#villain snippet

[autocrats-in-love]

Hi, do you have a snippet for prompt 321?

Prompt by. . .me (#321)

"Oh no," the hero said in horror. "What did I just do?"

They had just kissed the villain. Their sworn enemy. The person who they had vowed to bring to justice.

What's worse, they were already in a relationship.

The villain stared, amused. When would the hero realize that the villain and the hero's partner were the same person?

Falling Twice in Love

“This is terrible,” the hero said. “I have to call my partner. I can’t believe this.”

The villain didn’t say anything for a minute. How should they play this? Revealing themselves would be straightforward. But toying with the hero would be more fun. So. . .

“You’re with someone?” The villain said, aghast.

The hero shot the villain with a treacherous look. The villain recognized that look from home. Perhaps the hero realized that, as well, because guilt seemed to fill them all over again. They started pacing back and forth, rubbing their hands together. The pair were standing in a deserted stairwell. The villain had approached the hero, impressed at the obliviousness the hero still exhibited surrounding the villain’s secret identity. They had decided that, perhaps, a kiss would jog the hero’s memory. So they pulled the hero in by the collar. The hero had returned it, because it all felt so familiar. It was a kiss the pair had experienced hundreds of times before-- from lying in bed in the late morning, to reuniting after days apart. Apparently, that still wasn’t enough for the hero to put the pieces together. The villain sat down on the bottom stair, stretching their arms as they watched the hero panic.

“I can’t believe this,” the hero said. “I cheated.”

“Did you, though? I kissed you first.” The villain said.

The hero didn’t appear comforted by that fact. “I kissed you back.”

The villain shrugged. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“I do not want you. Shut up.”

The villain had to stop themselves from laughing. “I beg to differ.”

The hero tried to take deep breaths. Which the villain knew they were terrible at. Their pacing was always off. Usually, the villain helped. But that might be a dead giveaway. And the hero could figure out this mystery for themselves.

“Isn’t part of your job playing detective?”

The hero ignored the villain in favour of continuing to pace frantically. The villain felt a gust of wind every time the hero passed them. The villain reached out and touched the hero’s arm. The hero froze, staring down at where the villain’s fingers met their sleeve. It probably felt achingly familiar, in a way the hero couldn’t define. This was getting painful to watch.

“Are you a detective, or not?” The villain said.

The hero didn’t take their eyes off the villain’s hand. “Yeah. I solve crimes.”

The villain couldn’t tamp down the smile. They pulled their hand back. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You must be pretty bad at your job, then.”

The hero blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The villain held their finger up. They reached into their pocket and pulled out a tube of lip balm. The same flavour they used at home. They popped off the cap--the hero had to dodge it--and applied it liberally. They looked to the hero for a reaction. The hero still didn’t seem to get the picture. The villain lowered their arm. A sigh escaped them. “You are so unobservant. How do you find criminals?”

“I don’t really need to find them. They come to me.”

“And kiss you.”

“This is the first time this has happened!” The hero shouted.

The villain stood up. The additional height from the step made them taller than the hero for once. The hero looked up, keeping unhappy eye contact. “Second time.”

The hero looked even more offended. “It is not-”

The villain leaned down and kissed the hero again. Softly. Making sure to transfer their lip balm. When they pulled back, the hero was furious. “I can’t believe. . .”

Their words died in their throat as they licked their lips. The flavour registered. The hero’s eyes lit up. The villain could hear the gears turning in their head. Could see the pieces sliding into place. The hero found the villain’s eyes again. “Step down.”

They backed up, giving the villain room to get eye level with them. The hero stared at the villain intently. Then they reached out and pulled their mask back. Their eyes filled with surprise. Then relief. Then rage.

“You asshole!” The hero said.

They punched the villain in the arm. The villain hissed. “Ow!”

“Why would you do this to me?” The hero said.

They peeled back their own mask. Their face had gotten redder with anger. The villain shrugged. “In my defense, I didn’t think you would go this long without figuring it out?”

“When did you figure it out?”

“Pretty much immediately. You’re not very subtle.”

The hero rubbed their temple the way they always did when the villain’s shenanigans got to be too much. “So, you’re a criminal?”

