little-lucky-lucy56 - Tumblr blog

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Learning greek mythology in english class

Weird lookin snek lady

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Thing, my thing.

My little clay thing <3

[little-lucky-lucy56]

My dad was dealing with some mixed feelings so I told him "In therapy when something is too complicated to do a simple 'pro and contra list' we sometimes do an excercise where you imagine all these mixed feelings around a table in some kind of conference, letting each tell their bit and you leading the debate."

and my dad didn't really respond and just stared ahead so I kept preparing lunch. Until a few minutes later when he suddenly piped up: "I am having a bad time at the conference"

[little-lucky-lucy56]

I hate it when I forget people's pronouns, or my pronouns

Or the fact that I can't make any move to come out because my parents think that I just got that word from the internet.

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Why they look ugly?

Help?

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Jay

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Boss is asleep, cannot stop me from frogposting

[little-lucky-lucy56]

when I was around twelve I used to sit at the family computer and send hatemail to a white french dude named Jacques who was a self proclaimed communist on Tumblr. This was back in the day when you didn't need a blog to send anon hate. I had no real beef with him but I just didn't like his tone. used to send him "SHUT UP Jacques" periodically. and he'd answer every single one of my asks like "who is this?? show your face or I'll fucking kill you" and I'd be like "now now, that doesn't make sense, jacques" all haughty and he'd get so fucking mad at me. One time he posted a selfie and I sent him an ask claiming I was a psychologist and that his hair parting suggested that he wasn't a communist at all. and he took it deliriously serious and went off on a 2,000 word rant. I can remember going to stay at my grandparents over that weekend, so I didn't even respond to the rant until I came back. I could've chosen to end it there, but when I returned, I sent him another ask which was like "psychologist here again: if you were a communist your hair parting would be in the middle. evenly distributed. All behavioural signs point to someone who doesn't take their own values seriously." and he went ballistic. really swearing at me. all caps type beat. he never turned the asks off, btw. which always made me wonder if he didn't know how to, or if he didn't want to cause he was convinced he was fighting a war, and this action would ensure he lost it. anyway this went on for weeks until one day I completely forgot about him like he was some kind of childhood imaginary friend I'd conjured up in my loneliness. but yesterday I happened to recall the whole scenario, because my buddy was like "remember when you were twelve and I came over to your house, and you showed me on the computer how you'd been terrorizing this random French guy for days on end. And you were laughing like fucking crazy. and I said it wasn't funny because he probably had problems, and you were like 'oh.' and you looked a bit guilty for a second, but then you went and got a grapefruit from the kitchen and threw it out of the second story window at my kid brother, who was playing in the street, and then you started laughing again?" Well. when she put it like that, needless to say I felt bad. so Jacques if you're out there I'm sorry I was such a little shit. you had totally normal hair, and you only wanted people to share stuff. If it's any consolation I know every day of my life that I'm probably going to hell for the sick things I have done

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Why, Oh Why is Your Warmth So Enticing?

Hero sat in the middle of their cell. All four walls were made of bars and then another four walls of fortified concrete stood a metre away. Behind that were guards upon guards. And then Villain.

Hero had been sitting here for an unknown amount of days contemplating. Scheming. Waiting. Their mind was just on the edge of grasping an escape plan.

They had been sitting here for days and their legs were starting to hurt. They hadn’t eaten, they hadn’t been given anything to eat. They hadn’t slept. They were asleep while conscious. Their gaze was glazed over, eyes open but unseeing. They could feel the coldness of the floor but nothing else. No sound. No smell. Nothing.

They wondered if they had been left here to rot. They had never been kidnapped before, so they weren’t sure how this all worked. They had thought they would be tortured or at least hit. They had just been drugged then tossed into this room to wake up. Their only bruise was from the supposed tossing.

A faint whirring buzzed through the room. Something that wouldn’t have been noticed if even the air had been moving. Hero ignored it in favour of believing it was just their imagination. They were finally going crazy. Good. This imprisonment would get a lot more interesting.

The whirring stopped and the room was once again left in silence. Hero mourned the sound.

Next came footsteps though. Something churned languidly in Hero’s mind. Footsteps? Didn’t something usually make those?

