#hero x villain

[autocrats-in-love]

Prompt (609)

The hero pulled themselves up to a sitting position. It took a lot of effort. Their head was spinning. They tried to mover their hands, and found them handcuffed to the railings of their bed.

“Good morning, sunshine,” the villain said. They were sitting on the edge of the hero’s bed, a smile plastered on their face. “Don’t even try to escape. I didn’t go through all the trouble of saving your life to let you walk right out and get yourself killed.”

[pinkbowsandprettyprose]

2002 magical girl villain meets 2025 magical girl villain

[heyasuckerthewriter]

"Your steps are stiff, do you even know how to dance?" The villain asked, deciding not to mention the many times they nearly got stepped on.

The hero laughed awkwardly, "I'm gonna be honest, I was kinda expecting both of us to just fumble around."

"And look like fools?" The villain scowled, and the hero winced.

"It'll make you look less intimidating?" They tried.

The villain huffed, "As if, just follow my lead."

[the-modern-typewriter]

hey! I really love your work and I was wondering if you could do a lesbian villain x hero?

"Bit playing into tropes, isn't it?" the hero asked. "The femme fatale."

"Did you prefer my damsel in distress when we first met?" The villain smiled, passing a fizzing pink flute of sparkling wine over. She widened her eyes and touched the hero's bicep. "Thank you so much for saving me! You're so strong and good and pretty! I want to be just like you."

The hero glared, even as her face went hot at the memory. Of how utterly she'd been fooled. She took the flute automatically.

"I didn't think so," the villain said. "Don't come at the tropes, gorgeous, when you like them so much you can't stop staring."

"I don't like-" The hero gritted her teeth. "I'm staring to make sure you don't do anything evil."

"Morally ambiguous at best, darling. Everyone knows the femme fatales are morally ambiguous."

"Are they also insufferable?"

The villain laughed. More genuine than perfect. Enough to make something in the hero catch like they'd just drained their glass and swallowed a handful of stars. Light and giddy.

The hero released a breath. Why did this happen every time? The second she was in the villain's presence, hazy in her scent of violets and smoke, she felt too hot and stupid and like a particularly graceless bull in a china shop.

She tried again, cool. "Whatever you're planning tonight-"

"-Oh, you don't know?" The villain's smile notched wider. She clinked their glasses together. "Whatever. Cheers."

"Assassination," the hero snapped.

"If you say so."

"I know so." The hero's gaze scanned the party below them, finding the tech bro monster-come-idiot who'd foolishly taken the villain for eye candy thinking he could control her. "We're leaving. Right now."

The villain simply raised an eyebrow at that, her own attention flicking from where the hero's hand landed on her arm, back to the hero's face.

"I don't think you want to start a fight here. All the people screaming. So many cameras. Your complete lack of evidence."

"My evidence is that I know you."

"Yes," the villain said, soft and pleased. "You do."

The hero swallowed, thrown for a beat.

"So, assassination."

"I never kiss and tell. Not even to you. Though, given you're here, perhaps I don't need to."

"Will you come quietly?"

"Will you pick me up and throw me over your shoulder if I don't?"

The hero rolled her eyes and the villain smirked. Her hand slid up, half mockery of when they first met, part something else that was harder to read.

"You could simply be the better date," the villain said.

"...what."

"Seduce me away from my target," the villain said, "if you think I'm going to hurt them. If you know me. If you're sure." Her fingers flipped, expertly, grazing along the sensitive underside of the hero's wrist, stroking the path of a vein. "I can teach you, if you like."

The hero's grip tightened on her flute.

"Or I could just punch you," she said. If it was a little breathless, well...she was only trying not to be overheard. "Much more efficient."

"And damage this face? Tch. You're not a monster."

It was the hero's turn to laugh, despite herself. Too loud. Too bright. She pressed a hand over her mouth as people glanced curiously over at them.

"Come on. You must be bored of playing the angel," the villain murmured. "And, personally." She leaned in, caressing her lips against the hero's ear, "I think you'd make an amazing whore."

The sound that the hero made was truly embarrassing. She would have ranted about any girl who turned so weak at the knees in a fantasy novel, so it seemed the villain's greatest malevolence to make her feel that. Especially as a response to saying something like that.

The villain laughed again softly and drained her drink, before setting the glass aside to free up her hands.

"An unusual seduction technique," she said. "But it works for you. Quite adorable. Nobody would ever suspect you were capable of killing everyone in this room if you weren't so invested in being good."

"How do I know you're not just trying to distract me? Get me away from your target?"

"Do you mean 'how do you know you're not my target?'" The villain shrugged. "I suppose you'll find out. In the interest of playing devil's advocate, you are the one who told me to leave though. If anything, I'm being nice."

"Given it's you that's even more suspicious."

The villain grinned. "Maybe I just want to see your moves, given you seem fit to mock mine."

"I'm not-" The hero studied her, heart hammering. It was clearly a trap of some sort. Everything about her was a trap of some sort. The villain's eyes, glittering with her private amusements, revealed nothing. "I'm not trying to mock you. I just think you could be so much more than this."

"And I think you'd look good on your knees. We all have our opinions."

"Insufferable. Utterly insufferable."

"Blushing." The villain touched a hand to her cheek. "And I thought you didn't have any weaknesses."

"I don't! Certainly not to you."

"Then you have nothing to lose, don't you? Except someone else's life. But, let's be real, I would probably be doing the world a favour."

The hero opened her mouth to argue that, then closed it.

"Fine," she said. "But only because it's not like I'm planning to let you out of my sight."

"Mm, yes. You're very attentive."

"You don't have to say it like that."