“You’re a cop,” The villain responded.

“No, I’m not! And I said I was a consultant for the police.”

“I said my company’s work was shady.”

The hero didn’t look appeased. “You didn’t tell me you were the one committing the crimes.”

“Oops.”

The hero sighed. They stared deeply at the villain. Then they pulled them into a hug. The villain hugged back. The hero pulled away and wiped their eyes. “We have to figure this out. You’re taking me out to dinner.”

The villain gave a military salute. “Yes, chief.”

“Shut up.”

The hero couldn’t keep the fondness from their voice. As they took the villain’s hand and let the pair out of the stairwell, the villain knew they would eventually be forgiven. 

[caker-baker]

Playing Sides

The detective allowed themself tense shoulders and whitened knuckles, if only to properly play the game.

Body language could make and break this meeting, and they needed to be a collection of fearful memories on display for the villain, an offering, appeasement, something else here and there.

If anyone other than the villain noticed the act, they were obviously choosing not to say something, going about their individual days, drinking coffee and politely nibbling on microwaved pastries.

But those people didn’t matter, not when there was something else much more pressing at the table.

“This seems a tad…” The villain sitting across from the appeasing detective took their time looking for the word. “incompatible.”

The detective only spared a sweeping glance at the rest of the cafe. “For you or for me?”

Chuckling, the villain raised their coffee cup to their lips. “Tricky, tricky, tricky. Always is with you.” They took an appreciative sip, eyes never leaving the detective. “What is this act you’re putting on? It’s good, believable, but not enough of a constant for me to place any value in it. I don’t appreciate attempts at flattery.”

The first thought was to argue, because why wouldn’t it be? The detective was a professional, their job was to unearth, discover, and find the final truth, the one answer.

Sitting in front of an anthropomorphized file of contradictions with the ability to lie, could, arguably, make the detective jumpy, twitching to argue and argue and argue until that final truth was revealed.

“Maybe it’s not an act.” The detective finally said, not exactly an argument, but a halfway concession, relaxing their muscles, loosening the vice grip on their coffee. “Maybe I’m scared.”

“But not of me.”

“Should I be?”

The villain offered a closed lip smile, one motion away from baring their teeth.

“I don’t so much mind you, my dear detective friend.”

“I don’t care for flattery, either.” The detective said.

“Good thing it wasn’t flattery. You would notice if I were to compliment you.” The villain watched them, particularly their relaxed hands.

The detective managed to rid the urge to move their hands then and there, stayed completely still even as the chill creeped up their spin.

“No, no, not flattery.” The villain continued. “Merely acknowledging the truth. We have a good deal going for each other.” They leaned forward. “Which is why this meeting worries me, why I was unconvinced of your taut facade, your attempts of appeasement.”

The detective straightened, knowing well enough that the villain was mocking their strategy.

“You were hoping to…what? Beg for some sort of help?”

“No.”

“Ask for something, then?”

The detective stayed silent, looking away as the villain stared them down, goading them on in their silent way.

The two did have a good deal going on, and if the detective was wrong, this could ruin that.

But they weren’t wrong.

“There have been whispers, Villain.”

“There tend to be, yes, old friend.”

“About something, someone, coming.” If the villain wanted to respond, the detective wasn’t going to give them a chance. “Now, you know me, you know us, our usual deal. I play both sides of the fence, just barely. Lately, during some of my data tracking for the heroes, I’ve noticed a disturbing pattern.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been forced to wonder something, I have a question for you. All I need is a simple yes or no-”

“Going to stop you there.” The villain set down their cup, fixing the detective with a colder, less amicable gaze. “I do know our usual deal, which is why I’m insulted now. You wanted information, pertinent, valuable information about something disturbing, and you were hoping to bargain with your fear?”

“Villain-”

Their eyes widened, the table under their fist began to crack.

“Careful.”

The detective couldn’t hide any body language from that, flinching at the tone of voice, tones, that the villain had - a million low voices all merging into one, horrific growl that sent shivers wracking up the detective’s spine, hurting their very bones.