Next came the whispers, the mumbling. Like something was being said but Hero just couldn’t understand. Like they were just waking up.

Finally came the touch. Something other than the cold graced their skin. A warmth wrapped around their bicep. Their empty consciousness leaned into the warmth. They hummed lightly. The warmth spread to their face. Their jaw felt like it was glowing. Their cheek. Their temple, their forehead.

“Hero.”

A sound broke through the whispers and silence. It was different. Clearer.

“Hero. Look at me.”

Look? Their eyes no longer saw though.

A breath of air flowed across their face. A ruffling. A coolness joined the breath against their lips. They pulled back. Why had the warmth left?

After some time of Hero cringing away from the coolness the warmth returned to their jaw. The coolness was back on their lips, but the warmth didn’t leave this time. The cold spread into their mouth. They had forgotten they had one.

Hero frowned. What was going on? More cold spread into their mouth as the cold wet their throat.

The coolness pulled away.

“Alright,” came a whisper.

Hero’s frown deepened. Their brain squirmed. They were missing something, they think. Some crucial bit of information. Their mind stumbled and tried to right itself.

The warmth reached their head. A light brush through their hair.

“Come on, Hero. Focus for me.”

Hero found that they wanted to focus. They wanted to know where the voice was coming from. Wanted to find the warmth.

They tried their best to concentrate as the warmth stroked through their hair. As nails ran softly across their scalp.

They scrunched up their face when they became aware of a pounding headache. They squinted their eyes against the brightness of the room. They watched as shiny metal bars and white walls came into focus. They groaned when they realised how badly their body ached. They needed some strong painkillers.

“Are you back with the living?” Came a voice from behind them.

Hero jolted and immediately regretted it. Moving made everything so much worse. Warm arms pulled them back and fingers trailed back to their head.

They were sitting in someone’s lap.

When did that happen?

“Do you want more water?”

Hero nodded and closed their eyes against the pain. They would figure out who it was once they could move without dying.

A glass was touched to their lips, and they opened their eyes. They went to grab the glass with shaky hands, but the glass was pulled back.

“I don’t want you dropping it. Just drink,” the cup returned to their lips.

They huffed but opened their mouth to let the water in. They essentially chugged the rest of the water, there was not enough in their opinion.

“I don’t have any food, but we can sort that out in a bit,” the voice said as they pulled the cup away.

Right, the voice. Hero had to figure out who it was. Nothing moved behind them but they could feel the chest of whoever it was they were snuggled up to. Their hand continued to run through Hero’s hair, something Hero realised they had melted into a long time ago. The voice’s other hand now rested on Hero’s waist. Who could this be? Hero highly doubted it was any of the guards, they would get in a lot of trouble for doing this. It definitely wasn’t any of the Hero’s team because they would have gotten Hero out first before trying to revive them. That really only left one person.

It couldn’t be.

Hero took a deep breath, “Villain?”

The syllables raked their way out of Hero’s voice. They were sure that their attempt was more croaking than any actual words, but the person seemed to understand.

“Yes?”

Hero jerked forwards but Villain’s arm held firm around their waist. Hero was a lot weaker than they had anticipated, usually they would be able to easily pull away from just one arm. It was kind of pathetic that they couldn’t.

“Don’t move. You need to rest,” the hand that had stopped when Hero tried to move resumed brushing through Hero’s hair. The bastard definitely knew that it was making Hero turn into a puddle.

They needed to stop this.

“Because you left me to starve in a room!” Hero cried, indignant.

“Hush, you’ve only been in here for a few days. You’ll just feel a bit gross for a while, but you’ll be fine,” Villain chastised as if Hero was overreacting.

“A few days too many,” Hero said, disgruntled by Villain’s flippant attitude towards leaving people in rooms to starve.

Hero felt Villain’s chuckle reverberate through their back.

They sat there in silence. Hero tried to work past their groggy mind to figure out what they were supposed to be doing. Villain still combed through Hero’s hair delicately. Hero hated that they loved it. Villain’s fingers send the occasional shiver down their spine when they reach the nape of their neck. Their other hand still rested firmly on Hero’s hip, another thing Hero hated that they didn’t seem to mind. They hated that despite being fully lucid they still leaned into the warmth that rolled off of Villain. This was dangerous.

