillain Whumper's lair and they take Whumpee into custody. They don't handcuff Whumpee because they aren't fighting back (either too injured or in shock) but as they lead Whumpee out of the lair, Whumpee stops.

"Did you find them?"

"Find who?"

Whumpee pulls away from them and goes deeper into the lair. Every time the heroes grab them, they get more and more distressed, saying that they can't leave. They won't leave. After a minute, they start screaming out a name that the heroes don't recognize.

Just as one of the heroes goes to knock Whumpee out, they see a child crawl out from under the stairs and run straight for Whumpee who drops to their knees and hugs the child tightly, shushing their cries and whispering soft, comforting words. "Shh, it's ok. Mommy/Daddy is here. I'm ok. We're ok. it's ok. Shh."

[run-little-hero]

Despite being relatively well-liked amongst the villainous population of City, Hero hadn’t encountered this before: upon returning home, Villain, buried under their bed covers, chest rising and falling in listless sleep. Hero keeps the lights off as they shut the open window and change.

They lift the covers and slide underneath, filling the space beside Villain. Villain stirs, cracking an eye open.

“Well, well,” Hero whispers. “What’s a lovely little troublemaker like yourself doing in my bed?”

Curtain-filtered moonlight casts over their face. Villain’s lips quirk up in half a smirk. “Was looking for someone to hold. Somewhere to hide.”

“From Supervillain?”

“Yes.”

Locking legs and hands finding waists; rites of comfort. Affection and longing. Suddenly, they’re both so tired.

“Can we stay like this for a while? Before you arrest me?” Villain’s question is suspended between theirs and Hero’s lips.

“You kidding?” Hero replies. “I might keep you to myself all night.”

They never fail to make Villain smile. “Maybe I should be more afraid.”

“Absolutely. People say I’m terrifying, haven’t you heard?” They tug Villain close, soliciting a laugh.

Hero reads something unspeakable in Villain’s gaze. A singular love they’ll never need to define, for they’re the first to hold Hero’s heart this way.

After a minute, “For the record, no one says you’re terrifying.” They burrow into the embrace. “But this is.”

It breaks Hero. These moments when each passing second feels like a facture. When holding Villain isn’t enough and reality promises to tear them apart.

“I know.” They kiss the crown of their head. “But we have tonight.”

Hero plans on sleeping in and waking up alone.

—

snippet #3

[whump-galaxy]

The villain wraps their cloak around the hero’s sidekick. Severely injured, delirious, and too weak to hold their own head up, the sidekick grips the villain’s arm. Their eyes are glazed over, but their tone is steady.

“Please, don’t let me die here. I don’t want to be a hero anymore.”

[roses-ink-dipped-pen]

Hero would have never thought that embracing their archenemy would be anywhere close to therapeutic, but here they were. Villain had finally found their weakness, and despite being the villain they couldn’t bring themselves to use this as an opportunity for their evil deeds, not now at least.

Hero closed their eyes, letting Villain scoop them up with strong arms. Villain supported their back with one arm, the other held their bottom as they hoisted the Hero against their chest. The warlord wasn’t used to being the first to initiate a hug, or the whole concept of hugs in general, but they did their best to make sure Hero felt at ease.

“Is this too much?” Villain looked down at their rival with so much care and concern, it scared Hero for a moment. Hero shook their head, squeezing Villain’s torso as a sign to encourage them to deepen the hug.

Villain smiled in contentment as they held their hero, swaying left to right while humming a small tune. Hero listened in, enjoying it despite the unfamiliar notes.

“I have a feeling you’ve been needing this for quite some time.” Villain purred in a singsong voice. They couldn’t help but press a kiss to their rival’s temple, their thumb traced small circles onto their cheek. Hero smiled brightly, a singular tear trailed down their face. Villain wiped it away, pinching their cheek as they began their tread down the empty sidewalk.

“Let’s get you home, it’s late.” Hero happily obliged to the Villain’s request to stay for the night on the way there.

[bamber344]

ok so superhero whump scenario:

Villain is Hero's favourite 'bad guy' to fight. Villain never really hurts anyone with their actions, and anything they steal is usually anonymously returned within a few days. The worst crime they've really committed is property damage. Hero is convinced they're just doing it for fun, as evidenced by Villain's very melodramatic and performatively cheesy attitude during their confrontations

Eventually, Villain disappears. Hero assumes they just decided to put down their cape and mask, though is a little saddened that they now don't have any real 'comic relief' in their day-to-day villain fighting.

A few months later, Hero is in Superhero's HQ when they come across a locked door they hadn't noticed before. Overcome with curiosity, they figure out how to get it open and take a peek inside.