“My guilt!” The detective spat out, ignoring the building bone nausea. “It wasn’t fear. You’re right. I’m not scared, not yet, but I’m guilty, and I will be terrified depending on your answer. If this ends up a yes, then I’m prepared to offer you something that I cannot take back, Villain. I’ll trade in something terrible for the rest of us, if it means I have the smallest chance to prepare.”

Those wide eyes narrowed, but the cracking table at least stopped, and the million low voices returned to one.

“Do tell.”

“Answer me first.”

“Tricky, tricky, trick.” The villain relaxed into their chair, amused now. “I’ll decide if it’s worth answering, Detective. Seem fair? Ask your silly yes or no question.”

Another sweep around the coffee shop, everything going according to how the detective had set up.

“Normally, your type gets quiet, goes under radar before a bigger stunt is pulled. I keep track, alert the proper channels, make sure not too many civvies are in a particular high risk zone at a given day. Some contacts in other big cities have reached out, said it’s been too quiet, everyone’s been too quiet.”

The villain’s amusement had already been fanned like a flame, crossing their arms and watching the detective lay it out for them as if it was some soap opera.

“I’ll spare you too many details, but I have reason to believe something big is being planned for here.” They held up a hand, watching the villain’s eyebrow quirk up. “I just need to know, yes or no, is this happening? Is my home going to be razed down for a personal vendetta? A final heroes vs. villains?”

The villain looked the detective up and down.

“If you knew the answer to that, what would you do?”

“Let you and yours duke it out with the heroes. Take the place if you want, it’s only a place, but I’d like to minimize civvy death count, Villain. I’d get in touch with those channels and start mass evacuation. I’d start it now.”

“And now the fun part.” They leaned in again. “What could you offer me in exchange for this answer? What could bring you of all people to guilt? You, whom I almost respect?”

The detective swallowed, and placed their bag on the table, letting the villain take a look inside.

Body language would make or break this.

“Power dampening cuffs. A prototype. I can’t guarantee they work. But I’m sure if you and yours worked together, you could figure something out.”

For the first time, the villain seemed surprised, hardly giving the prototype cuffs another glance.

“Detective-”

“I can’t guarantee they work.” The detective repeated. “But in this squabble of yours that may or may not be coming up, you could use these, and they would help, I know they would.”

“Hm. And you’ll let me walk out with these and the current schematics if I answer you? What if I lie? You make the wrong call, and I still have these. Maybe I will lie, maybe I want to see you be horribly wrong at such a cost.”

“You don’t.” The detective wasn’t wrong. They weren’t.

“Why’s that?”

“It would be no fun for you. You couldn’t almost respect me if this was the end of our partnership, my too easy failure.”

There was so much the detective was betting on, and knowing the villain was one of them.

The villain was a villain through and through, conniving, powerful, selfish, dangerous. And sometimes, those traits, the selfishness, carried into these little deals of theirs.

No, the villain wouldn’t want this to end without a bang. The villain would want to string along the detective until there was no more use of them.

“In a way,” The villain said, standing and grabbing the bag. “You’re right. It would be no fun. I don’t just want these, though. I want something else.”

“Answer the question, I’ll see what else I can do.”

The villain stared down at the detective for a long time. A minute. Two. Three. Or maybe it was only three seconds, stretched out into the fraying ends of a perfectly planned meeting.

“Yes.” The villain finally said. “The answer is yes, something is coming.”

The detective stood, not too quickly. “Thank you. I appreciate that. What do you want? Codes to inaccessible areas? You can have them as soon as-”

Reaching across, the villain grasped the detective’s shoulder. “The ramifications of razing this city down, as you so put, were lost on me. How could you and I keep this up if you’re running off, evacuating with the other saps?” They watched how the detective’s eyes flitted to the villain’s hand. “What I want, Detective, is to keep having fun.”

“Villain, there’s not much you or I can do to continue this deal of ours if there’s all out super war-”

“You play for heroes and villains, or, excuse me, just barely.” Their hand tightened on the detective’s shoulder. “Let’s see what sort of fun we can have with that.”

Before the detective could open their mouth, the villain smiled, and the two disappeared.