"Part of being a femme fatale is saying everything with innuendo. Champagne." The villain caught her hand, bringing the hero's knuckles to her lips, kissing them gently. "Enchantee."

"Croissant?" the hero offered, mimicking the villain's dreamy velvet.

It was some kind of phenomenal acting that the villain honest to god giggled. "Butternut squash," she offered back, a moment later, in that oh so sultry tone.

The hero bit her lip to keep from laughing again.

The villain tipped her head, laughter and smirk fading, until it only lingered in her eyes once more. A secret for the two of them.

"First lesson," she said. "This is the bit where you ask me to dance."

"Would you like to dance?"

There was no assassination that night, or the next party, or the one after that. Six months in, thoroughly smitten, the hero had the dizzying feeling that she'd been the villain's actual target all along.

[assortedcriminality]

prompt #15

“…I love you,” Hero whispered, stroking the side of Villain’s face with a gentle, calloused hand.

“Oh, come on,” Villain scoffed, seizing Hero’s wrist and thrusting a dagger through their midsection. They cried out in pain, a horrible sound filled with shock and misery, but Villain ignored them. “I’ve had enough of your little games, Hero. I’m sick of you lying and-“

“No, no, no, you don’t understand,” Hero wheezed, clutching Villain’s arm and gasping for breath. Tears leaked down their cheeks and blood dripped from their wound, the viscera of it somewhat pleasing to the villain. It felt good to see them finally in their place, conquered at last. 

[n0rmal-cat]

Platonic villain x child hero reader

Can they really be called the villain when the hero’s are sending child not even in their teens to certain death to fight him.

Reader was already hurt when they challenged the villain, it was no wonder villain just scooped them into their arms with no fight at all.

Perhaps reader brought back bad memories of villains own past, but nonetheless villain wasn’t going to let them be harmed anymore.

“I thought you were evil though?” Reader asked taking the plate of fresh food they were given, sitting on the soft bed.

“A villain dear not a monster, children deserve to be taken care of they shouldn’t be the ones taking care” they pet their head.

“B-but what’s going to happen if I don’t defeat you, the prophecy said…”

“Prophecy don’t exist child, there just stories to get people to do what others want” he glared down at them.

“Now eat, if you were sent here by yourself you must not have had a proper meal in a while” he turned to walk out of the room leaving them sitting on the bed.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (I)

The Old Fairground

Masterpost // continued from here

*****

“Well, well, well,” the smiling voice bounced off the rotten wooden walls and echoed back to Kit’s ears. He turned in place, eyes scanning the emptiness of the old fairground. Worn, paint chipped kiosks, remnants from long ago, left maze-like walkways through the pier and created plenty of shadows for Omen to hide, to watch Kit from.

Kit stood straight, forcing his breaths to calm and to try and hone his instincts and senses. He needed to keep his wits about him if he had any hopes of surviving this encounter with his mind intact.

A rush of wind to his left. Atlas stepped back and to the right, whirling, hands raised and electricity crackling as quick as a flame set to a pool of oil. There was no one there. His heart thumped heavily in his chest as he forced himself to recognise that information and turned again, scanning his surroundings. Every opening between the kiosks, Atlas turned, hands outstretched ready to attack, but there was nothing. The emptiness of the old fairgrounds was eerie, but Omen had to be close, close enough for Kit to hear him over the lapping of the waves beneath the rickety, creaking boardwalk. He had to be on high alert.

“I didn’t expect Archangel to send his apprentice. Will wonders never cease?” The voice sounded so close to Kit; Omen’s voice normal as if he were chatting over a coffee in a cafe somewhere. He wasn’t shouting to be heard over the wind and the waves. A shudder ran down Kit’s spine.

“I must have scared him off and he sent you as mere entertainment for me, hmm? For sport? Are you truly that expendable, Atlas?”

“You must have me confused with someone else,” Kit called out into the darkness. Attempting to be brave. Surprising even himself when his voice sounded strong, sure, confident. “I don’t usually talk a lot during my assignments.”

“Pity.” Kit’s hairs prickled on the back of his neck. Within a second, he rounded on his heel, leg up and deadly as it whipped through empty air and found nobody. Kit could see his breath reflect on the chilly Autumn night air and pretended it wasn’t a hitch in his breathing, but more a controlled labour. As if he was in control. “I love a good chat before a fight. Really gets the blood pumping. Perhaps we can shake it up for you, hmm? Good to be out of your comfort zone. You’re not even a fully licenced Hero yet, are you Atlas? Rather a little heroling.”

Atlas fought the urge not to snap at the villain at the insults, his fear manifesting as anger as he continued, boot-clad footsteps creaking wood underfoot as he meandered through the maze of kiosks. He was getting closer and closer to the pier and the end of the amusements, coming up on the old arcade.

Come on, Kit scolded himself. Get it together. Don’t let him get to you. Cool head, as Noble would say. “Or we can do this the good ol’ fashioned way and you can face me. Stop hiding in the shadows like a coward. Or are you just that ugly?”

The fairground went quiet after that. A whistle of wind blew through the creaky floorboards under Kit’s boots as he searched the pier, slowly turning in a circle, as waves lapped against rocks beneath the boardwalk, the rusty creak of the cars on the Ferris wheel were the only sounds for a long, unsettling while as he waited. He reached the wooden railings that overlooked the sea and peered over them into the black waters below reflecting moonlight up at him like the edge of a knife.

“I’ll tell you what, Hero,” said Omen, and Kit could hear the smile in his voice as he turned his back to the sea. “Since you want to jump the gun so much and get down to brass tax, I’ll give you a little hint as to where I am.”

