#maybe villain caretaker

[villainsandheroes]

Exiled

Hero sat quietly as their family made a bonfire. He wished he could be closer, be among the warmth of the flames and family.

They spoke amongst each other. Family get together like this happened once a year. Always on this day. Even when it had rained they came out here.

Hero watched.

They sang songs together, loudly and off key. Some people sang duets and when the chorus came everyone would join in.

Hero watched.

They laughed and laughed and laughed. There was so much laughter. So much laughing. So much-

Hero watched. And a singular tear ran down their cheek.

They wiped it. Standing. They couldn’t be near them. Not since their family had found out.

They thought… well… they thought their family would be proud?

They weren’t.

The stinging words and yelling tones still echoed in their head, pressing on that button of pain in their heart.

They turned and ran straight into a large firm chest. An arm swooped out and held them before they tottered over and fell.

“Who knew the little Hero was such a stalker.” Villain whispered, sounding giddy with intrigue.

Hero swallowed thickly. “I’m not a stalker.” They growled through clenched teeth. Trying to pull away, but of course Villain held all the tighter. Chuckling as Hero yanked before an animalistic growl left them. “Let go.”

“Why are you watching them.”

Hero’s head reeled as they pulled again. If Villain found out about them-

“Tell me.”

Hero thrashed. Hard and vicious as his brain kicked into fighting mode. But Villian was stronger. Slamming him down on the building as he smiled at Hero’s pained expression. “Do you know them Hero?” He asked, almost gently.

“Leave me alone.”

“Oh no. This is much too fascinating.” Villain smirked.

part 2

[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

[lunarharp]

..polly pocket au.. (<- a type of doll.)

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[neon-kazoo]

A Familiar Face

[Warnings: medical setting, coming out of sedation, IV mention]

Hero blinked, face contorting in a mix of confusion and discontent. Slowly, their surroundings came into view. A curtain, a small room cornered off by it, a figure by their feet. They laid on a bed lined with blue sheets with several white blankets layered over them. A nurse tapped quietly on a standing keyboard to their side.

They closed their eyes for another second, and when they opened them again the figure at their feet now loomed closer. It took a second, but Hero recognized the features peering down at them.

“Villain?!” They tried to exclaim, but it came out more as a cough. Their throat was dry and partially numb, making it difficult to form any subsequent words.

“What-“ they coughed again, falling into a short fit. The nurse laid a gentle hand on their arm, assuring them that that response was normal.

Momentarily distracted from their enemy’s presence in the room, Hero noticed their right arm feeling oddly cold. When they managed to untangle the limb from the sheets, an IV was revealed settled into the crook of their elbow.

Not that surprising, considering that it was there before they were put to sleep.

Hero gathered themselves, eventually able to ask weakly, “What are you doing here?”

“You asked me to drive you,” the villain replied, something disturbingly close to concern lurking behind their eyes as they gazed down at the formerly-sedated hero.

Hero narrowed their eyes suspiciously. They remembered signing in for the procedure, but they decidedly did not remember asking their nemesis to accompany them to the hospital.

“Yes, really. I can show you the paperwork if you want.”

Hero glanced to the nurse for help, but she too betrayed them with a confirmation.

Talk about being vulnerable, it didn’t get more trusting than asking your arch enemy to stay in the building while an anesthesiologist rendered you unconscious.

Hero didn’t have the energy to be concerned though, so they accepted the help of the rival that was shifting on their feet.

A change of clothes and a wheelchair ride later, Hero was settled into the front of the villain’s car, fully awake and ready to complain.

“I’m so hungry. Let’s stop at McDonald’s. I would die for some salty fries.”

“Sorry, you can’t eat yet,” Villain informed them apologetically.

Hero glanced at the clock and groaned.

“Some water, at least?” Hero begged.

“No on that too, I’m afraid.”

“What? So you just want me to starve?”

“Not me,” Villain replied easily, not bothering to take their eyes off the road to witness Hero’s grumbling, “Doctor’s orders.”

“So you let doctors do your dirty work now,” Hero huffed, crossing their arms over their chest.

They pointedly ignored the smile that spread across the criminal’s lips at their tantrum.

A long winded rant about dehydration followed.

When they were finally handed a water bottle an hour later, Villain had to snatch it right back out of their hands before they chugged it.

Don’t even get them started on the food an hour after that.

[whump-galaxy]

The Villain finds the Hero’s secret identity and civilian home. They break in, not expecting to find much of use. Instead, they find the Hero’s best kept secret.

The Hero’s child, fast asleep in their bed.

[larrythefloridaman]

WOAH, HE'S BIGENDER? I DIDN'T KNOW THAT!

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Unwise

(a very belated) Angstpril, Day 29: Mistake (Alt)

cw: illness, beating, violence, war mentions

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

§•§•§

Tansy woke to the thin line of dawn on the horizon, their body stiff from sleeping on the wooden floor. They stretched quietly, massaging the back of their neck with one hand, then went to check on Cerus. 

The wool blanket was twisted and tangled around his sleeping form, as if he'd been restless all through the night. A little color had returned to his cheeks, but not enough to paint even an illusion of wellness, and there was a sheen of sweat on his pale brow. As they straightened the blankets, he let out a weak, rasping cough.

Cerus was ill, no doubts to be had there, and the cough made them suspect a chest infection. Gone were the thoughts of turning him over to the docks after a single night's rest. Combined with his injuries and malnourished state, recovery wasn't looking particularly bright, and would be impossible should they send him back to work.

They'd have to go into town today and visit the apothecary. A healer's herbs would ease his fever, and a draught of hot wine with honey and garlic should help his lungs. As they pick up their cloak and left their room, Tansy stole a glance back. When Cerus lay unconscious and silent in the bed, his winding black tattoos concealed by the blanket, they could almost forget who it was they were tending to.

Yesterday's rain had cooled the day considerably, and Tansy could see their breath as they stepped into the morning air and made their way towards the town. Their uncle was still asleep when they set off, and they'd left out honeyed bread and smoked fish for his breakfast. Once they returned, they'd prepare a hot meal to warm themselves from the cold, and hopefully coax a little more strength into Cerus.

Out near the water, the villagers were already going about their day. Tansy snuck a glance at the shipyard, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe they'd assumed Cerus had perished in the storm, and couldn't care less.

They didn't know if they should feel more relieved or disturbed by the notion.

Tansy strode into the apothecary, wasting no time in glancing over the bottled teas and herbs and colorful dried fruits on their way to the counter. The elderly man who'd once tended this shop was gone, they knew. Lost to old age or the war, replaced by a woman with a kind face and close-cropped white hair.