[coonhoundcat]

Confidential | Hero x Villain Snippet

|| Oi-- quick note, while this does not contain anything explicitly sexual or any SA, it is about struggling with complex feelings after a (fully consensual) encounter, and things are vaguely implied. I don't think anything in here is terribly likely to cause anyone any issues, but if you want to steer clear of the topic entirely, I want to give you that option up front. Cheers. ||

They flinched away at the thought.

"Do you feel like it was forced on you?" The counselor leaned in over their own glasses, regarding them- well, not unkindly, but a bit too directly.

"No- no," Villain brought a hand to their forehead, letting their fingers sink into their hair. Their other hand flapped about for a moment more, not quite sure what else to do. "It was consensual, I just-"

Villain groaned, dragging the hand down their flushed cheek. "It's not their fault. It's not." Villain glared forcefully at the counselor, teeth barred-- before having to look away. "…. They'd feel terrible about it, I think, if they knew."

"Everything we talk about here is confidential, Villain-- unless it involves-"

"Hurting myself or others. Yes, obviously." They waved a hand dismissively, walking purposely away to stare at the far shelves. Shakily, they placed a hand on the wood.

"Thank you," they swallowed. Their throat hurt.

The image flashed back across their mind, the close, heavy breath-- the stubbly smile-- no, smirk, expectant-- "Kiss me?"-- hesitant, but Villain couldn't just say no-- they made it quick. It wasn't painless.

Shuddering, Villain pushed themselves away from the mahogany. The shelf was full of kitschy junk and photos of bees, anyway.

They still didn't look at the counselor. "I wanted it." They caught their own wrist in their other hand, wringing it tightly before letting go again-- gesturing widely. The motion didn't feel big enough. "At- at the time. I told them before, that I didn't- that I wasn't-" their breath stuttered, "-but then I wanted, and they were so excited-"

Villain whirled around, beginning to pace the length of the room. Too much energy-- they felt too still-- their arms waved, frantically gesticulating as the- the feelings got stuck somewhere in their throat; or perhaps their chest. That rather hurt too, now. Ached.

"Did you feel like you couldn't revoke your consent, after you'd agreed?"

The conspicuously soft question hit more or less like a punch in the stomach. "Mmmmmmmmnnnn." Villain stopped back in front of the offending shelf, reaching out to straighten a small figurine of a bumble(?) bee. Thinking better of it, they moved it back. "…. No? No." They glared at the engraved wings. "H- They would have stopped. If I'd-" they bit back a groan, rubbing a rough circle into the space below their eye. "You're not listening. I wanted it. I was fine with- with-" they waved their hand again, throat closing.

In the silence, they rotated the bee figurine to face the wall. Villain turned their back to it. The counselor, apparently, was still looking at them far too kindly. Villain stared over their shoulder at the framed (and subsequently blacked-out) diploma. It looked like someone'd used white-out directly on the glass. Not concerning at all.

"It's… it was… the expectations, that came after." Villain offered quietly, hands folding behind their back. "And…. and the remembering." And boy, were they remembering now.

The pressure on their chest, legs straddled around the bigger body, a too-clumsy hand on their thigh-- Villain writhed a little on their feet, a flush creeping up from the neck-- the timid question, permission; Villain's teeth pressing too-cautiously into the meat Hero's shoulder- Villain laughed.

Frantically bringing a fist to their mouth, the villain doubled-over, forcing the sharp, unexpected sound into a rough cough; cheeks burning. "I- ah, AHEM- uh-" They didn't dare check the counselor's expression.

GOD, this is what their mind kept going to? Every fucking time, and it- well-- Villain forced down another bark of laughter--it wasn't funny--A wry smile broke across Villain's face quite without their permission.

"It wasn't even good, you know. For either of us-- I think."

Apparently their mouth was doing all sorts of things without their permission. Ah, well.

They didn't know what to make of the answering silence. So they continued.

"It fucking sucked."

They weren't sure if they were trembling with laughter, or their body had finally decided to just stop functioning, but the whole thing was rather ludicrous. It was probably time someone just took Villain out back and shot them, honestly. Maybe Hero would do the honors.

Shakily, the villain straightened-- unable to keep the wild, pained grin from stretching across their face. Finally meeting the counselor's eye, they shrugged-- almost apologetic. They shouldn't have to see all this. But Villain didn't really have anything left to lose, and they'd come this far. Might as well make it someone else's problem, too.