Kit’s heart thundered against his chest at Omen’s suggestion. He didn’t want to face Omen at all. Maybe he was a little too convincing. Maybe he sounded a little too brave. No… no, Tempest was here. He had to help her. From her last communication, it sounded like she was hiding somewhere. If he could find her and get out before Omen found either of them then everything would be fine… right? Yeah… like Archangel said: it’s not always about catching the bad guys.

Carnival music started up, followed by lights of every colour that seemed to ignite like flood lights on a football field, one by one. The string lights of the kiosks first, then the lamplights, followed by the trail of twin orange and blue lights on the floor as they ignited in succession leading to the derelict, metal arcade building. The white metal and wood building glowed eerily in the moonlight, the roof white from seagull poop. As the wind carried from the sea through the pier, the metal whistled and creaked along with it.

Kit cursed, he loved this place when he was younger, and seeing it ignited in faded orange and blue lights seemed like an insult to the memory of the arcade’s former glory, as if Omen was mocking the remnant, digging up a corpse and displaying it in some macabre travelling museum of Kit’s past. He swallowed as he steeled himself and forced his legs forward. Tempest could be hiding somewhere inside, and the lights will help Kit find her quickly.

He'll be fine, it will be an in-and-out job, like all the missions he has done before. He will be fine. He will be okay, just like all the last missions.

Though the closer Kit got to the old arcade, the more the state of the building greeted him; most of the old arched windows were broken or smashed, glass littering the boardwalk beneath, a mix of broken bottles and actual glass from the building. Graffiti painted the white exterior the circular domed building, some of it actually added to the ambience, while others were just a few spray-painted tags.

He pushed open the doors with an eerie squeak, the music louder here near the speakers of the fairground. Which meant it would be harder for him to hear Tempest and get out before they encountered Omen… shit. Kit balled his hands into fists and forced himself to step into his old haunt that seemed so strange and foreign now he was older. Omen couldn’t have found a less creepy spot, no? No. That would simply be asking too much. Kit rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck before he stepped through to the turnstiles into the arcade.

When Kit got to the metal turnstiles and placed his hands on either side to hop over, Omen spoke again: “let’s play hide and seek, hmm? I’ll hide; you seek.”

Kit clenched his teeth, set his jaw and vaulted over the turnstiles, stepping into the dark arcade. The cord of orange and blue light permeated the walls and ceiling, like veins, while the rest of the walls were made up of different panels of black. Still a lot of places for Omen to hide, but at least it was less maze-like than the pier. At least here Kit had a chance. Some machines were alive like no time had passed at all, light emanating from their dust sheened screens, while others had no power going to them.

Kit grimaced at the noise filling the arcade along with the music that blasted overhead. He’d never be able to find Tempest like this and if Omen was hiding amongst the arcade games, he was fucked.

Omen and his stupid mind games.

Kit wanted to slap his forehead at not realising sooner how clear he could hear Omen. This whole time he was taunting Kit from his own mind. Poking about and taking up residence like walking into people’s minds and meddling was something completely normal and acceptable. Noble’s face flashed across Kit’s thoughts. Did Noble realise that Omen was a telepath before it was too late, or was he caught on the backfoot. Kit should have realised sooner, Archangel always told him that. He was a good hero, but if he wanted to be great, he needed to be on guard, he needed to know the powers of his fellow heroes and villains alike and plan around them. He frowned and pushed the image of Noble out of his mind. It wouldn’t do to think of him now. Not when there was Omen to worry about.

Telepaths always creeped Kit out anyways.

But he couldn’t think with the noise drowning out the sound of the sea, never mind lowering his chances of hearing Tempest amidst the chaos, or a potential Omen sneak attack. That was another thing… nobody knew Omen’s fight style, so there was no data for Kit to even remember to use to his advantage with the villain.

He stopped beside the Castlevania arcade game and curled his lip back over his teeth. Fuck this. Kit clenched his fists and pulled at the charge in the air. He could feel the currents under his feet and in the wires of the arcade games bend to his will, following his command as he drew the energy towards him. The currents under his feet danced up his feet, tingling like a pleasant shiver up his veins, reinvigorating his body. The lights cut out and flashed, dimming and buzzing as Atlas pulled and pulled at the power; the carnival music shut off first, followed by the sounds of the arcade games, filling the young hero up and up and up until he was bordering on overflowing with power. Only then did he stop. The lights flickered briefly and then settled, although a bit dimmer, and finally Kit could hear himself think. Crackles of blue lightning cloaked Kit’s fist and made him feel a little better about his inevitable, encroaching encounter with Omen.

Kit barely adjusted to the power flowing through his veins before a scream rang through the arcade. Atlas took off running the instant he heard it, heading towards the sound, his gut twisting in knots at the thought of what Omen may be doing to Tempest. Noble’s face flashed across his mind again, unhelpfully, and the fire villain’s words almost choked him. He wouldn’t let Tempest suffer the same way Noble had. He needed to find her and quickly or… Kit slowed to a walk as the screaming faded.

What if Omen was making this in his head?

What if there was actually no one?

What if this was a trap?

What if, what if, what if— what if wasn’t good enough. Not good enough to warrant Kit to not, at least, try help. If there was a possibility Omen was hurting Tempest Kit had to save her. He took an oath to protect people. To protect the innocents in the city. Even if the thought of facing Omen made him want to get sick. And this wasn’t any innocent, it was Tempest; one of his friends and allies when he joined the Hero Commission. She was a year ahead of him in the academy, but Kit took extra classes above his year, training with older trainees because how quickly he adapted, and because Noble saw his potential and wanted him to be able to take on anyone.

Any threat, any villain, any hero… including Omen.