Enough had changed in the years since their childhood that they could nearly pretend they weren't home at all, and this was just another strange village. That was easier than the alternative; accepting how unrecognizable their home was now, accepting the fact that they'd come back just as changed.

"Hello dear, did you need a remedy? Sickness comes with the winter. Best to stay prepared."

Tansy offered the woman a smile, trying not to let their expression betray their thoughts. "What do you have for a fever?"

"Ah. Illness already gotten to your household?" she queried, running slender brown fingers along the shelves bottles behind the counter.

"Afraid so," Tansy said, deliberately keeping their answer short.

"I pray those affected make a swift recovery."

You wouldn't if you knew who it was. Or would she? The woman was a healer by trade, but would she have shown mercy to the Shadow King?

The healer selected a pair of jars, slipping a bit of each into a small leather pouch. "Boil a spoonful in water and serve it as a tea. Twice daily," she said, handing Tansy the pouch. "Be well, and be careful on your journey home."

"Careful?" Tansy slid a pair of coins across the wooden counter, tucking the pouch into their cloak. "What for?"

"Did you not hear? The Shadow King has escaped."

Their mouth went bone-dry as the words passed her lips. "Escaped?"

"Aye, he's abandoned his station. No one knows where he's gone, or what trouble he could have brewing."

As if he were capable of even standing right now, much less causing problems. Tansy was tempted to tell her the truth of it, if only to ease her worries, but what would she say? 'Oh I understand. You can't stand to see him suffer. The man who sent armies to raze and kill and burn throughout the kingdom. I understand.'

They kept their mouth shut, giving the woman a short nod, and leaving.

Whispers seemed to follow them as they made their way back through town, and Tansy couldn't tell if the villagers' voices were growing stronger with the daylight, or their sudden fear of discovery was what drove them to hear every word.

'Cerus is gone.'

'I hear he's reclaimed his magic. If that's true, the village is in danger.'

'A party has gone out to find him before it's too late.'

That last murmur quickened their pace. If that was so, they'd have to get to Cerus before anyone else did. 

But why? Why not let them claim him before any more trouble came down on Tansy's head? They'd done all they could within the bounds of the law, and going up against a frightened and angry village in Cerus's defense was a fool's errand. Besides, it wasn't as if he wanted their help. He'd made that perfectly clear.

But as they crested the hill and saw their uncle's house in the distance, half-ringed by a dozen men, their heart turned to lead in their chest. And as the door opened and a pair of villagers dragged Cerus outside, throwing his limp form to the ground, Tansy broke into a run. 

A few of the men turned their heads as they came up the road, looks of confusion plain on their faces, but any words of explanation lodged in Tansy's throat. What would they say? Ask them to leave Cerus be and go about their business? Apologize for all the fuss and let them drag him back to the docks, where he'd surely die? Neither option seemed right, but they didn't know what else to do.

Brushing off Tansy's intrusion, the party returned their attention to Cerus. A tall man planted a kick in his side, and the movement finally freed Tansy's voice.

"Stop!" they shouted, pushing into the circle. "Can't you see he's sick?"

The men nearest to them exchanged glances. "What of it?" one said.

"Look at him," they snapped, moving to stand between Cerus and the tall man. "He's had enough. He needs to rest."

One of the group, a broad, black-haired fellow, snorted. "Bastard doesn't deserve rest. Stand aside."

"Not unless you swear you won't hurt him," Tansy persisted.

"You a loyalist to the old kingdom?"

They scowled. "No, I–"

"Then stand aside."

Tansy grimaced, tempted to concede, to disappear into Uncle Aldon's house and forget this ever happened. A small, buried part of them found agreement with the black-haired man; the tyrant who'd brought so much despair onto the land didn't deserve a reprieve from his own misery. Then, out of the corner of their eye, they saw the tall man aim another kick at Cerus, his boot connecting with the mass of bandages on the downed man's back, drawing a sound from him that was more a hopeless wail than a cry of pain.

Fuck it.

Tansy whirled around, dealing a well-placed punch to the tall man's jaw and sending him crumpling to the ground. The other men were on them in an instant, but instinct took over before Tansy could second guess their actions. Fighting came naturally to them. They'd never started any brawls at the war camps, but they'd never had any problem finishing them.

They ducked under a ham-fisted strike from the black haired man, popping him in the nose for his efforts.

"Leave him alone," they spat. Around them, the rest of the search party seemed to have overcome their initial surprise. Tansy knew they could put up a hell of a fight, even outnumbered as they were, but instead of lashing out again, they stood in front of Cerus, fists held up in warning.

They took a deep breath, and slowly uncurled their hands. "Listen–"

Someone's fist shot out, hitting them in the stomach before they could react, and they hunched over with a grunt. More blows followed; a punch that grazed their cheekbone, a kick to the back of their knees that sent them to the ground.

"Conspirator, eh?" One of the men spit onto the road. "Thought you said you weren't a loyalist."

"I'm not—" another kick to the gut cut them off, and they curled in on themselves. They were a soldier. They would've cut Cerus down in a heartbeat, should they have met him in battle. They would've burned his castle to the ground. Wielded the executioner's blade themselves.

But they wouldn't kick a man when he was down. No matter who he was.

"We'll have to find somewhere to lock 'em up until the Council hears of this." The black-haired man was addressing the rest of the party now, his voice thick with pain. "I'll die before the Shadow King rises again."

Gods no, it wasn't like that at all. How could they look at Cerus, broken as he was, and even consider that? How could they think Tansy would be willing to help him reconquer the realm? 

Anger began to bubble up inside them. At the men, for their ignorance, for their cruelty. At Cerus, the Shadow King, and all he'd done before his fall. At themselves, for being so stupid. 

And at the very sea, for compelling them to stop and watch. For drawing their eye to the fallen tyrant's suffering in the first place.

It would've been different, they knew. Had they simply heard Cerus was working at their village's shipyard, they would've avoided the place entirely. Turned a blind eye, like everyone else. It had taken the witnessing of an act of cruelty to force their hand. And would they have still run to his aid, had they known it was the Shadow King? Would they have brought him home and given him their bed, had they known it would end with them lying beaten beside him in the dirt?

No. Yes. It didn't matter.

It didn't matter now.

Calloused hands found Tansy's wrists, and crossed them behind their back, winding cord around and around and tying it tight. Beside them, Cerus—pale and shaking and half-conscious—was given the same treatment.