“Well,” Villain runs their hand down the back of Hero’s head, Hero shivered and scolded themself for it. Villain dropped the hand from Hero’s head to Hero’s waist where it tightened along with the other hand. Hero felt themself being lifted off of Villain and cried out in surprise. Once Hero had been situated back onto the floor Villain stood gracefully and grinned down at Hero.

“I better get you some food,” Villain smirked, at how frazzled Hero looked at the sudden loss of comfort.

With a whirl and a clank the bars and concrete door opened to let the striding Villain out.

The door slowly closed again, leaving the Hero once again trapped in solitary.

They hated that they missed Villain and their warmth already.

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Translation: 'Your body is so delicious" A boy said to the 'kurbadang' girl above his body "I gave you 10,000,000,but you have to play with me one more time!"

I'm scared :(

[little-lucky-lucy56]

IT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Crying over these lesbian cats

[little-lucky-lucy56]

I love love all your writing and jealous villains / possessive villains always make me kick my feet!! Can I request a hero that’s been under appreciated by the city and getting hurt / almost killed by civilians they were meant to protect? And the villain finds the aftermath? ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

"My god." The voice was strained. Familiar. Them.

It really wasn't the hero's day, was it? They released a slow, pained breath, pushing themselves gingerly off the grimy, rain-puddled street. "Enjoy the show?"

"What show? You could have taken them. You should have taken them."

The hero grunted. They straightened. They wobbled.

The villain appeared out of the shadows, at their side, in an instant. It took the hero a moment to realise that the villain had placed a steadying hand on their arm.

The villain's face was harsher in the streetlight; all firelit edges, beautifully demonic, orange pinpricks glinting almost red in their furious eyes. Rain spat down, soaking into the villain's hair and clothes. They didn't seem to care.

The hero did a double-take. The flippant comment they'd been about to make died in their mouth.

"How much did you see?" the hero asked.

The villain's jaw clenched. "I just got here."

It was an unexpected confession. On closer inspection, the rapid rise an fall of the villain's chest suggested they'd been running.

"Huh," the hero said.

The villain's gaze raked over them, taking in every bruise and scrape and bit of blood. "You didn't fight back. Why didn't you fight back? You could have pulverised them. Made them fear ever hurting someone again. That's what you do if I attacked you."

The hero shrugged, awkwardly. They eased their arm free of the villain's grip.

"That's not an answer," the villain snapped.

"I would have killed them. Normal people can't deal with my powers."

"So better to let them nearly kill you?"

The hero shrugged again. Everything ached; they weren't especially in the mood for hearing about how wrongly they'd handled getting the flying spit kicked out of them, they weren't in the mood to explain how the villain was different. Even at war, it was easier with them.

"You're in uniform," the villain said. "They knew who they attacked."

"Oh." The hero hadn't realised. The truth of it struck them like a low blow and their shoulders slumped, as if it wasn't already far too late to brace and curl into a foetal position to guard the heart of them. "Right. Yeah. Well, bold move on their part!"

They tried for chipper. They failed completely.

The whole time, they'd been so preoccupied, they'd thought the strangers had no idea. A wave of stupidity, prickling with humiliation, washed over them. Their eyes felt hot.

The hero swore under their threat.

"I'm going to kill them." Possessiveness threaded low and heated through the villain's voice.

"I don't need you to do that."

"I know. It will be my absolute pleasure." The villain grabbed the hero's arm again as the took a step and stumbled. "They shouldn't-"

The hero could feel themselves beginning to shake, a myriad emotions welling up inside them, threatening to explode, as they listened to the villain's insistence that really no one else should be allowed to touch what was theirs.

"I said, I don't fucking need you to do that."

The villain went quiet. Still.

The hero closed their eyes again, already regretting their sharpness. A treacherous tear rolled down their cheek. Christ. That was all they needed, wasn't it? Cherry, meet the top of the garbage pile. They swiped furiously at their face and didn't say sorry. They couldn't say sorry. They'd never stop, they were sure of it.

"What do you need?" the villain asked.

The hero glanced up at them, startled.

It wasn't that the possessiveness was gone from the villain's face, only that the burning of it had finally cleared enough for the hero to see what lay beneath it.