"….. I keep wanting to do it again."

Their own voice sounded too non-chalant to be real, and their chest ached. Villain smiled forcefully. "Tell anyone that, and I'll kill you."

The counselor raised an eyebrow, still watching Villain with That Expression. It was always That Expression.

Villain writhed in their own skin.

"…. Confidential?" It shouldn't sound that raspy. Or that pathetic, for that matter-

"Confidential."

Villain hated the sudden feeling of relief that washed over them. Their arms--still shaking-- folded themselves across their chest. "It better be." That, at least, sounded authoritative enough.

[tippytappytyping]

The Deadliest Song

I wrote this about two years ago, before I found tumblr. I think I used a writing prompt to start this, but I'm not quite sure. Hope you enjoy!

Content Warning: very mild kidnapping(?), hypnotism, threat of violence. No violence shown onscreen. _____________________________________________________________

Hero knew this was the place where Villain was hiding out. Even without the anonymous tip this morning, they probably could have figured it out by the atmosphere alone. A dark warehouse in the corner of the city, away from almost everything and with plenty of access to electricity but very little lighting. The darkness felt thick as it wrapped around the hero’s shoulders.

One foot after another, from one shadow to the next, Hero leapt and hid. After only a few minutes, they could hear the familiar voice of their adversary from down the hall. Creeping closer to catch the words, Hero put their ear to the door at the end of the hall.

The door creaked at the hero’s touch.

Making a little too much noise as they scurried away looking for a hiding spot, the hero ducked into the next room over.

They heard the door open the rest of the way and the sound of stiff shoes on concrete. “Hello, hello.” The villain chuckled at the lack of response. “I figured you’d show up eventually. Are you going to come out or stay in the shadows like a scared little kid?”

Hero gave no response, focused on quieting their breathing. All of this work to get caught by a creaky door?!

“Suit yourself,” Villain purred. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon enough.” The door creaked once more as Villain nudged it closer to closed.

Hero let out a little of their breath and brushed the hair out of their eyes. They pulled out the device, the reason they were here in the first place. If they could just get this little piece of metal on whatever Villain had been working on out here for the last few weeks, it would all be over. No more late-night stakeouts, dodging and secrets and almost dying every week. All over.

Hero smiled down at the solution to all their problems. Figuring it was safe enough, they poked their head back out the door to find a sliver of silvery light coming from the not-quite-closed door of the Villain's room.

This is it. Move fast, and it’ll all be over.

Hero whipped open the door, no longer caring about noise. It complained loudly and would have alerted Villain if they hadn’t already known Hero was coming. If they hadn’t already been sitting on a plush purple chair facing the door.

Villain smiled, the same way a hunter would smile as its prey stepped into their trap. Before Hero could even react, Villain raised their hand high and clicked a button on a remote.

Music poured out of the hulking machine behind the villain’s chair. A haunting song that was tragically beautiful with slow strings and dancing harmonies.

Hero raised their eyebrows mockingly. “All this time, you were building a radio?” They started to laugh, but it came out quieter than normal.

“Oh, my, no. This is much more than that. Just wait, it should start setting in soon.”

They took a step into the room, the music floating through the air like a spring breeze. “Is this your way of asking me to dance?” Hero gripped the device in their palm, concealing it as much as possible.

“Like I said, give it a minute.” Villain leaned back in their chair, draping their legs over the armrest. The whole time, their eyes were locked on the hero, waiting.

Hero reached for another retort, but nothing came. Their brain and their voice wouldn’t connect with each other. The music got louder, increasing in sound and beauty. They took another step toward the machine. Then another. Each one becoming harder to take, as if the muscles in their legs were relaxing, giving in to the calm of the music.

“Ah, there it is.” Villain said, now leaning forward in their chair. “It’s amazing what music can do, isn’t it?”

Hero took another step but slipped. They didn’t even feel when their shoulder crashed into the floor or hear when the device clattered out of their hands and slid far away. All they could hear was the music.

As it hit a crescendo, Villain rose from their seat and performed a mock-waltz around the hero’s collapsed body. Finally, they leaned down, whispering in Hero’s ear. “Thank you for coming, I didn’t have the opportunity to test it out on anyone properly.” The song shifted into a new key, bringing a new brighter sound.