Tears of frustration burned their eyes as they were hauled to their feet.

"I'm not a loyalist. I fought against him—" they tried again, but were only met with a harsh slap across the face.

"Council will be the judge of that," said the tall man. One side of his jaw was reddened, the sure start of a bruise. "But I know what I saw."

And as they were dragged down the road, side-by-side with the king they'd helped dethrone, the man they'd tried to save, Tansy couldn't help but feel as if they'd made the wrong choice.

§•§•§

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chibichibivale @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them ,

[roblingoblin285]

Day 104: Forced drugging (Fall From Grace)

uhh i dont know if this is good or not i cant decide

“Sage,” Rob murmured, kneeling down beside the end of the bed. “You have to get some sleep, pops. Please.”

Sage mumbled something incoherent, wide eyes still trained to the floor. Their whole body was shaking, and their face was pale with sleep deprivation and illness. “Can’t,” they managed to whisper. “Please.”

The healer sighed, scooping up both of Sage’s trembling hands in his own. “Can you drink some water for me?” he tried gently, just barely meeting their sunken eyes. After a moment, the villain managed to give a slight nod. 

Rob stood, making sure Sage was stable before crossing to the attached bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him. He turned to the sink, eyeing the pills on the edge of the basin. Guilt rolled in his stomach at the thought of what he had to do, and he reached for a glass with a grimace.

A few minutes later Rob was sitting back down on the bed next to Sage, cup in hand. “Here,” he said, clearing his throat to fight the rising nausea. “This will help, pops. I promise.”

Sage nodded, barely managing to hold the smooth glass steady for long enough to take a sip. Rob watched them, murmuring his approval and taking the water back when they had drank all they could manage. “Good,” he assured them. “That’s good, Sage. Just give it a few minutes to settle.”

The two sat there in silence for a bit, Sage slowly beginning to lean on Rob’s shoulder more and more. He wrapped an arm around them carefully, making sure to avoid the bandages winding around their back and chest.

“You- what did you do?”

Rob startled at the sound of Sage’s hoarse voice; it was the most they’d spoken in nearly a week. “What?”

“Rob, I’m-” Sage turned to meet his eyes, and the heartbroken look on their face made him physically wince. “You did something.”

“Pops-”

“Don’t do that, you-”

“Sage, you have to sleep,” Rob insisted. “I can’t watch you kill yourself like this, okay? You’ll feel so much better after you rest, I promise you.”

“I can’t,” Sage whispered, eyes blurred and drooping even in their terror. “I’m scared, Rob, please.”

Another hot bolt of shame and guilt ran through Rob, his stomach rolling. “It’s okay, pops, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The pills were fully taking effect now, the villain fully leaning on Rob for support. Sage whispered brokenly again, curling in on themselves as their consciousness began to slip. 

“I’m so sorry,” Rob said quietly, tucking their head against his chest. “I’m sorry, Sage. I had to.”

Thank you for reading! Asks are always welcome about anything, and I appreciate your support! If you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist, please submit an ask or leave a reply. 365 writing challenge taglist: @stabby-nunchucks Fall From Grace + adjacent taglist: @thekittyburger

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

Okay, so this is really random: but I see a lot of like 'inexperienced' Whumpees who are the weakest/youngest out of the group

But like what if the youngest is the one everyone fears, I mean they're in the group for a reason

Picture this very specific scenario: The team is captured by Whumper and they are all taken to the same room, chained up to keep them from running or trying anything: and here comes Whumpee (a teenager that's like half the size of everyone in the room) with these insanely complicated locks, maybe they're wearing a straight jacket, with multiple guards while the rest of the team got one or two

Because if you think about it, younger people would have to work harder to prove their strength and 'worth' to the team. There has to be a reason for them to stay on the team

However my personal favorite of this trope is that the youngest is just so unpredictable; not only are they talented/wise beyond their years but you truly never know what they'll do next with all the talent they harbor

Maybe Whumper hates them because at least he can fall into this rythme with the rest of the team and learn their habits: but he physically can't do that for youngest because there is no routine or habit to fall back onto

Maybe they mastered a rare magic form at a young age, or were trained as a soldier

Then think of the CARETAKING OPPROTUNITIES?? A parental Caretaker that shows Whumpee what it's like to be a kid, who worry about they're little reckless living death wish 24/7, and give them a mom/dad that they deserve

I just love young, anti-hero, vigilante Whumpees who have seen so much and learned so many things at such a young age, to the point where they are constantly on the verge of villain because of their genuine desensitization to it all

Which causes everyone to be at least a little afraid of youngest, in some sense of the word

[villainsandheroes]

Broke College Student Hero

They just wanted to treat themselves to something. They'd been working nonstop for a month and thankfully they weren't staving due to their stupid meal swipes but they were sick of the cafeteria food and drinks...

They knew splurging on a special coffee drink was stupid when they needed new pants but they couldn't help it. They never had money to spend on themselves but they decided they were going to this month.

It easily ended up costing $8 which was a lot more then they wanted to spend but that was the way it was. They had gone as a hero, loving when kids ran over or waved at them. Honestly they just loved the attention and being treated like an actual person who had feelings and not just some criminal clean up.

It was when Villain who had been watching them attacked from behind sent them onto the pavement, and worse, loosing grip on their drink, the Hero absolutely lost it.

Leaving the villain to blink confused as the Hero who was always so kind and polite was screaming curses at them.

[impish-baby]

heyo! Request here! Maybe you can do like a hero caretaker with a sidekick? So basically the sidekick is a beginner and gets hurt during battle and the hero becomes super over protective? (Also maybe like a sibling relationship or something?) Sorry if it’s too specific, and you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to! Make sure to drink water, ear so healthy delicious food and gets lots of sleep! Love your work!

-🐠 Anon (can I be 🐠 anon if that cool with you?)

Superheros.. (trigger warnings: heavy violence!! Creepy behavior, gas lighting, drugging)

You don't think the low level villian is recognizable anymore. They don't even look like a person. What was once their face is a bloody pulp, features blurring together in a mess of tissue and broken cartilage. Your mentor is still towering over them, snapping their fingers one by one methodically.

It's terrifying. You idolized Cyrus, looked up to him. He was the one who made you want to start hero work in the first place. This isn't what a hero is. Cyrus is just being cruel now, no sign of the man you've come to think of as a brother as he smirks when the person lying on the ground groans in pain. You should do something. Even if they're a villain, they don't deserve this.