The care, the sincerity, in the villain's question felt like a knockout blow. They didn't know what to do with it. They had no armour for it, no shield.

"What do you need?" the villain asked again, softer, when the hero said nothing. Their other hand rose, cupping the hero's cheek. "You want me to get you home? Your leg's screwed. You can't walk."

"I can walk." The hero looked down at their leg. They could...well, it wouldn't be fun walking. They eyed the villain. "Seriously?"

"Well, I'd prefer to hunt the bastards down and kill them, but I also do an incredible taxi service, yeah."

"Thank you."

The villain looked almost as uncomfortable as the hero felt. They shrugged. Their jaw worked, eyes narrowing when they caught sight of the hero's injuries again. The hero could feel the villain's fingers flexing against their skin with barely leashed violence - and, yet. It was leashed.

The villain dropped their hand.

"My car is this way. Can you - can I - I can help you get there. If I'm allowed."

"You're asking permission to touch me?"

The villain glared at them.

Despite everything, the hero managed a weak smile back. "Yeah," they said. "You're allowed."

The villain nodded, wrapping an arm around the hero, before pulling them up into an unexpected bridal carry. They were strong. All lean muscle and warmth against the hero's frozen body.

"I'm going to get blood on you," the hero said.

"Because nobody has ever bled on me before ever."

The hero huffed.

They let the villain walk them out of the alleyway, brain still sluggishly working its way through all of the implications of the villain's sudden appearance.

They'd come running when - what? When they learned the hero was in trouble? When they learned that the hero wasn't fighting back to the full extent they were capable of?

Thoughts were hard and the villain's car was warm, the heating soon on full blast.

Thank you. It welled in their throat again. The hero choked on it.

They didn't think they'd ever been as well looked after as they were that week.

[little-lucky-lucy56]

Whumpee, who is currently recovering, always looks calm and even smiles warmly, as if all the struggle, resistance, torture, and trauma that have happened to him have just passed away. However, one day in the middle of the night, Whumpee screamed loudly because he was having a terrible nightmare, and when he woke up, he couldn't differentiate between reality and a dream.

Caretaker who heard Whumpee's scream ran to the room where Whumpee was sleeping and immediately hugged Whumpee. Not long after, the team members followed in because they heard Whumpee's screams too. Whumpee rejects the Caretaker who tries to calm him down.

"Whumpee, wake up! It's okay! It's okay! It was just a dream; calm down!"

Whumpee continued to scream and struggle, even repeatedly uttering incoherent sentences, apologizing, and saying to stop everything.

It was the first time Caretaker and team had seen Whumpee so scared. Caretaker and the team were overwhelmed by Whumpee's struggles, and without meaning to Caretaker's cheek was scratched by Whumpee, who continued to struggle in Caretaker arms.

"Oh, my God, Whumpee! Please, it's over! You're safe; no one will hurt you again! Calm down, shhhh! Shhh! It's all over, Whumpee! Shhhh!"

Caretaker felt Whumpee's body convulse and his breathing falter.

"Breathe, Whumpee! Come on, take a deep breath! Please, Whumpee! Breathe!"

Whumpee is seen trying to take a breath with his nose many times. It took time, until finally Whumpee could take a deep breath and exhale.

"Yes, good. Keep doing that. Take a deep breath and slowly exhale. Inhale... exhale... Yes, great job. Keep doing that."

"C-caretaker..." Whumpee called out in a shaky voice.

"Yes, Whumpee. Thank goodness you're calm again. It's okay. It's all over; you're safe. We're all safe. Whumper is gone. Calm down, shhh."

Caretaker continued to hold Whumpee while rocking Whumpee's body gently, continuing to try to keep Whumpee calm.

"I-I h-h-hurt you."

"It'll get better soon. Don't think about it. Now, focus on your breathing."

"I-I-I'm sorry, everyone. I don't un-un-understand. Suddenly, everything feels real again. I'm sorry, but I'm s-s-so scared."

"It's just a dream, Whumpee. Everything will be fine," said a team member. "Just let it go, Whumpee. You've been holding it in for too long."