Noble trained Kit to be able to take Omen down.

Another scream and Kit turned to the left and took off, running through the employee’s only door. A series of offices were on the right side of the hallway and Kit looked in each window as he ran past.

“TEMPEST?! Where are you?!” he called, throwing caution to the wind. Omen knew he was here anyways; there would be no point in going for a stealth approach.

“Atlas?! Atlas? Is that you? NO! Atlas, Run! Get help! Don’t—” Kit could feel the blood drain from his face at her voice. She sounded terrified, but that just meant Kit had to push himself faster. He fuelled the excess power to his legs as he shot forwards, heading in the direction of her voice.

Fuck!

Kit didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home and hide under the covers and cry and not deal with Omen. But he was a hero, he signed up for this… he had to do this, to face the faceless monster who plagued his nightmares for the last year.

When he got to the end of the hallway, he saw a pair of double doors that opened out to the pier again. He swallowed hard, pushing against the handles of the glass door, and walked out onto the boardwalk. The wind whipped at his hair as he did, strands blowing across his eyes and mask as he glared at Omen, eyes drifting to Tempest who was kneeling in front of, and to the right of, Omen, a gun held to her temple.

She shook her head, blonde hair flying in the breeze, trembling as she took Atlas in. “No, Atlas, what’re you–” her blue eyes burned as she stared at him, her face contorted between relief and knowing distress. “I told you to stay away.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t leave you,” he said, hoping he injected enough sincerity into his voice that she could hear it over his voice changer. He turned his attention to the villain then who stood casually behind Tempest. His appearance alone would strike fear into the hearts of lions.

His face was pale, alabaster skin glowing in the moonlight and the darkness of the pier which contrasted the darkness to the rest of his features. He had chin length raven hair slicked back, a few strands framing his face. Eyes so dark they looked almost black, and his lips a pale red, more naturally pigmented than anyone Kit knew.

Omen smiled when he set those horrible dark eyes on Kit, sending shivers down his spine. “Hello Atlas. You found me.”

God, his voice was so much worse up close.

Before it was normal, neutral, but in reality, his voice had depth to it. A mocking lilt and a knowingness that made Kit feel exposed. Too exposed. Of course he was feeling exposed, the fucking villain could read every one of his thoughts. Kit focused some energy on keeping his mind as blank as possible.

“Yeah,” said Kit, swallowing hard, the blue sparks cackling up his arms. He was thankful for his mask which at least obscured his face from the monster. “I found you. So, I win hide and seek, right? How about you let Tempest go as a prize?”

Omen tilted his head to the side, a smile growing on his lips as he considered the hero’s offer. But it was Tempest who answered first, jerking one leg up so she was on one knee about to push up: “no! Atlas, you can’t! You’re not even–” she cut herself off with a grunt of pain as the villain whipped his revolver across her head.

Kit jerked forward, but the instant he did, Omen had the pistol aimed at her head again and his black eyes flashed at Kit, daring him to step closer. Kit stared, helplessness buzzing through his veins along with his overcharged power, longing to be released. Atlas kept his feet rooted to the spot, not daring to get Tempest hurt with his recklessness.

“No,” Omen admonished with his silvery voice, sick amusement dancing across his features. “How about a trade, hmm? You for her.”

“Atlas don’t—” Tempest let out a shrill scream without Omen even lifting a finger. Kit started forward again, but Omen pressed the gun harder to the screaming water hero’s head, raising dark eyebrows in warning.  

As if saying: do you really wanna do that?

Kit held his hands up in surrender before he thought about the consequences and said: “Okay fine. Fine! Let her go!”

Omen didn’t move for a moment. Tempest continued screaming and crying, and Kit fought the urge to step in to help. If he moved quick enough, he could get Omen with a bolt, and he’d drop the gun at least… but then he’d have to deal with Omen’s rage and his power.

And Kit knew he wasn’t brave enough to do that either... but, no– he had to, or what kind of hero would he be? He shivered as Noble’s disappointment flashed across his face and Kit swallowed his fear. But before he could do anything, the villain moved first.

Omen straightened his head and drew the hammer of the gun back with a click. Tempest stopped screaming and fell limp to the boardwalk. Kit moved instantly towards her, but Omen stopped him with a light: “ah-ah, Atlas. Trade, remember? You for her. Leave her.”

Kit couldn’t fight his frustrated huff. “At least let me—”

“No,” Omen’s tone was so final it caused Kit to pause. His heart pounded heavily against his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he turned his head to face Omen, eyes pleading. He might as well have been trying to talk to a brick wall. “Come along, Atlas.”

“I’m alright here,” said Kit voice shaky, standing protectively between Tempest and Omen. He had to do something, and surely Archangel had finished with the Arson villain and his accomplice and was on the way right? Any moment now he would hear the beat of wings and Archangel would come and save the day, right? And they could all laugh about it later, if Kit could just stall long enough… Omen turned, dark eyes finding Kit’s all humour draining from his face.

Omen let out a dark, humourless chuckle. “Cute that you think I can’t touch Tempest with you like that. You want to test it?”

Kit didn’t move. He swallowed hard, planting his feet on the boardwalk. Omen’s eyes narrowed as familiar cackling swelled around Kit’s fists, up his arms to his shoulders and engulfed his body. His light brown hair standing up on his head.

Omen grinned a hollow, wolfish smile. His lips turning up but his eyes still that intense, black emptiness… Kit’s hands grew clammy as Omen turned to face him. He stood casual, one hand in his black overcoat while the other held the gun at his side.

“Alright little Hero. Give it your best shot.”