But you can't. Body paralyzed with fear as you stare wide-eyed at the scene playing out before you helplessly. You feel almost numb, static ringing in your ears, the sound of bones crunching still evident until it suddenly silences.

You don't even notice when Cyrus moves, not until he's right in front of you. There's only warmth in his gaze as he smiles at you and only horror in yours. "Aw, I'm sorry, kiddo.." The hero pulls you into his arms, blood from his hands smearing onto your costume. "That must have been scary, huh? Don't worry, they can't hurt you anymore.."

Like he wasn't the one you're scared of?!

Cyrus hums, pulling away only to cup your face with utmost care. "I know, I know, you're a big kid that could've handled it.." He rolls his eyes fondly, paying no mind to your lack of response. "What do you expect me to do? I'm your big brother even when we're in uniform.."

You blink dumbly, unable to utter a word, the shock of everything becoming a crushing weight on your chest. "Let me see the owie, ok?" Cyrus murmurs, guiding you to sit before kneeling in front of you. The injury is barely anything, a cut along your thigh that at most needs to be bandaged-

"Ow.." He hisses with a wince, "that'll need stitches, kiddo.."

What? "I can do them, so you don't have to go to the hospital. I'll bring you home a treat after for being brave!" Cyrus ruffles your hair, dismissing your stuttered protests with a laugh. "Hey, I've been doing this for how long? I've been hurt way more than you, kid. Do you think I can't tell when something is serious or not?"

He.. he does know more than you. He's seen so much more combat, come back home with hundreds of injuries. Cyrus would know. You're lifted into his arms when you don't say anything more, the hero taking flight with you cradled to his chest.

The medicine he offers you once you're set down on your bed is foreign. It doesn't look like ibuprofen or Tylenol, there's not even an identifying mark, they're just blank. "It'll be easier if you're asleep." Cyrus hums, already holding a glass of water to wash the pills down. "You've seen me get stitches just fine, but I've built up a pain tolerance for years. You won't want to be awake, sweetheart."

They taste sickly sweet, the water doing nothing to help wash out the taste. "Good kid.." Cyrus presses a light kiss to your forehead, "You know I love you, right?" The dots lining your vision take over before you can even manage to respond. Cyrus doesn't mind, slipping the power suppressor over your wrist with a content hum.

(a/n: Thank you for being so kind, Anon!! And yes, you can have that tag! I hope this was ok ^^)

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Villain's Protector (Part 1) - Don't Blame Me

Summary: The reader wants out from working for the CIA so they propose a deal. She acts as the captured Soldier Boy's caretaker and she's free to go in six months. Their idea of stealing Soldier Boy's supe altering powers aren't exactly for what the reader thinks though and she needs Solider Boy to escape for her own plans. But those plans go awry when the CIA unleashes a dangerous life-changing weapon and the only way for her and Soldier Boy to survive is to stick together...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Word Count: 5,400ish

Warnings: language, violence, torture, bombing,

A/N: This series takes place post Season 3. Please enjoy this first part and let me know what you think!

________

“Y/L/N.” You lifted an eyebrow, finding an unfamiliar older woman at the entrance to your office. Your supervisor nodded beside her and you pulled your headphones off, letting them rest around your neck. “You’re off desk duty.”

“The chatter from these guys-”

“Yeah, I know. Somebody else will handle it. As of five minutes ago, you report to her now,” said your supervisor, rattling a knuckle on the door. You were ready to argue about how you were promised desk duty to finish out these last six months but she was gone before you could blink. You grumbled as the older woman stepped inside, closing the heavy door behind her.

“I heard you want out,” she said. You leaned back in your chair, cocking your head. “Nobody ever really leaves the CIA you know.”

“What’s my handle ID?” you asked, the woman raising her chin. “I ain’t telling you jack shit until I know you’re legit.”

“Black Midnight Angel. You want to get to work now? Or you going to waste more of my time?” You narrowed your eyes, the woman giving it right back. “Work this job for six months until you leave and the agency will pay for your schooling. And I know you’re skeptical so we already wired the funds to your bank account.”

“Black ops?” you asked quietly. She shook her head, taking a seat in the chair across your desk.

“Mallory Fischer,” she said, your lips pressing into a thin line. “You know what I do then.”

“Yes, I do. Question is why do you want me on your team? There are far more qualified people.” She looked you up and down, a small smirk crossing her lips.

“You’re right. Your agent assessment scores are average aside from your intel work. Last time you were in the field you were shot-”

“Why. Me.” You knew it was coming. You knew exactly what was coming.

“You have a year of medical school under your belt.” That…was not what you were expecting. Did she not…know? Maybe not. Fine. You weren’t bringing that up if you could help it.

“I do. You should know that the reason I couldn’t finish was because the CIA recruited me, despite my desire to not join,” you said, letting it hang in the air. Mallory rolled her eyes and crossed her legs. “You people fucked up my life plan you know. I’m thirty two. I’m going to be a good 5 years minimum behind my peers by the time I graduate.”

“Did I give you the impression that I give a shit?” You grumbled but kept your mouth shut. “You agreed to work here.”

“You threatened to deport my friend if I didn’t,” you growled. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had an ex-boyfriend with ties to-”

“Just stop. What the fuck do you want with me?”

“I have Soldier Boy.” You laughed, Mallory dead eyed. “I’m quite serious.”

“He fucking blew up last week.” Mallory cocked her head. You sighed, running a hand over your mouth. “He fell from, what, the seventieth floor? He’s really that strong?”

“He’s damn near indestructible. If it makes you feel better, Maeve survived too. But seeing as how she hates Vought more than most, we let her slide. Pretty sure she and her girlfriend went up to-” 

“So she’s free and you don’t give a fuck about what she does. Fine. But what the fuck does ‘I have Soldier Boy’ mean exactly?” you asked. Mallory eyed you up and down. 

“He’s Homelanders father.” You rolled your eyes and she frowned. “Why exactly is that not surprising to you?”

“Come on,” you laughed. “The most powerful supe to exist suddenly disappears right around the time Homelander was born? They’re both the poster child for all american wonder boy. I figured he was the dad doing a book report in middle school. It’s not that complicated.”

“Then you can understand why having Homelander’s father provides us an opportunity. His power is the only weapon we have that comes close to taking Homelander out. You watch the news. Homelander is losing his shit. We need to find a way to deal-”

“You don’t need Soldier Boy’s powers to fucking catch Homelander. If you caught pops, you can catch the kid and for the record, I am not one of your fucking super agents so you want me for research, fine. But save the shooting and catching Homelander for your own people.” You scooted your chair in closer to your computer, Mallory grabbing your hand roughly when you placed it on your mouse.