Hero sighed and closed their eyes. A wave of warmth bloomed in their chest and their heart beat in time with the song. It was as if they were feeling peace for the very first time. With a faint smile growing across their face, they managed to breathe one word. “…Why?”

“Well, you know how this feels, but imagine what this song will do when I broadcast it through every speaker in the city. What will happen to people who hear it on the radio while they drive? The people at the hospital when they hear it through the intercoms? What do you think will happen then?”

Hero knew they should care about Villain just said, but now they just wanted Villain to stop talking so they could hear the rest of the song. “Okay...”

“Beautiful. You should smile more. Enjoy the rest of the song, it’ll probably be the last thing you hear.” Villain reached down and stroked Hero’s hair. “If you’re not dead by the time I get back, I’ll finish the job.”

The hero heard the door close behind the villain, and then lost themselves in the music for good.

[the-modern-typewriter]

"Please."

The villain raised an eyebrow, but didn't otherwise look up from their desk. "You can walk out of that door any time, darling. I'm not stopping you."

"I'd come back. It wouldn't - I don't want to break our deal."

"You don't want the consequences of breaking our deal. You absolutely want to break it."

"People are dying," the hero snapped. "I can help."

"Mm, of course you can. You're a miracle on legs."

"I'm just suggesting a pause," the hero said. "A temporary change of terms. That's all."

"And I'm just saying no."

The hero stopped on the other side of the table, fingers digging into the fine wood in an effort to control their temper. They took a deep breath. Released. Another.

"I'm still yours," the hero said. "I'd still be yours."

"Always. But N-O spells no."

"I'm begging," the hero said, through gritted teeth.

"Is that what that is?" The villain finally deigned to glance up. Their eyes - a dark and stormy night for all bad things to happen in - did not match their light tone. The amused curve of their slight smile. "Gosh. Your standards are slipping. You're not even kneeling or anything."

"Would you say yes if I knelt?"

The villain's head tipped to one side. "No," they said, after a long moment. "But I'd sincerely appreciate the view. Perhaps it might even distract you from this latest bout of self-loathing."

"Screw you."

"But it's so much more fun when you do it, dear."

"This is serious!"

The villain scoffed and merely pointed a finger at the door, expectant and waiting.

The hero's jaw clenched hard enough to hurt but they didn't move.

"Mm," the villain said. "Are you kneeling or are we done here?"

The villain could have lied, they knew that. They could have pretended there was a chance that they'd say yes. They could have offered false hope, only to rip it away again once they'd had their fun.

In the grand terms of their arrangement, the villain had done absolutely nothing wrong. They were even, in their own particular way, being kind.

There was a bitter taste in the hero's mouth.

"It's bad out there," they said, voice cracking. "People need me. They could - maybe it could be fun. You've never played at saving the world, have you? We could do it together. Go together. It could be an experiment. A game."

"Perhaps," the villain shrugged. "But I don't think that would be very good for your mental health."

"This isn't very good for my mental health!"

The villain simply looked at them.

The hero could leave. They could end the deal at any time.

But, then, the villain would simply leave too. An apocalypse slipping free of its gilded cage. The horrors on the TV would seem mild compared to the fight to come.

"I could be back in an hour," the hero said. "You wouldn't even notice I was gone."

"And I could end the world by lunch time," the villain said. "You'd be dead before you had time to be too distressed. What's your point?"

"You really don't care what's happening out there?"

"No."

"You have to care."

"I don't."

"If you're worried I'd get hurt-"

"-I'm not. I'd slaughter anyone who tried to hurt you before they got the chance."

The hero's mouth dried. Their fingers flexed on the table. They wanted to scream. Fight. Throw things.

The villain leaned back in their chair and sighed, at whatever they read on the hero's face.

"You are saving the world, love," they said. "You're here. With me. Do I need to prove that I still have teeth?"

"No," the hero said. "I - no. Thank you."

The villain nodded, just once. "Good. Come here."

"It's okay. I - I'm okay."

"You're not. Come here."