Kit didn’t need to be told twice. He threw both his hands forward, palms facing Omen as blue electricity gathered in his palms and shot towards Omen. The arc travelling at the speed of light before—

Kit screamed, his body spasming as he dropped to his knees, drenched in sea water. Kit put his hands out to catch himself before he faceplanted, coughing out a gasp of air.

His mind moving like sludge.

How… how did…?

The answer was the cerulean boot of Tempest stepping in front of Kit. Fuck. Tempest could control water. Fuck fuck fuck. If she was under Omen’s control…

“Tempest…” Kit tried and immediately another blast of water hit Kit harder than a canon. He was thrown back a few feet onto his back and gasped as the wind was ripped from his lungs. This time Kit saw the tunnel of water swirling above him before it blasted down at him.

He rolled to the side, springing to his feet, glaring at Omen who grinned behind Tempest. Using her as a fucking puppet. Kit couldn’t use his powers, not unless he wanted to fall unconscious within a few seconds. Fuck. How did Omen even know?! Apart from almost hitting the villain with a bolt two seconds ago, but that was two seconds of reaction. Kit had barely debuted to society. He couldn’t know what Kit’s powers were already… could he?

“Alright there, Sparky? Or do you want to try and hit me again?”

“You fucking—” a rope of water coiled around Kit’s throat and yanked him towards Tempest. Kit was on his knees as another tonne of water hit Kit from above and drowned him in it. Kit could barely breathe, let alone think how he used to best Tempest in training as his brain struggled for oxygen. Omen walked up next to Tempest smiling down at Kit.

“What was that, Sparkles? I couldn’t hear you.”

Omen didn’t wait for answer. He turned to touch Tempest’s temple and Tempest crumbled to the ground. A puppet with her strings cut. Kit reached out, a hand on Tempest’s pulse and he sighed, sitting back on his heels.

Alive.

Just unconscious.

The relief was short lived, replaced by a vivid fear gripping him in it’s cold vice as a thin, lithe finger came under Kit’s chin and tilted his head up to look into those void-like eyes. Kit felt the hairs on his body stand up as a chill tan through him like ice spreading through his veins, seizing his limbs, rendering them motionless. Useless.

Not his limbs.

Not his limbs, his mind cried as his feet pushed him to a standing position.

His legs pushed against gravity without Kit’s say so. His heart cracking against his ribs was threatening to break them it was pounding so hard. Kit licked his dry lips, the taste of sea salt coating his tongue.

His body moved by another’s command. Kit tried to battle Omen’s easy control, but he didn’t know what to look for to fight him off. Panic was the only thing Kit had control over in his brain and it wasn’t exactly helping.

Omen’s too-red lips spread slow, creeping across his face into a horrific, charming smile. His black eyes betraying his inhumanity.

“Aren’t you full of surprises, Sparks. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of those who go against me, yes?”

Kit swallowed but didn’t answer. He didn’t want to look at Omen, but he couldn’t turn his head away. He couldn’t move. Rooted to the spot because that’s exactly where Omen wanted him. Noble’s face flashed again through Kit’s mind, turning his stomach. Is this what he felt? This hideous helplessness?

“Oh yes,” said Omen, tone reminiscent, a hint of mockery coating the back of his throat. “Old Noble went mad trying to stop me, poor dear.”

“You drove him crazy! You weaponised his own mind against him,” Kit snapped, hatred colouring his tone. Omen smirked.

“I was going to do the same to you,” said Omen, his voice flowing through Kit’s ears like liquid silver. Kit couldn’t help the spike of fear that gripped him. He would have flinched if Omen wasn’t keeping his limbs rigid. “It’s a favourite of my many gifts. Not at all fit for combat like lightning or water, but I can break you without breaking a sweat. Even before I took your body you couldn’t lift a finger against me.”

Kit scoffed, his lips curling back into a snarl. “Think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’m not an idiot,” said Omen. “But you think even higher of me, Atlas. Noble’s fear was easy. Powerlessness. Inhibit his control of his power in his brain like a little switch and let his fear do the rest. But you?”

Omen stepped closer and Kit wanted so much to step back but Omen didn’t allow it, and Kit’s limbs didn’t move despite his brain screaming: danger, danger! DANGER!

“Your biggest fear is me,” said Omen, his voice taking on a revered quality to it. Omen moved his hand down from Kit’s chin to his throat. Kit flinched this time and tried to take a step back, but his legs just trembled with his lack of movement, body fighting brain, his throat bobbing under Omen’s grip. Omen let out a soft laugh of surprise, his black eyes going back to Kit’s as he tightened the grip on Kit’s neck. “It’s intoxicating.”

“Archangel will send reinforcements,” Kit tried, his voice cracking, betraying his own disbelief. “He’s on his way right now. He’ll know—”

“Let Archangel come,” said Omen dismissively. “We’ll leave Tempest here for him to find.”

Kit’s heart skipped a beat. “W- we will?”

Omen laughed again, dark eyes drinking in Kit’s fear. “Oh yes, Atlas. I could grow used to getting drunk off your fear, there’s no way I’m letting that go. You’ll have to come with me.”

Kit felt tears building behind his eyes as Omen spoke. Omen grinned as he raised a crooked index finger up to catch a tear as it fell onto Omen’s knuckle.

His dark eyes drew Kit’s in as Kit tried to fight off Omen’s command of his body. “No... no. Please no,” he begged, his body shaking violently under Omen’s compulsion as he tried with everything in him to fight him. He sent electric currents down to his legs, trying to push himself free. He managed to take a terrified and laborious step back, his breathing doubling like he had just climbed Everest. Omen’s eyes widened a little before the cold grip of his power fell like tar over Kit’s limbs again, locking them down permanently.