Even without their iconic costume or mask, Hero would recognise Villain anywhere. Villain looks awful. Emaciated, bruised, scarred, curled up in a shivering ball in the corner of what Hero now recognises as a cell. How long has Superhero kept them here? And why? Hero doesn't know, all they do know is that this is wrong, and that their old rival needs their help, Superhero be damned.

[villain-enthusiast]

The hero coughed blood.

Fucking shit, they thought frantically, hand pressed over the gaping wound in their side. Their new opponent packed a serious punch, more than what the agency had expected when they sent the hero out to stop them. Somehow they’d escaped, but not without the nasty stab to their stomach.

Class two villain my ass. The hero grunted as they stumbled into an alleyway, nearly slamming their shoulder into one of the brick walls. They slipped into damp corner and sat down gingerly, their breathing shallow. Cold sweat broke out on their forehead.

They shook the sputtering communication device on their wrist. Busted. The hero suddenly realized with disturbing clarity that they would die here if they didn’t get help soon, bleeding their guts out on the floor.

Blinding pain shot through their torso, and they closed their eyes, muscles clenching. They couldn’t stand up, not without passing out. And with their internal bleeding, pressure to the wound would be largely ineffective.

They were so totally fucked.

“Hero?”

The hero’s lids snapped open. The cloaked figure before them dipped and swayed, but they forced themselves to concentrate. No, that wasn’t their assaulter, that was—

“Villain,” they rasped.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” The villain’s tone was mocking, but could the hero hear a hint of concern?

The hero attempted a sloppy smirk as they approached. “Oh, y’know, just decided to get stabbed and die today. Regular hero shenanigans.” Shit, their words were slurring.

The villain didn’t respond, crouching down in front of them. Their fingers brushed over the throbbing cut on their cheek, ghosted over the bruise on their jaw—it was funny, the hero noted, how the villain's first instinct was to check their face—before trailing down to the still-bleeding wound at their side. Their hand paused.

The silence was so thick that the hero could hear their wavering heartbeat in their ears.

“Who did this to you.” The villain’s words were quiet. Deadly.

The hero choked on a disbelieving laugh. “Like you care,” they wheezed, but even they could hear the doubt in their own voice. When the villain continued to wait for an answer, they added, "One of your lackeys.” Their eyes fluttered as a wave of fatigue overwhelmed them.

The villain snapped their fingers. "Hey, stay with me." They gently removed the hero's limp hand from their side, examining the gash. They swore under their breath.

"That bad, huh," the hero huffed.

“This looks like [other villain]’s work,” the villain muttered. “Destroying your comms, letting you escape with a fatal wound, making you think you’ve gotten away when really,” their eyes slid up to meet the hero’s detached stare, “you’re on the brink of death.”

“How kind of them.”

The villain shook their head. “Why were you even fighting them? They’re superhero’s responsibility. You’re supposed to be going after me.” They paused, gaze darkening. “And only me.”

The hero shrugged minutely. “Agency assignment.” Their muscles clenched as white hot pain rattled through them again, leaving them weaker than ever. “Can you just kill me already? That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” They titled their head back against the wall and closed their eyes, feeling their body grow more distant by the second. “Just fucking do it.”

They heard the villain move, and they waited for the knife against their throat or the gun at their temple, but instead, gloved hands slid under their back and legs, lifting them up.

What? The hero shifted weakly, but the villain shushed them and bundled them closer to their chest.

“No questions. I’ve got you,” the villain murmured, holding them tightly as they sprinted down the alley, making sure they didn’t jostle their injury. “You can sleep now. I’ve got you.”

And the hero, somehow feeling safe in their enemy’s arms and too tired to wonder why they were being saved, succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness not a second later.

.

part two

[gingerly-writing]

Prompt #3507

"I can't believe they left you."

"I told them to go-"

"I eat people," the eldritch villain reminded them. "They left you behind to be eaten. That's low."

"Better me than all of us." The hero shifted their weight, careful not to disturb their broken leg. "What's that thing you always say about antelope? 'The fit survive'? Well, they were fit. I'm injured. That's the circle of life."

[chaotic-orphan]

Hero villain drabble

Suicidal hero my beloved <3

“This is the part where you beg,” Villain said with a wicked grin on their face.

Hero’s head fell forward, their eyes closed. “Just do it,” they whispered, tears streaming down their face. “Please. Please.”

Hero grabbed Villain’s wrist with the knife in it and brought it closer to their throat until it drew blood. “Please, please, please.”

Villain frowned, a million emotions passing across their stormy eyes. They wanted Hero to beg for their life. They didn’t expect the great Hero to beg for death. Villain pulled away. Without them supporting Hero’s weight, Hero slid down the brickwork, drawing their knees into their chest.

Villain pulled out their phone. “I’ll call an ambulance,” they muttered, but as soon as they said that wild, frightened eyes widened, grabbing their attention.