Then Whumpee's sobs and cries were heard, which made Caretaker and the team members gasp. Whumpee's first cry after everything he had been through was so painful and heartbreaking. Caretaker continues to hug Whumpee, and the other team members put their hands on Whumpee's body as if to provide support and a sign that Whumpee is not alone. Then, Whumpee's body went limp, and his head fell back. Caretaker checks his pulse and finds out that Whumpee is unconscious.

"It's okay; he just fainted. It looks like the tension has passed."

The caretaker and the team helped each other to clean Whumpee's body, which was completely motionless. Occasionally he seemed to be short of breath, but not as bad as when he had a panic attack. At least Whumpee can breathe on his own and doesn't need additional oxygen.

That night, Caretaker and the team took turns standing guard beside Whumpee. They didn't leave Whumpee alone until Whumpee's tired eyes opened when the sun was overhead the next day and of course, Whumpee greeted Caretaker and the team with a weak smile, but they could see there was extreme fatigue in Whumpee's eyes and pale face.

[little-lucky-lucy56]

OMG I LOVE YOUR STORIES SO MUCH!

Could you please do one where the villian dies and the hero is all sad and stuff but then they find out the villian isn't actually dead?

Request #32

Ooooooo yes, yes, this will do nicely...

The bed was cold. Had been cold for the past two weeks.

The hero did what they'd now grown accustomed to doing and pulled a pillow against their chest, hugging it tightly whilst their eyes slipped shut - wishing it was something else. Someone else.

Sleep wasn't easy still, but it was getting better. The hero managed to drift off over the course of an hour, mind pointedly blank as they let the relief of unconsciousness wash over them. It was the only time they didn't think of them. The only time they didn't have to remember...

They woke up only three hours later. Or, at least, they thought they did. But when they felt a puff of breath against their neck and an arm draped over their waist - the embrace so warm and so familiar - the hero knew that they must be dreaming.

They turned around sleepily and tucked their head beneath the villain's chin, hiding themself away into the safest place they knew.

Softly, a hand came up to stroke through their hair, skilled fingers carding through messy locks: "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

The hero could have cried at the sound of that voice. Instead they simply cuddled closer, taking the small moment for what it was.

"You didn't," they said. "I'm still dreaming."

The villain hummed. "Is it a good dream?" they asked.

"It's perfect," the hero said.

A beat.

The silence between them was soft. Comfortable. A quiet sanctuary made for just the two of them to share - so familiar with one another that it seemed only natural that they should take a moment to indulge in that single embrace; natural to let all other things fall away if only to acknowledge a touch as if it were holy.

"I didn't plan to run," the villain said after a while. "Definitely not for that long."

The hero huffed, the sound of it bitter as it left their lips. "I wouldn't exactly call dying 'running.'"

"Woah, who said anything about dying?"

The hero froze.

Suddenly something seemed to dawn on them. Or, more accurately, everything did: the warmth of the bed, the villain's hand in their hair, their shared breaths, the way the sheets tangled around their legs...Too detailed, too specific, too - too real.

"What do you mean dying?" the villain pressed.

The villain who was alive, and here, and holding them.

Wait.

Wait.

The hero sat up and switched on the light, half expecting the villain to vanish with the room's shadows but instead they remained, dark eyes blinking up at them with more innocence than they should be allowed.

The hero's next breath came out shakily, voice no stronger than a hollow whisper: "How are you here?"

The villain's head cocked to the side, one hand reaching out...

The hero shuffled back. "You died."

Their partner froze almost perfectly, a tense second passing between them before their hand retracted back and they joined the hero in sitting up straight, brow drawing down in the same way it always did when things got serious. Always had...

Did - had; did - god the hero didn't know what to think anymore.

If the villain was alive then what had they seen? What had been plaguing their dreams - stealing the breath and tears right from them - for the past two weeks?

They had thought...God, they had thought...

In that moment, they truly didn't know whether they wanted to punch the villain or hug them.

"Hero, you," the other paused, eyes widening fractionally at the sight of the tears quickly gathering in the hero's eyes. "You didn't think I was dead, right?"

At the simple question, the hero's expression crumbled miserably.

A broken sob split free from their throat and they fumbled - still hopelessly torn between punching and hugging so they grabbed the pillow next to them instead, clutching it close and burying their face. The villain was everything to them; they had thought they'd lost everything.