“Soldier Boy didn’t have the power to knock out other supes powers until after the Russian’s tortured him. We need to understand that ability of his and what made it change.” You sighed, pulling your hand away. “Work the job and in six months you’re gone.”

“And what exactly does this job entail?”

“We need a doctor, or the next best thing, for the night shift. Twelve hour shifts. You feed him, clean him, tend to him. Most of the time he’s going to be out cold. It’s maybe an hour of real work a night. You can do whatever the fuck you want in your office when you’re taking care of him, I really don’t care. We just need him in working order, got it?”

You pushed away from your computer, lifting your chin. “And that hour where he’s not out cold? How the fuck do I go near him without dying?”

“You better not be claustrophobic.”

Two Days Later

Mallory had ditched you not five minutes after seven pm after showing you to an office in the very plain looking warehouse in upstate New York. She’d naturally failed to mention that Soldier Boy was being held at a facility outside of the city. But you weren’t about to complain, not when the commute was shorter than your original one. So there you stood, a frozen TV dinner in your backpack, a guard dressed head to toe in black combat gear with an assault rifle almost as big as you, still wondering what the hell you were meant to do.

“You guys got a break room?” you sighed, dumping the bag on the desk and pulling out your dinner.

“Two doors down on the left. Unisex bathroom is around the corner,” he said, still not revealing his face from behind his dark mask. That was fine. He was an overqualified security guard in your mind. “Mallory left a schedule and map of the building on your desk. Burn them when you’ve memorized it.”

“Yup,” you said, walking past him and heading down the hall. “So how many guards are there right now?”

“The only staff on the night shift is yourself, a dozen interior guards, and four patrolling external officers.”

“No custodial staff?” you asked, entering the bare bones room with a microwave, old fridge and a wobbly table. Wonderful.

“No. They clean during the day. The facility isn’t large enough to warrant external help.” You hummed, popping the tray out of the box and into the microwave. “Do you have any further questions?”

“Is the Novichok gas always on in the room he’s held in?” you asked. He shook his head.

“He’s kept in a cryo tube during the night. Before entering the room, we will fill the room with gas for five minutes that will allow him to waken slightly but remain harmless. You will then enter in your hazmat suit and remove him from the chamber where you will perform your duties. When you indicate you are finished, we will increase the gas until he passes out and you can place him back in the tube. When you leave the room, we will stop the gas.” 

“Does he eat during the day? What about the bathroom?” He was still and you frowned. “Dude. I get that everything is need to know but I need to know basic shit about my patient.”

“You feed him according to the schedule. He has a catheter.”

“And going number two?” 

“He doesn’t get solids.”

“I don’t care what kind of liquid diet he’s on, he’s still going to shit.”

“I have my job, you have yours.” 

You grumbled when he left, hitting the power on for your dinner. Just what you wanted for a career. Wipe the ass of the world’s most powerful supe.

You tried to forget about that portion of your “duties” as you ate your meal. It was still going to be easier than your first rotation in med school, that was for sure. He’d just…lay there drugged out of his mind. With the small threat in the air of if your hazmat suit tore for any reason, like say an angry supe being held prisoner grabbed it and ripped the plastic which he very likely was capable of even in that state. 

Easy peasy.

You were able to distract yourself for an hour by walking the halls to figure out the layout of the building. The guard had been right. It wasn’t a large building. There were a few offices and typical building facilities in the front of the building. Security was stationed in the middle and Soldier Boy’s holding cell along with a viewing room was in the back corner. What appeared to be an operating room was further down the hall but that wasn’t entirely uncalled for in a black ops prison like this. You couldn’t exactly take your wounded agents or prisoners to a normal hospital. 

You ended your self-guided tour in the viewing room staring down at the dark room below. Save for the soft blue light emitting from the cryo tube. You couldn’t see much at the angle. The top of the tube was see through but all you spotted were a pair of bare feet.

“He’s not strapped down?” you asked as the door to your right opened, a guard stepping through, this one slightly shorter than the one you’d spoken to originally.

“No. You’ll need to move him around. He’s wearing a face mask providing a direct stream of Novichok gas to him. You only need to remove it when you shove a tube down his throat for feeding. I’d suggest saving that for last.”

You quirked an eyebrow up. He was a supe, sure. This was a CIA secret holding prison, sure. The treatment of prisoners didn’t exactly have to adhere to the Geneva Convention in this kind of environment.

But it felt gross treating him like a meat puppet, keeping him alive only to figure out his powers. Which made you consider something else.

“Why go through the trouble of keeping him alive? Wouldn’t it be easier to just drown him? Or just take his DNA and recreate the power aspect?” you asked. Unsurprisingly, the guard didn’t answer. You crossed your arms, glancing at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t much past eight and there were still a few hours until his scheduled “wake” time. “New plan.”

“New…plan?” he asked. You just knew he was rolling his eyes at you behind those thick black goggles.

“Well he’s my patient, isn’t he? I’m making a new schedule, one that’s more appropriate for the patient.”

“You can’t do that,” he said quickly, your chin raising. “He’s a prisoner.”

“I know I’m just the glorified ass wiper for this guy but the more he feels like he has someone in his corner, the more apt he is to let a secret loose. Maybe he says jack shit but maybe he tells me what the russians did so you can figure out whatever power crap you’re looking for. Got it?” 

“That’s the Y/N I’d expect.” You turned around, Mallory appearing in a doorway behind you. “Dismissed, Greg.”

“Don’t play games with me,” you said when the guard left. Mallory took a few steps forward to join you at your side, peering down into the room below. 

“We had to know you’d be a team player. You’re not dumb. I think you can understand why I want you to do this job, even if you don’t have your medical degree.” You narrowed your eyes. 

“Am I supposed to be his doctor or his fake friend? Which is it?” you asked.

“Both. It probably won’t work, the cocky bastard’s too smart for it, but it doesn’t hurt to try every option. I’d like to think you in particular would be willing to do whatever it takes to figure out that supe destroying beam of his. Am I wrong?” You ignored her, staring through the glass to the dark room. 

“You hired me to be his doctor so that’s what I’ll be. Anything more will be my choice, am I clear?” 

“Fine. Now let’s get you acquainted with your patient.”

“Fine.” You turned and left the room, heading down a set of stairs. You were in a changing room that had hazmat suits and respirators, different outfits for you to choose from. Along the back was a fridge that held his food, a thick mixture that looked completely unappealing. Beside the fridge was a cart for you to bring in and out, a medical bag on top but otherwise it was bare.