“No, please! Please. If you don’t kill me they will, please! Please!” Hero wailed, scrambling over and grabbing Villain’s leg, pulling at the fabric. “Please! You— you said if I begged, you would— you’d—”

Villain stared as their nemesis dissolved into sobs, unaware of how to comfort someone that was begging to be killed by your hand. In a split second, Villain made a snap decision, pocketing their phone.

They crouched and grabbed Hero by the hair, yanking them off of Villain. Hero hissed out in pain but didn’t fight. They didn’t struggle.

“I will kill you, Hero,” Villain said, and the relief that flooded Hero was disconcerting. “But not here. I want it to be public. Planned. I want to make sure everyone knows who destroyed the great Hero.”

Hero started trembling in Villain’s grasp. Good. It was working. Villain grabbed Hero’s chin and yanked them close. “So you’re coming with me.”

Hero’s wet eyes widened to the size of saucers as Villain scooped them up and carried them to Villain’s car. “Are you going to behave or do I need to throw you in the boot?”

Hero sniffed, snuggling into Villain’s chest. “I’ll be-behave.”

Villain put them in the backseat. Hero curled up into a ball, facing the fabric of the seat and even from the window Villain could see them sobbing again. They walked around to the boot and called Butler.

“Master Villain.”

“Hello, Butler. I need another room made up for tonight, we will be having a guest stay with us for a while.”

“Of course. How long?”

Villain looked back at the defeated Hero in their backseat. “Until they get back on their feet.”

“Unusually magnanimous of you, Master.”

“Yes,” Villain agreed, disconcerted. “It is.”

“I will have everything prepared before you arrive.”

“Thank you, Butler.”

Villain walked to the driver’s seat, their mind racing at a million miles an hour. They couldn’t kill Hero like this, it was pathetic. As if they just rescued a puppy to abuse it. No, Villain had a thing for strays, so when Hero was ready to tell Villain who abused them, well, they’d better prepare for a whole world of hurt.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

villain whumpee — who's usually deranged, violent, seen as a danger and feared by society — runs to hero caretaker after having a break down from their own past and trauma haunting them, because despite the fact villain whumpee and hero caretaker are archenemies who take turns hurting each other, only hero caretaker can see them cry, only hero caretaker can see them be completely vulnerable and not take advantage of that. despite everything, hero caretaker is the only person villain whumpee has left.

— read a fic with this prompt here :)

[jazztag]

Captain using his scary dog privilege to walk around the base..

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Hi! This is my first ask so I'm a tad bit nervous. I was wondering if you could do something where a hero has a migraine but fights villain anyway because they're stubborn? Thank you!

Hi megreads22! Sorry it took forever to get to this, but I tried my best! Here you go!

Hero cursed the sunny day, trying to stay out of the light. It only made the stabbing pain behind their eyes that much worse. It felt like someone was taking an ice pick to their head right through their eye. Even so, they had a job to do, and they weren’t going home until they had finished it.

“Villain,” Hero called, “party's over, get down here before I make you!”

Villain turned from the electrical fire they had caused across the power grid. The crackle and fizz of sparks could be heard as they trotted over to Hero. They snapped their fingers, causing more little sparks to fly.

“Here to stop me? Did I interrupt your Netflix streaming, little Hero?” Villain cackled.

Hero was much less amused. They let the ice crystals form in their palms, a chill whipping through the otherwise hot power plant.

“Turn yourself in while I put out these fires, and then- agh!”

Hero stopped mid-demand, putting a hand to their head. The ice pick pain had increased with a vengeance. Now the other side of their head throbbed and pulsated.

“Hero?” Villain asked.

Hero held up a finger.

“One second,” they winced through gritted teeth.

“What is it?”

The flames whipped around the grid, but the only thing on Hero's mind was their head and how much it hurt. Orange and yellow licked up metal coils while wires frayed. Before they knew it, Villain was at Hero’s side.

Hero went to throw a defensive punch. Villain caught their hand gently.

“Hey, easy, easy,” they said, “why are you out here if you're having a migraine?”

“Because you're out here,” Hero said, fighting back another cry.

“Well we can remedy that right now,” Villain said.

Villain picked Hero up in a bridal carry and fled from the power plant. Sirens wailed as firefighters arrived on the scene to take care of the blaze. While a few of them questioned where Hero was, all of them got to work anyway.

…

Villain set Hero down on their couch, then rifled through their medicine cabinet for pain relievers.

“You really shouldn’t have come to fight me if you were feeling this bad,” Villain admonished.

Hero only groaned in response. Villain handed them the pain relievers and a glass of water. Hero chased the pills with their drink, then slowly lowered themselves down, letting their aching head rest on a pillow. Villain pulled the window shades so that it was dark inside the living space. They knelt down by Hero’s side.

“What else can I get for you?” they asked gently.