"Oh, Hero, I'm so sorry." The villain's arms found them quickly, pulling them tight and close. "I'm so sorry, I didn't- I thought you would know. I thought you would - you always know me so well - and I...Two weeks. God, you thought I-- for two weeks."

Screw the pillow, the hero was too wrecked right now to do anything but cry. They pushed the item away in favour of clinging onto the villain instead, pressing in as close as they could manage.

"I'm sorry," the villain kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Good. They should be.

The hero hated them - hated them.

And they also loved them. So, so much.

Whatever had happened before didn't matter in that moment. The hero couldn't have cared less about how the villain had gotten there - how they'd come back, come home - because at the heart of it all they didn't have time to. The night was still pressing down on them: outside the streets were dark, the city lights shining coldly underneath a misted fall of rain and the sound of a rumbling unquiet...

And the hero was still so scared that they would wake up.

[little-lucky-lucy56]

No. 29 (Part 2)

////

Part 1 : Hero and Villain share an apartment.

////

Villain couldn’t stop shaking.

He should have waited before going home. His hand slipped around his keys and trembled against the doorknob. As he stood, trying at the lock, his knee bent in, jolting so hard he would’ve crashed down if not for his grip on the doorframe. On his steadier leg, he pivoted. He angled his shoulder and bore his weight along the wall before trying again.

The lock clicked. His key was still readied, quivering in the air.

Hero yanked open the door. His face was set in anger, brows heavy and drawn, and his lip curled, no doubt ready to tell some attempted intrusion off.

“[Name]?” Hero uttered.

“Rough night.” Villain explained, attempting a smile. He swayed as he pushed off the wall, and Hero caught him by the wrist.

“What happened?” He steadied Villain with his other hand, cupping his elbow, and led him in. Villain tried think as Hero held him, but Hero’s fingers were warm. The living room looked warm too, mellowed over by the lamp Hero had probably tugged on before opening the door. Villain closed his eyes. Had it always been so warm?

“[Name]?” Hero tugged again. Villain blinked.

“The carpet,” he relayed to Hero, trying to excuse his pause, “my shoes.”

“I’ll clean it,” Hero assured, swiveling Villain around and onto the couch. Villain fell back. The cushions soaked him up and he held onto the armrest to fight off the sinking sensation that followed. Vertigo. His mind supplied numbly as the world spun, soured, and settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

“It’s not your week to do the living room.” Villain breathed out.

“I think I can make an exception,” Hero crouched down, steadying himself with a hand near Villain’s knee. He looked up at Villain and Villain stumbled over a breath. A blanket crease ran over Hero’s cheek and his hair was mussed on the same side, flattened and curled against his temple. His body hung sleep-heavy, but his gaze was sharp. He was always too sharp. Always too close to figuring it all out.

“This happens a lot,” Villain conceded, “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Hero asked. Villain knew Hero had probably drawn a connection to something —seizures, maybe anxiety—but he thought about the bruises tucked against his ribs and of the ratty tear in his knee. Something weak and wound-licking inside of him wanted to know how Hero would react if he told him.

“Just the shakes. They usually settle down after a few hours.” Villain tried to smile again, but Hero frowned. He rose back up and paused, looking so severe that, for a moment, fear squeezed at Villain shoulders and picked at his throat.

“I’m going to grab some water.”

….

As Hero turned toward the kitchen, Villain sunk into couch, pressing his forehead into the armrest. His muscles ached from the quivering and clenching; each spasm rattled through his body, a phantasmic residue of Supervillain’s power. He recalled how cool the tile had been against his back and how his humiliation and body burned as Henchman dragged him out onto the street, muttering something warbled and sorry.

He’s not himself anymore.

When Hero returned, he considered staying there. The fabric was smooth and his mind was an open sore. But he couldn’t raise more concern. He’d already broken enough rules today.

He took the glass as Hero handed it to him, and the water sloshed, dripping his wrist, cold and slow. He felt it spatter onto his pant leg and gnashed his teeth. At the edge of his vision, Hero had the courtesy to look down, away. Perhaps, he was considering the stains Villain had trodden though carpet.