“Yes, Atlas. Absolutely yes. Don’t worry. There's nothing you can do about it anyways," Omen said, tapping Kit's temple. "Not while I have this wrapped around my finger. And of course it will be terrifying for you, so feel free to cry more, heroling."

Kit clenched his jaw tight, wishing he could slap the villain away from him but he couldn't help the dread that settled in his stomach like an anchor. "You’re going to forget the road trip there however, you understand, I can’t have you telling tales.”

“Omen please—” Kit cried, and it was the last thing he remembered before Omen shut his memory down and blackness descended on his mind.

*****

Continued Here

OH BABY WE'RE SO BACK, THE BOYS ARE SO BACK

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[riverink]

"Yell at me! Just fucking shout something"

Villain cupped his face, leaned in and pressed his forehead against heros to whisper

"i would never yell at you"

He broke down right there. Crumbled in the worst way possible.

Villain had to hold him together. He held every little piece. Kissing him and helping him breath.

"You will never experience it. Will never get to know how loud my voice will be. Only learn how it mends you."

More kisses peppered on heros face, getting lifted into his arms while he fell deeper.

"fuck you...get away"

"I know Baby"

Not even sobs came out anymore as Hero struggled for his breath. Could barely make sense of his own existence as it all broke together.

"I hate you..."

Desperate and frightened, shaking like a leave in a storm.

"Shh shh breath my sweet boy and hate me after"

His body going numb and overstimulated at the same time.

"..."

The words dying down as the energy got drained.

And Villain would carry his body back to his soul if it would mean mending the fragile soul he loved so dearly.

[fandomnerd9602]

Kara pulls Y/N out of the burning lair…

Kara: what were you thinking?

Y/N: trying to free my archenemy from Luthor’s clutches. What were you thinking? Go back to save me?! You could’ve died!

Kara: I’m sure we could’ve gotten matching gravestones!

The two lock eyes before immediately kissing each other fervently…

Y/N: I hate you

Kara: I hate you

The two continue kissing…

Based on prompt by @me-writes-prompts

[vnotafraid]

Prompt (No.#6)

Pinned beneath Hero’s weight, Villain huffed dramatically.

“If you wanted to be on top of me, you could’ve just said so.”

Hero glared and leaned in forward.

“You’re under arrest.” he grips his hand more to avoid Villain getting away.

Villain smiles weakly, almost trembling intertwined with Hero's fingers.

“Hot..”

[ghqstwriter]

‘What is this? What’s going on? Who are you working for and where are you taking me?’ Is what Hero wanted to say, to yell in the most threatening voice conceivable in the hopes that their captors would be kind enough to keep them updated. Alas, they were gagged rather firmly, so their intimidation only came out in muffled annoyance. Today really didn’t belong to them, huh.

First, they sleep in on a work day, which not only caused them to miss the entire mission brief, but also meant that their partner had left for their own job already, and they didn’t get to see them off. Second of all, the mission went horrifically South, causing them to have to retreat an extremely suspiscious and crime riddled part of the city. And now, there was this. Kidnapped by someone that Hero couldn’t even identify.

It wasn’t that it was particularly dark, Hero could make out their assailants just fine. The problem was that they were wearing perhaps the most non-descript masks possible, leaving no clues as to who their employer is (something that Hero later realised was probably by design).

The only notable thing Hero could discern was, unfortunately, the sheer competence of the criminals. Instead of the usual large squad of assassins they were used to, this time, they could count the number of attackers on one hand. In fact, it had only taken one before Hero was down within seconds. The rest seemed to be here for transportation purposes.

Either something was wrong with Hero, or they were being apprehended by someone completely out of their league. Their captors had offhandedly mentioned taking the superhero to their boss, implying that these were merely henchman. Henchman who had almost instantly defeated the Hero. Their heart quickened at the realisation.

Their poor heart, they thought. It had already been pounding long before they were caught by whoever these bandits were. A simple mission involving a usually tame villain had turned into a fast paced chase, leaving Hero breathless and unaware of the criminals lurking around the corner. Shockingly, these henchmen didn’t appear to be working for that same villain, for they were quite cautious about avoiding their notice.

At least the captors didn’t seem to be liars. The main one had (not so comfortingly) reassured them that it wouldn’t be long until they got to their destination, and that much was true; it wasn’t long at all until they were hauled up onto their feet and led out of the vehicle. Hero took in the sight of the criminal’s base before them, trying to observe just where they were for future reference. It was then they realised why they hadn’t been blindfolded — even with their eyes fully uncovered, they still had no clue where the hell they were.

The inside was just as unremarkable, too. It was small, though certainly not unpopulated, as many masked people walked by, crossing corridors and paying no mind to the apprehended superhero. Were they told to play it cool, or was this nothing especially notable to them? Hero wasn’t sure which answer they prefered.

Then, the criminals stopped before a large door, locked behind a keycard. Most of them gave a quick, absent-minded salute, before heading off in perfect sync to presumably their usual duties. This left Hero to stand awkwardly now that only the main henchman was left, reaching for some form of identification to open the door.

Their boss was likely on the other side, probably waiting to tear Hero limb from limb. The superhero considered trying to plead over the gag, but they’d learnt this particular criminal was rather fond of silence.

The machine by the doors let out a meagre beep, and then swung the entrance open to reveal a highly cluttered office, full to the near brim with what appeared to be case files, video tapes, and an assortment of strange but clearly significant trinkets. Usually, Hero was keen on observing their surroundings to an analytical fault, but this time, they barely had time to glance around, focus instead transfixed on the seated figure before them.

Villain was the one who had kidnapped them?