“I don’t know, nothing helps,” Hero whimpered, screwing their eyes shut.

“Can we try a hot compress? I know your powers kind of cancel heat out, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

Hero held out a thumbs-up, as nodding would only make things worse. Villain left and returned shortly with a hot washcloth. They held it up against Hero’s head, applying a little bit of pressure. Hero sighed, feeling the slightest bit of relief.

“Thank you.”

Villain nodded.

“You stay here and rest. As for me, I guess I’m putting my evil schemes on hold for now…”

Hero, despite the pain, let the ghost of a smirk cross their features.

“Don’t get used to it, Hero,” Villain huffed, “this is only because I like you so much.”

“I am very likeable,” Hero agreed weakly.

“No more talking,” Villain said, “rest.”

So Hero did rest, and a few days later, they were back to normal, thanks to Villain and their caretaking. The next time they got a migraine, Villain would make sure Hero rested properly.

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tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit @telltaletoad @bacillusinfection @noseyowes

[defire]

What if a group of fucked up, sadistic "heroes" took both a whumper and the whumper's Whumpee into their custody? Either knowingly (victim blaming) or unknowingly?

Imagine the Whumpee being put in the same cell as their (old?) whumper,

Is the whumper afraid of what the "heroes" will do to them? Or do they mock the Whumpee still?

Do they try to whump the Whumpee even in their current situation?

The possibilities!

Everybody's asks have me so excited, thank you!

Whumper gets imprisoned with whumpee!

Content: begging, imprisonment, surveillance, sadistic whumpers, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned (reluctant) caretaker, beatings, creepy whumper, whumpee turned whumper

"Not together--wait! Don't leave us together, please!" Whumpee screaming after their captors as they leave.

As soon as the doors close whumper immediately takes whumpee by the collar, slamming them into the wall, "what did you fucking tell them?!"

"well isn't this nice... Just the two of us."

Whumpee backing to the corner of the cell and taking exactly the space in which they sit, leaving the rest of the space for whumper to claim.

Whumper thrown back in the cell after "interrogation", bruised and exhausted, slumping down against the far wall with a grunt of pain. "How does it feel?" Whumpee asks. Whumper just groans a "fuck you."

Whumper scooting closer and closer to whumpee, making whumpee extremely uncomfortable... Especially when they glance at whumper and see a hopeful smile on their face.

"Whumpee, whumpee... You know these guys right? So, how do you get on their good side?"

Whumpee torn between making friends with their only cellmate and getting revenge on whumper, snapping angrily at them while they roughly tend their wounds.

Whumper laughing at whumpee's confusion and egging them on. "Come on, you know you love me."

Whumpee coming back in from being interrogated and slumping down. Whumper smirks at them and whumpee, no longer afraid of them, sighs and buries their head in their arms. "I'm not in the mood."

Whumper silently (annoyed) taking care of whumpee because they need a cellmate to torment.

Whumpee sullenly letting them without looking at whumper.

Whumpee screaming "don't you fucking touch me!"

Whumper's once-frightening flaws now look pathetic in this context. Pushiness becomes begging, "sadist" becomes "creep", pride becomes anxiety. It was always there but whumpee feels stupid for not recognizing it before.

"I can't take it, please, I just want it to stop," whumper is the one in pain now. "Please, whumpee, get them to help me." Whumpee glares sideways at them, delivering one of whumper's own answers back at them. "Tough it out; it's not that bad."

Whumper trying to steal whumpee's blanket and they get into a full-out brawl until whumpee realizes they're beating the crap out of whumper and almost enjoying it. They stop themselves and grab their blanket, and yank away whumper's blanket as well for good measure, stalking back to their corner and huddling up under them.

[whump-galaxy]

Love a character that goes crazy when they’ve lost everything. Love a character with no hinges left. Love, love, love a character that hid it well enough before that even the villain is caught off guard at this complete personality shift.

[roses-ink-dipped-pen]

Villain's eyes drooped as they slumped over in their office chair, hardly processing the pencil that slide out from their palm.

They ended up falling fast asleep, failing to keep themselves awake.

Thankfully, Villain woke up to the familiar feel of Hero's hand stroking their cheekbone, their thumb traced over an old scar on their face. The blankets they were swaddled in were fresh from the dryer no doubt, they smelled of jasmine and other sweet smelling fragrances. They smiled tiredly as their archenemy pressed a gentle kiss to their dimple.

"I can't fight you when you're this tired." Hero whispered in a hushed tone, careful not to startle the evil doer. Villain harrumphed, turning over in their sluggish state, relaxing instantly as Hero ran their hand along their tense shoulder.

"Maybe not, but it could be worse."

"How so?"

"You could've been somewhere else besides here."

Just where Villain wanted them; patting and kissing them to sleep.