Villain downed the water like a shot once he was still enough and Hero grabbed the glass before he could even consider the difficulty of setting it down.

Hero placed the glass down on the coffee table, then sat beside it.

“You already know. You know that I’m a hero.”

Villain whipped his head up.

“And if,” he lowered his voice, “if you need help from whatever’s going on, I can give it to you. You’re scared, scared of something and you walk around the apartment like everything’s gonna snap and fall apart if you’re not careful.”

“I—I do know about what you do,” Villain swallowed and licked the spilled water off his lips, “but I don’t need your help.”

“I hear you come in the middle of the night. I hear you unbuckling and buckling the med kit.” Hero gestured towards his ears. He’s enhanced. Villain’s stomach dropped. “I don’t know if it’s a debt, a relationship or a job. And you don’t have to tell me, but I need you to know that you’re not alone and that I’m worried about you.”

“[Hero]…” Villain choked, horrified by the burning in eyes.

Ever since that night in the bathroom, he’d treated Hero like a stranger—a stranger who’d he held in his arms and washed the blood from his brow. He was civil and cruel, unbending to the Hero’s cowed posture and searching gaze. He used courtesy to hook into anything Hero left bared: Good evening. Good bye. Good day.

His ‘hello’ had rung the hollowest that following morning. He’d found Hero in the bathroom, staring at the tile, scrubbed bone-white, their time together scraped away by antiseptic, baking soda and the sting of alcohol. Villain looked at his reflection again. Hero looked at it too and he nodded at it, not him, complicit in their unspoken oath of silence.

“You know,” Villain said, suddenly still, “you know, don’t you?”

[little-lucky-lucy56]

No. 29

////

When Villain comes back with an the ice pack, he finds Hero on the floor. Crying.

////

Villain squeezed the pack in his hand and kept his eyes on the sink. He should just toss it. He should just leave.

Leave. He should’ve left the apartment as soon as he uncovered Hero’s identity, but rent isn’t cheap and he’s well-practiced at turning a blind eye to the things he needs to. His method of avoiding Hero had worked for months: don’t be in the living room when Hero returns, don’t ask about the bandages and bruises, don’t speak unless it’s about the house.

The ice pack burned his fingers as he glanced down at the floor, at anything but Hero. Blood flecked the bathmat and spilled along the tile and grout. Muddy footprints led to—perhaps he should mop.

Villain never recalled a mess like this before. Hero kept things clean. He wondered how many nights he had washed up blood. How many nights had he hunched over, clutching at his bloody stomach, and scrubbed dirt out of the living room carpet?

Villain looked at the sink again, then upwards at the mirror. The glass reflected his body, leaning like a apparition against the door frame, pale, lingering. Leave. He squeezed the ice pack harder. His heat had melted some of the frost; water dripped down his fingers. The ice pack fell. Onto the floor. Onto the dirt.

He should clean.

He should leave.

He kneeled into the blood and yanked the med kit from Hero’s trembling hands. With precision, with knowledge he should’ve never revealed, he set down what he needed in a neat row and grabbed Hero’s arm, readying a washcloth over his grimy skin.

“You don’t have to.” Hero muttered.

“I do. You’re leaving a mess,” Villain explained, rubbing ash out of Hero’s torn fingertips, “and it’s better if you’re not bleeding on the furniture.”

As he worked, he took a quick glance at Hero’s face. Hero curled his lip in attempt to stave off his grief, but his jaw quivered and his throat bobbed with an oncoming cry. Swallowing, he canted his head back into the wall. The clinical light of the bathroom clung to the sheen beneath his eyes and despite his swallowing and blinking, more tears slipped down his cheeks.

Another sob wracked through his chest, but as Hero attempted to shield his face with his arm, he carried Villain’s ministrations with it. Villain tugged back the arm and wrestled it back in place. Stunned, Hero’s crying stopped for a moment. He stared down at Villain with glassy eyes.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You’re getting dirt everywhere.”

Hero squinted down at his forearm, where Villain was dabbing the debris out of his wounds. His motions were meticulous, ginger in their slowness, and the pain ached but never turned sharp when he brushed over his split skin.