You stared at the options and sighed as you picked up the gas mask on its own. For one, if he wanted to kill you, he really could, suit or no suit. But mostly you had a bad feeling in your gut, like he needed some actual human interaction. If they were barely letting him be conscious during the day, he was going to start having problems. Namely, the angry supe was only going to get angrier which meant more violent which meant way more likely he killed you.

A gentle hand might be the only way to get through these six months in one piece. 

After securing your mask, you made a note of the log by the fridge, surprised to find he’d been fed roughly an hour before your shift started. Huh. Maybe they were treating him better than you’d though. With your bag in hand, you hit the button on the wall, thick metal doors opening and allowing you to step into an air lock. You hit the button behind you, sealing it off and then a large black one with a hazard symbol over it. A small light appeared red over the button for a moment before turning green. You hit the button on the far wall and another thick door opened to the dim room. A fine mist clung to the air, deadly novichok swirling all around you. You raised your arm, checking for any reaction but you weren’t expecting one. Novichok was an aerosol. You had to breathe it in to suffer any consequences which hopefully you’d never find out how that felt.

The door shut quietly behind you, leaving you alone save for Mallory observing from behind the thick glass panel above.

You set the bag down, approaching the side of the far end of the chamber and hitting a large black button. A locking mechanism released, the door swinging open and allowing you to grab the end of the pull out tray. The first thing you noticed was Soldier Boy was naked, followed by a slight warmth to the air. The tray helped but he was heavy, a solid wall of muscle you noticed as your eyes darted over his body. Every inch of him oozed strength.

Ever so gently, you moved to his side, knuckles grazing over up his leg, over his strong thigh, soldi chest. You rested your palm over his chest, a slow, steady beat thrumming away.

You didn’t falter, didn’t do anything strange as you started to check his pulse, mind wandering while you went through the motions.

Sure, you’d be his fucking doctor. Until you figured out how to get him out of there that was. 

Ten minutes later you returned to the viewing room where Mallory had remained, her focus on Soldier Boy below.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know you’re thinking about how to break him out. Why do you think I hired you?” You smirked, cocking your head. 

“So you don’t want me for my medical knowledge. Shocking.”

“Fuck no, just like I know you have no desire to finish med school. Use that money for whatever the fuck you want. You do what I ask and we’ll give you ten times that and maybe we end up dealing with your little…problem along the way.”

You glanced at Soldier Boy, pursing your lips. “Why the ruse? Why not just tell me you want me to act like I’m the only one on his side?”

“Because I had to see how good an actor you are. The second I told you he can take away another supes powers…you should have seen your face. You were already in. You’ll have to be on all the time with him though. No mistakes. He’ll snap your neck if he finds out.”

Your gaze shot back to Mallory, her mouth forming a small smile. “I’m good at pretending everything is just fine. So what exactly is the plan to get him to trust me?”

“Be his friend. A few weeks from now you’ll miraculously break him out after learning about the torture he goes through during the day in our attempts to understand his powers. He’ll be leery of course but weak with the massive dose of novichok will get in him. By the time it wears off, he’ll trust that you’re a caretaker for him, likely even fall for you. And then? You prove your loyalty, shower him with that love he so desperately wants but won’t admit to. By then, he’ll blow the powers out of whoever you tell him to. He’ll be our loaded gun without even realizing.”

“That’s what you wanted all along,” you said, Mallory nodding for the two of you to leave the room, heading down a hallway. “Because if it doesn’t work, you can blame it all on me.”

“There’s a reason I wanted you on this job kid and it’s not just because that man will take one look at you and want to screw you. You will need to adapt on the fly. Use that head of yours and we’ll relay the list of supes we want him to take out and then he’ll go back in his box.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s just hope he doesn’t kill me first.”

You were tired when you got home from work the next day around seven thirty in the morning. Mallory and security had given you an in-depth briefing of their plans. It was all very simple. Manipulate him. Make him see you as his only friend. Break him out and make him reliant on you to the point where he was doing exactly what they wanted without lifting a finger.

Except that wasn’t your plan. You’d break him out, play along to get him there but the second you had him alone, you’d tell him the truth.

And if he killed you in a fit of rage, so be it.

If he even could.

Three Weeks Later

You were grateful Mallory no longer came into work during your shifts. She wasn’t suspicious of you. Shit, she thought she had you read like an open book and you were perfectly happy to let everyone keep on thinking that. The guards left you alone unless you asked for something from them which meant you spent a lot of time either in Ben’s room, you’d taken to calling him Ben when you went in with him, or sitting in the observation room with a book.

It wasn’t hard to feign boredom when there wasn’t much to do. You desperately wanted to spend more time with Ben but it was dangerous to leave him off the gas for more than thirty minutes at a time. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call cognitively aware when you’d pull open the drawer and assess him. His eyes would flutter open weakly, a glimpse of an angry glare behind them before he’d call you a bitch and they’d shut again, his chest rising and falling deeper than when he slept. 

Which meant you were in for a fun time in about forty five minutes when you were supposed to “break him free” according to the plan. You were meant to go about your usual routine with him before they’d take him away to the operating room they called it. More like commit war crimes against a prisoner.

You didn’t know exactly what they were doing to him during the day but it was bad enough that Ben was starting to show injuries. Injuries. On an all powerful supe. Nothing major. A few bruises and scratches but it meant something was up and you wanted to be done with this charade and now.

You just needed Soldier Boy to take care of Reaper, that god awful supe, and then he could do whatever the fuck he wanted for all you cared.

A faint scream in the distance made your head snap up. You heard it again and closed your book. Who the hell would be screaming in a place like this? You got up and headed down the hall, dipping your head in the observation room.

A louder scream rang out as you saw the empty cryo chamber. You ran out to the hall, bumping into a guard.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, Lance from the sounds of it. 

“Where is he?” you asked, more screams heard now.

“Oh. Yeah, they kept him in the operating room longer today so he can do his ‘breakout’ with you soon. Sorry for the noise, he can get loud sometimes.”

“What?” you asked, furrowing your brow. 

“The breakout. You’re supposed to grab him from the operating-“

“I know which room I’m supposed to fake the breakout from. Why is he screaming?” you asked. The guard blinked, raising an eyebrow.

“He always screams. I would too if they shoved nuclear waste through a needle into my eyeball.” You scrunched up one eye, the guard giving you a look like you were the weird one. “It’s the only way they get the red matter out of him…”

“If you have your fucking red matter then what the fuck are you faking a break out for,” you growled. The guard held up his hands. “I asked a question.”