The criminal glanced up, face not shifting in the slightest at the sight of Hero before them. Then, as nonchalantly as the first movement, they looked towards their employee, a subtle look of questioning on their face. Clearly, they didn’t even need to speak in order for their point to get across.

“The target refused to cooperate without protest, minimum apprehension protocol was followed,” the lackey spoke in a rather rehearsed manner, which gave Hero the grim idea that Villain seemed to be kidnapping people quite a lot.

“Very well, you may be dismissed, Henchman. I’ll call for you if I need our guest removed from the premises,” Villian ordered casually, as though they were asking an intern for coffee. Henchman bowed politely, and turned to leave without sparing Hero a second glance. Interestingly, the moment the door slammed shut again, Villain’s posture relaxed, and they beckoned Hero over to their desk, gaze already softening.

Hero obliged, strolling up to the desk as the fear of persecution was replaced by sheer confusion. Of all people they expected to be their captor, Villain was not one of them. As soon as they reached the desk, the criminal leant upwards, and swiftly removed the gag, tossing it to one side. The superhero cleared their throat, adjusting, before speaking up.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re back to hating my guts again. Your henchmen were quite firm with me, to say the least,” Hero commented, their playful demeanour returning as they leant their elbows on the mahogany desk. Looking around, they noticed that the entire room seemed to fit Villain’s exact colour scheme.

“Forgive them, they weren’t aware that this impromptu kidnapping was of your best interest. I wasn’t certain if telling the henchmen just why I wanted you here was a great idea.”

“Why did you bring me here, then?”

Villain opened their mouth to speak, prompty stopped themself, and let out a breathless laugh. They internally rephrased whatever it was they planned on saying, eyes not leaving Hero for a moment.

“My superiors refuse to let me interfere with Other Villain’s goals. If I sent my henchmen to deter them, I’m sure they’d arrive at our doorstep, furious. But, if the hero they were persuing just so happened to mysteriously disappear, I’m sure they’d blame it on the agency instead of us.”

“Aww, you were worried,” Hero cooed, taking the criminal’s gloved hands. Even before the pair had become amicable (which then furthered itself into something deeper), Villain had never shown much desire to harm Hero. Any ill will that was present in their initial relationship had all been showmanship. A performance for both the press and their respective bosses.

“When am I not?” Villain cupped their partner’s cheek and rubbed gentle circles into their temple. Hero practically melted at the gesture, feeling their warmth even through the fabric that covered their tender hands. Careful to not push the criminal’s hands away, they maneuvered around the desk, resting the small of their back against the edge so that they were still facing the villain.

“You know, sometimes I forget you’re supposed to be the commanding and callous Villain. You’re too much of a sap, in my eyes,” Hero confessed. It was a simple mistake to make, Villain was perhaps the most gentle person the hero had ever had the pleasure of meeting. They worried incessantly over the safety of their partner, and were more than affectionate when surrounded by the tranquility of four secluded walls.

It was amusing to Hero, most days. Villain was a more than threatening criminal: they headed up a major faction of what most heroes considered to be an unstoppable villainous organisation. There were very few criminals that Hero fought that wouldn’t bow in both fear and respect to them. And here they were, staring up at the hero with an entirely lovestruck gaze. Smitten was an understatement.

“Rich words coming from the legendary superhero who is currently making no effort to escape a kidnapping situation. Sounds much more incriminating to me,” Villain chuckled lovingly. As they spoke, their hands moved down to Hero’s waist, tugging at them softly so that they’d come closer to the point of practically hovering over Villain’s lap in a feather-light embrace.

The hero hummed wordlessly, content with being this close to their partner, adrenaline wearing off from both the encounter with Other Villain and their rather efficient abduction. They were admittedly exhausted and (perhaps stupidly) felt more than comfortable in showing that fact to the criminal before them, wrapping their arms around the unmasked villain and settling into their lap.

The chair wasn’t exactly comfortable to lie on, but that was something they could hardly focus their mind on once Villain started painting strokes of warmth down their back. Hero didn’t need to look at them to know they were smiling, to which Hero beamed back.

“I do apologise that my men were not so gentle. Perhaps I should have found a way to tell them without incriminating us.”

“It’s ok, Vil. At least I got to see you at the end of a tough day.”

For the next few hours, until Villain had finally finished up any remaining work (the contents of which Hero was sadly not allowed to view but was reassured of their nonviolent nature), Hero stayed within their embrace, exhausted from a demanding and entirely unpredictable day. At least, through it all, they’d always have Villain to fall back on when they needed them.

Thank you all so much for 100 followers<33

[autocrats-in-love]

Prompt (610)

“I’m not helping you this time,” the villain said. “Figure it out yourself.”

“Come on,” the hero pleaded. “It’s not my fault I never learned any extraterrestrial languages.”

The villain stared for a moment before giving in with a huff. “Fine. But next time, coordinate your own alien drug deals.”

[the-bar-sinister]

Obsessed with villainous displays of affection.

violence on their beloved's behalf.

deranged compliments and praising bad deeds.

stealing nice things for their beloved.

jealousy and possessiveness.

encouraging their beloved to be worse.

crimes together.

[the-modern-typewriter]

“You know,” the hero said, as they touched down on the villain’s rooftop. “People keep telling me I’m yours.”

“Do they.”

The villain seemed entirely unperturbed by both the statement and the intrusion; eyes possibly closed behind their shades, all artful laziness as they sprawled upon a deckchair by the pool. Their long limbs seemed to stretch for miles of unmarred skin. It was obscene. A brazen promise that the villain needed no armour, no defences, whatsoever.

“With varied looks of awe, jealousy and absolute terror,” the hero said.