“You could get infected. And then you’d get sepsis, and then you’d die, and then there’d be no one to pay your half of the rent.” Villain blathered on, binding the largest cuts with gauze and medical tape. “Wound care is very important, especially when you always come home injured. What if you got tetanus or some disease?”

To which, Hero cried once more. Villain spluttered and dropped Hero’s arm.

“I knew you cared,” Hero sobbed, halfway hysterical.

“Stop.” Villain panicked. He took a clean disinfectant pad and scrubbed at Hero’s cheeks. “Stop crying. What the hell are you doing?”

“You always cook breakfast for me on the mornings after I get really beat up,” Hero cried and flailed out an arm, catching Villain’s bicep. “And you do the heavy housework when I’m hurt, even when it’s my turn to do it. It’s so nice. And you’ve—you’ve never been scared of me.” He gasped, short of breath from sobbing and speaking in the same breath. “And you never ask what I do. You never judge me even though I come home l-like this.”

“That’s normal human decency.” Villain focused on the cut on the bridge of Hero nose and wiped soot from beneath Hero’s eye. Hero blinked slowly as he cleaned, but instead of flinching away, he sunk lower into the wall, leaning bonelessly into the hold Villain had at the side of his jaw.

“It’s not. It’s not.” Hero readjusted his hand on Villain’s arm, his fingers picking at his shirtsleeve. “No one stays. No one helps.” The thought seemed to make Hero cry harder. Salt streams followed the tilt of his face as he tucked his cheek into Villain’s palm and wept. “Why doesn’t anybody stay?”

“Were you drugged?” Villain asked, quelling the urge to rip his hand away. It’s too intimate, too raw to have Hero’s tears running warm across his fingers. “Did you hit your head?” He dropped the cloth and reached around the back of Hero’s head to check for bumps. “You’re normally not this emotional.”

Hero’s upcoming sob turned into a low, pitching breath as Villain’s fingers brushed through the hair at his temple. “I got caught. They—I didn’t think I was going to make it out.” Guilt curdled in Villain’s sternum and Hero’s scalp seemed to turn scorching where he held it. “Backup never came. They left me.” He hiccuped, “they left me there. And then. Then they-.”

“You can’t tell me this.” Villain tugged Hero forward and cut off his words with a fierce hug. “Keep your secrets. I know whatever you do is important to you and that you need to keep quiet.” Don’t tell me what they did. I can’t bear to know what they did. “You’re in shock. You wouldn’t be like this otherwise.”

As Villain’s arms wrapped around him, Hero clutched at Villain, bumping his chin into the top of Villain’s head. He grasped at the curves of Villain’s shoulder blades. “They left me there,” he mumbled, “they left me.”

Villain leaned back, trying to slip out of the hug, but Hero fell as he shuffled away. His face knocked against Villain’s collar bone and Villain bumped into the cabinet behind them, slouching to catch their combined weight. Groaning, he steadied a hand over Hero’s spine.

“I need to clean the rest of your wounds.” He said, breathless. Their little tumble had exposed a collection of horizontal lacerations along Hero’s lower back and he averted his gaze, swallowing down a wave of nausea. Guilt licked up his throat and he stifled a gasp into Hero’s temple. “Come on,” Villain urged, “you need to rest.” He combed a weary hand through Hero’s hair, pleading. “we need to sleep.”

Hero sagged against Villain for a moment more. For a moment more, he was heat and sickening reality against Villain. For a moment more, Villain sunk into the cold tile, accepting Hero’s weight, accepting the gravity of his actions.

And then, Hero rose.

Hero rose and Villain tended to him. With a practiced hand, he bound the rest of his wounds. With an unpracticed hand, he left Hero’s back for last and shook as he cleaned up his raw, raised skin. When he finished, he tidied up the medical supplies and picked up the melted ice pack from the floor.

“I’ll get you a new ice pack,” he whispered and even quiet, the sound felt grating in the silence that had come to surround them, “and I’ll clean this all up. Go to bed. I’ll drop some ibuprofen off once I’m done.”

Before Hero turned to leave, he glanced at the blood stains on Villain’s shirt.

“I’m doing laundry this week.”

“Alright,” Villain sighed, “but do it on Thursday. We need to watch our water bill this month.”