“Listen. I’m only telling you this cause I like you. They needed to fake a breakout that way they can drop their red matter bomb they’ve been brewing up and wipe out Soldier Boy and let the fallout spread down to the city and kill all the supes there, including Homelander. You were…the fall guy,” he said quietly. Your eye twitched as you grabbed his assault rifle, jamming the end under his jaw. “Y/N-”

“The only reason I’ll let you live is because you warned me. Now put on your gas mask.” He hesitantly did as told, securing it before you clocked him in the back of the head. 

Soldier Boy let out another pained scream and you’d had enough. You grabbed your gas mask from your office and ducked into the security office, grateful to find it empty. A large red button behind glass sat on the far end of the console.

NOVICHOK - EMERGENCY USE ONLY

“Fuckers,” you said before smashing it, jamming it with the butt of your weapon. You watched on screen as people started to panic and then came the screams in the hallways as the nerve gas tore through their nervous systems, quickly but oh so painfully killing them. You knew there’d be a few people that would see the flashing amber lights in the halls and get their masks on before they keeled over. Whatever.

You’d deal with those people easily enough.

The monitors showed most people had gone down, convulsing violently as they foamed at the mouth. The south hallway was clear and after checking your gun, you ducked back outside, slipping the sidearm from the guard you’d knocked out into the back of your jeans. Soldier Boy had stopped screaming, the halls eerily quiet. Still, you stepped carefully, amber flashes bouncing off the dull gray walls.

Past the bodies, you went down the far passage, taking a breath before opening the double doors. Blood stained the walls. Dried blood. Old, rusty, oxidized blood. 

“What the fuck…” you trailed off, eyes settling on where a barely conscious Soldier Boy lay restrained on the metal table in the center of the room. 

“Y/N,” he mumbled, your eyes widening briefly. He rarely spent time awake with you and the rare occasion he did he’d only ever called you curses. 

“Can you fight?” you asked, unbuckling the thick leather restraint wrapped around his right wrist. He was strong, powerful. But even he couldn’t escape when they kept him gasing him all the time. He grunted, closing his eyes. “Most of them are dead but there’s stragglers to deal with.”

“Why?” You raised an eyebrow under your mask, removing the leather restraints over his torso and left wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here. I need to get you up North,” you said, strapping the gun over your body. You helped him sit up, Soldier Boy’s body lax, littered with dark bruises. “Can you walk?”

He only stared as he slumped against your chest, face jammed against your body before mumbling, “You got great tits.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” you muttered. You grasped his shoulders, forcing him upright, Soldier Boy scowling as you barely kept his heavy body steady. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he tried to growl, coming out like a petulant child instead. You rolled your eyes, scanning the room quickly. Trays of syringes littered the room, bottles of something red inside some, a cream white liquid in another. “Fuck off.”

You dropped his shoulder, grasping his jaw hard, Soldier Boy flinching slightly at the touch. You’d deal with whatever the fuck that reaction was later. 

“I will leave you here to die you insolent little man-child. Cut. The. Shit. Now.” The hardness in his gaze stopped, an almost panicked expression replacing it. “Work with me here. What’d they do to you? Why are you the equivalent of a sack of potatoes?”

“They keep me gassed and stick the white stuff in my eyes. I think it’s novichok,” he said. He closed his eyes, slumping forward ever so slightly before flying them open. “It’s the only way they get the drugs in. Or out.”

“Out?” You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. “Later. Can you move on your own or no?”

“I’m fucked for at least a few hours. Does that answer your fucking question?” He spit out the words, his glare indicating you’d be thrown against a wall if he were capable at the moment.

“Little bastard,” you grumbled to yourself, slinging the automatic rifle across your chest. He raised an eyebrow as you sighed. “Here’s how this works. You do as I say or you can die here. Your choice.”

“Get me the hell out of this shithole,” he growled, reluctantly holding out a hand. You turned, squatting down and pulling him into a fireman’s carry. He was warm against you, two hundred plus pounds of solid muscle. “At least you ain’t a weakling.”

“Shut up. Take that handgun in my waistband and shoot anything that moves and I mean anything.” He grunted which you took as an answer. You shifted you itself. Fuck, he was heavy. Dead weight too. 

He might be able to run his mouth but that was all he had going for him. He nearly dropped the gun the second he took it out of the back of your jeans. Without another word, you exited the room, fine mist filling the corridors. Quickly, you moved down the hall, Soldier Boy grunting more than once.

“Shut up,” you whispered.

“Fuck off,” he snapped back, albeit more quietly. With gritted teeth, you continued forward, eyes flaring wide when you saw movement ahead. Gunfire rang out as you spun around, Soldier Boy hissing as loud shots fired off behind you. It went quiet, Ben dropping huffing against your back. “Thanks for using me as a fucking meat shield. That’s the only reason you busted me out, isn’t it?”

You dropped him straight on the ground, straddling his hips, not even a flicker of amusement on his face. You held up the gun, Soldier Boy scoffing. “What part of listening to what the fuck I say don’t you understand?”

“Leave me to die then, bitch.” You grabbed his jaw, pressing your thumb right under his eyes socket, his eyes narrowing. You pointed the gun at the inner corner, his eyes focused on the barrel.

“I need you to kill a supe for me. Reaper.”

“Reaper? That dumb fuck kid? Why the-” You pressed the hot barrel against his cheek, Ben growling.

“It doesn’t matter why I want him dead but I do. You will die if we stay here, Ben,” you said, tucking the gun back away. You sighed, checking the silent hallways once before re-focusing on him. “Lots of people hurt you. People here hurt you. But I am the only one that’s ever tried to protect you from something. So be quiet or I will leave.”

A grin crawled onto his face, a frown forming on yours. “You need me, don’t you sweetheart? Cut the tough guy act-”

You grabbed his throat, Soldier Boy’s eyes narrowing. “A bomb is going to drop killing all supes on the eastern seaboard. That’s us and you know what? Fuck it. Maybe I get lucky and this thing kills Reaper somehow and I don’t need you.”

“Dramatic are we?” he said as you stood upright. You got three steps down the hall when he slammed his fist against the cement floor. “Fine! I’ll shut up and kill Reaper for you. Now get me out.”

You smirked, wiping it off your face and hoisting him up once more. He stuck to his word, keeping his lips sealed as you made your way out, shooting one more guard at the front lobby area before you were in the parking lot. 

After a quick check for trackers and bombs, you picked him up off the cold pavement, sitting him in the passenger seat of your SUV.