A smirk curled the villain’s lips, then, just briefly.

“You wouldn’t happen,” the hero crossed the space between them, “to know anything about that, would you?”

The villain slid the shades up when the hero blocked the sun; looming over them, hands on hips. Their head tilted as they considered the hero. Their gaze simmered.

The hero leaned down slowly, bracing their arms on the back of their chair on either side of the villain’s shoulders. They raised their eyebrows to repeat the question.

“You know,” the villain said, “normally when you get in a mood to interrogate me it’s at least about less obvious things. Don’t tell me you’re getting slow on me now. You’re much too young and pretty to be taken round back and shot because you’re past working age.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Babe.”

It seemed impossible that one word, so fond and so mocking all at once, could contain quite so much chiding. The hero’s face burned.

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“And I’m sure the earth didn’t sit down and have a formal chat about orbiting with the sun either,” the villain said, “and the moon didn’t negotiate tide times with the ocean. C’est la vie. The facts of the universe remain.”

“I’m pretty sure we are not a fact of the universe.”

“And yet…” The villain hooked their fingers into the front of the hero’s shirt, tugging them closer, until their lips were inches apart. “Like a gravitational pull, here you are.”

The hero kissed them, then, savagely.

It was their first kiss, but the villain didn’t miss a beat. They slid their legs apart so that the hero could settle with one knee on the lounger braced between them. They tugged the hero’s shirt again like perfect choreography, the elegant execution of another mastermind plan, drawing the hero closer still. They claimed the hero’s mouth, in turn, despite the fact that it was so clearly not a claim that needed making.

“You are such a piece of work,” the hero muttered, breathless. The moved to bite the villain’s neck, obnoxiously higher than the line of their collar. “You can’t just go around telling people I belong to you. Screw you.”

The villain laughed. Their other hand slid around the hero’s back, sun-soaked palm smoothing down before their fingers squeezed the hero’s arse. Their bodies rocked together, pooling heat treacherous and molten in the pit of the hero’s stomach, making them gasp. The villain’s other hand stayed locked around the hero’s shirt, keeping them close.

“Babe,” the villain said again, all teeth and delighted, terribly delightful malice. “Do you really still think I had to? Do you actually think that’s a conversation I bothered to have?”

“…Ugh.”

The villain caught the hero’s chin, turning their head up again. They captured the hero’s mouth in another fierce kiss, and it did feel as inevitable as gravity, as inescapable as a riptide.

The hero was mortified to hear a small moan leave them.

“People are going to think I have terrible taste,” the hero said. “Oh my god.”

“You do have terrible taste,” the villain said. “We could have been doing this ages ago if you weren’t so stubborn.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Say that again when you manage to stop kissing me.”

The hero huffed. They forced themselves to stop, panting, and immediately missed the feel of the villain’s lips against them.

The villain laughed again, shaking their head. They slid their hand from the hero’s collar, up to their throat, fingers splaying over the hero’s racing pulse.

“I don’t mind you fighting it,” the villain said. They bit their lip, eyes dark. Their thumb caressed the hero’s jugular. “You know I like watching you fight. But you hate liars, babe, so at least do us both the courtesy of not being such an unconvincing hypocrite. You wouldn’t stand up anywhere near so well under my interrogation.”

The hero glared at them. They didn’t protest again, though. The villain wasn’t wrong after all. They tried not to think what that brand of interrogation might entail. They failed.

“I hate you,” the hero said, instead, and it didn’t feel like enough.

“Mm.” The villain was once more unperturbed by such a declaration. “You’re still blocking my sun. Your options are to either move, or I’m putting you beneath me. I need to get my back anyway.”

The obvious option was to move. To fly away the way they’d come and keep flying. The hero's heart pounded in their ears. Want drummed through their veins, like poison.

“Maybe I’m not yours,” the hero said. “Maybe you’re mine.”

"Oh, love.” In an instant, the villain had flipped them.

The hero’s breath hitched.

The villain, oh so leisurely, straddled the hero’s hips.

The hero imagined the villain’s hands on their wrists, pinning them down, taking what was wanted without the hero needing to ask or give up anything. Their mouth felt dry.

The villain looked at the hero like they knew, too well, all the ways in which defiance could be surrender. Mere bravado. A lie that the villain was only thinly indulging, and only because they were getting their way anyway.

The hero swallowed.

The villain smiled. They leaned down and pressed the gentlest of kisses to the hero’s lips – just enough to stoke the fire – and then settled. Cuddled. It would have been sweet on someone else, if it wasn’t so infuriating. If the hero didn’t feel like they were about to explode. Itching for a fight or – or –

“Of course I’m yours, babe,” the villain said, against their ear. “Do you really think that’s going to save you?”

No.

No, as the hero stared up at the gloriously clear blue skies, they really rather thought they were screwed.

[anime-villian-irl]

"id let the world burn for you"

"I'd kill for you"

"id die for you"

"I'd sacrifice the world for you"

BORING!

Yawn snore snore. Honk shoo honk shoo.

I got twelve other guys ready to that for me. You already do that. You already destroy the world I would just happen to be there while you did.

The real question is.

Would you save the world for me?

Would you put aside your hatred for humanity and put my love for it Infront? Would you save the world because I love the world? Would you stop killing because I hate killing? Would you find a way to live because I want you alive?

Death and destruction are easy as hell. Do you know how fucking easy it is to kill someone? To blow up a building? Shure security is in the way but if it wasn't there it would be easy as hell.

You'd do the basics shure. But would you do the hard thing and save the world because I asked you to?

Would you push aside your hatred of everyone but me because I asked you to nicely?

Would you?