“My suit,” he mumbled. “Need my suit.”

“Already in my trunk. I was supposed to take break you out,” you said, closing the door.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked when you got behind the wheel, leaning over to buckle him up so he didn’t slump over.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, pulling off your mask and tossing it in the back seat. “We need to-“

You both tensed when the night sky lit up red in the distance, a towering inferno blazing up into the atmosphere from the direction of the city.

He grabbed your hand as a shockwave barreled toward you, both of you flinching as a strange feeling washed through your bones.

But you also felt a sharp familiar zap kick in and course through your arm, straight into his hand. He pulled his hand away, staring at you. 

“What the fuck was that? Why the fuck aren’t we dead?” he asked, flexing his hand as best he could.

“I sort of…can’t die. I guess that bomb can’t kill me…or Reaper,” you mumbled, turning the car on and driving out of the compound. All the while you felt his drugged up stare. “I can’t control it. But good news for you, apparently you can’t die either when you’re touching me.”

You didn’t want to acknowledge that you felt all of his fear and pain when you’d somehow protected him. How afraid he was. How fucking alone he felt way, way deep down in a place even he didn’t touch until the moment of immediate death.

You slowed down, reaching over to hold his hand, ignoring the way he relaxed at the touch. Soldier Boy was out cold fast as the adrenaline wore off, his grasp on you too tight to slip out of.

You didn’t get far though, barely a few miles up the road when you saw people arguing outside a house, strange red streaks across their skin.

What the fuck did that bomb do?

Unfortunately for the two of you, you didn’t have to wait long to find out.

____________

A/N: Part 2 coming soon!

[seaslugfanclub]

What are the reader’s interactions with Scar like? (The holo-villains are reallly cool!)

Scar and (Y/N)’s Interactions

—————————————

In the beginning, (Y/N) had mixed feelings about Scar

On one hand, he’s a wild animal. A flamboyant wild animal who’s 430 pounds and one of natures perfectly designed predators.

On the other hand…:

(Y/N) knows that Scar enjoys his privacy, like most cats do. So if he doesn’t need any assistance, they’ll happily leave him alone

But they subtly do little things for the big cat

For the love of god keep him away from the “It’s a Small World” ride

Maybe a creating a giant scratching post out of old Mufasa merchandise

Or slipping him a little catnip when he gets too grouchy

Scar can deny being entertained by such frivolous things all he wants… but at the end of the day, he’s still a cat

Scar: How dare you mock my intelligence, comparing me to the common house ca-

(Y/N): *Clicks on laser pointer*

Scar: =O^O=

If the park is getting any new ride equipment, (Y/N) will take the large box’s for Scar to play in

One of (Y/N)’s responsibilities as being the villains “caretaker” is helping Scar with deshedding

One of the only times Scar will allow himself to relax is when (Y/N) combing through his fur. He hasn’t had much TLC in his life, especially in his exile, so it’s a secretly welcomed change.

His mane is SO SOFT, (Y/N) will gladly spend three hours detangling knots in Scars fur if it means being able to feel his mane

One moments Scar will want attention from (Y/N), but after two pets he’ll change his mind and snarl at them.

If Scars temper begins to rise, (Y/N)’s trusty spray bottle will stop any maulings

Hiding under the sofa when (Y/N) is vacuuming

*(Y/N), gently touching Scar with the side of their foot*: Scar, move out of the way please so people don’t trip on you

*Scar, his eyes enormous*: You KICK Scar? You kick his body like the football? Oh! Oh! Jail for (Y/N)! Jail for (Y/N) for one thousand years!!!

[whump-obsessed-less-stressed]

I freaking LOVE when a caretaker is scary but like not towards whumpee, maybe they had a pretty dark past or just have a resting bitch face; or whumpee and caretaker are simply members of the villain team so everybody is pretty afraid of them. Well, catch is, caretaker is actually quite friendly with people they know and like, but WILL be aggressive whenever whumpee is involved like

Cue whumpee behind them

"Excuse me they asked for no pickles."

[fatkish]

Sorry I’ve been sending so many requests >__< I wanted to ask if it’s possible if you could do the same prompt as my first request, but with a younger reader? Like. 6-7 years old. Basically more child-like behavior and maybe reader gets separation anxiety with Aizawa after he saves her. Idk if this makes sense but this age range is closer to my personal experience and I didn’t wanna ask at first since I’d JIST requested. I really hope this makes sense -���

Aizawa x Child Reader: I’ll Protect You

TRIGGER WARNING: please be advised that this story contains mentions and allusions to the rape and abuse of minors under the age of 8 years old. Please remember that this series is aimed at helping people by providing comfort for situations that actually occurred to others.

Reader is an orphan who is being abused by their foster care provider

While the kid is wandering outside late at night, Aizawa finds them and when questioned they reveal what happens to them at home

The reader explains how they left their home because their ‘parts’ hurt from their ‘nighttime’ activities

They go on to explain how the caretaker touches them and reveals how they are unknowingly being sexually assaulted and abused

The reader doesn’t realize what’s actually been happening to them but decides that they can’t take anymore of it and are running away

When Aizawa learned of this he had to act

Aizawa called the police and had had the reader show him where they lived

The reader didn’t realize that not everyone is ‘touched’ by their legal guardians and as soon as they start to realize that what happened to them is wrong, they slowly become traumatized

After the reader’s caretakers are arrested and taken away, the reader clings to Aizawa and refuses to go with anyone else in fear of others

Aizawa understands that the reader needs time to adjust to everything and decides to ‘temporarily’ take the reader in

The reader refuses to sleep in their own bedroom since they’re afraid their caretakers will come back

The reader hates being alone especially if it’s dark so they sleep in Aizawa’s room with him and a nightlight plug in

The reader follows him around like a duckling and Aizawa slowly becomes used to it

They have dinner together and the reader will lay their head on his lap and go to sleep or read/play video games while Aizawa grades

The reader likes to play with Aizawa and his cats, Aizawa is mostly tired and plays lazily which makes the reader cast him as the villain or like an evil wizard’s tower

The reader tries to get the cats to attack Aizawa and bring down the ‘tower’

Aizawa will take the reader to their therapy sessions and gets them snacks afterwards like sweets since the sessions can be extremely stressful and uncomfortable for them

Aizawa doesn’t push them to do anything

They have movie nights where Aizawa mostly just snuggles the reader and falls asleep not even halfway through the movie but the reader loves it anyways

Aizawa makes the reader a promise to protect them forever