Feeling foolish, and furious, and raw, the hero rounded the desk. The villain's arm wrapped around them, pulling them close. The grip was painfully tight, mercifully impossible to wriggle free from, and so the hero had to settle against them. They could hide the prickle of tears against the deceptively vulnerable line of the villain's neck.

They stayed like that until the hero could no longer hear the screaming beyond the window.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“Feeling lonely, hm?”

The hero didn’t burden their head with turning towards the voice. They weren’t in the mood for cruel charades.

Instead, they stared at the TV they hadn’t turned on in over a month and debated if not showing up at work would cause any huge conflicts.

Probably.

They closed their eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re ignoring me,” the villain’s voice purred. “Me.”

“You’re not real, so it’s my obligation to ignore you,” the hero said. They stared at their hands and couldn’t help but feel like their physique had changed. They didn’t seem to be as muscular as before. They didn’t seem all that healthy either.

“Not real, huh?” The villain walked towards the hero’s armchair and let themselves drop lazily. “Now that’s a bit unfair.”

“Yeah,” the hero said. They stared at the coffee table with the empty coffee mug. “Some things have been pretty unfair.”

“I thought you were supposed to ignore me.”

“R-right.” The hero looked away and once again, their heart got quite heavy. They couldn’t sleep at night, that was one of the more annoying things. Eating was also difficult, working was…unbearable. They couldn’t think straight.

And above all those hallucinations…their eyes went back to the villain who was stretching in their chair.

Usually, those hallucinations made one mistake. Or better, that part of the hero’s brain that was responsible, made a mistake. Mischaracterising the villain in such a way that the entire illusion shut down entirely.

The hero hadn’t told their doctors about their imaginary nemesis. But that was mainly because the hero would probably not be allowed to work as a superhero for a few weeks.

They clenched their fists, dug their fingernails into their own flesh.

“You look troubled,” the villain said. “Are you eating enough? You’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine,” the hero whispered back. They looked up at the ceiling.

“You miss me.” Every single time. The hallucination said that every single time. The hero turned their gaze towards the villain’s image and stared.

“Yes, I do. So what?”

“Most people feel some sense of accomplishment after beating their enemies,” the villain said. They put one of their thighs on the other. “And two months is quite enough time to find a new enemy worth your time.”

The hero’s eyes widened.

“I don’t want someone else. And I…technically, I didn’t defeat you. I didn’t kill you, I didn’t arrest you. You just…” The hero’s throat burnt like acid and their bottom lip trembled. “…you just died.”

They swallowed the pain and leaned forward.

“Just wish I could’ve said goodbye,” they mumbled. This time, the hallucination didn’t answer. “That wasn’t fair. Our relationship didn’t deserve that end.”

“I didn’t think you’d care about the end,” the villain said.

“Isn’t the end the most important part?” the hero asked. The taste on their tongue was extremely bitter and they knew it didn’t come from the coffee they had finished an hour ago. “Either way, you are haunting me. So, I guess once again I get the worst of it all. You got the easy way out. As always.”

“Haunting you?”

“Yeah.”

“You must really like me, then,” the villain said. They chuckled sweetly, like they had whenever the hero was embarrassing themselves. For some reason, the pit in the hero’s stomach grew, that unsettling feeling spread.

The hallucination had never been cruel enough to laugh. It was such a wonderful sound that even the hero’s lips curved into a smile.

“Yeah, can you blame me? I must’ve fallen a few months ago.” Suddenly, the hallucination was quiet again.

Their eyes met and for a second, the hero swore it was the real villain in front of them. They tilted their head.

“You never mentioned that.”

“Too afraid of rejection, I suppose,” the hero answered. They shrugged. “Any rejection would have been better than this, though.”

The hallucination got up from the chair and slowly walked to the couch where the hero was sitting on.

“I would have never rejected you, you dense…” The hallucination was even capable of blushing. The hero frowned. “Whatever.”

Ultimately, the illusion grabbed them, sat down on the hero’s lap and kissed them.

It took the hero a few more seconds to realise what was really happening.

[villain-enthusiast]

TOUCH-STARVED HERO RAHH.

.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, actually,” the hero muttered from their sloppy position on the ground, though the oozing gash slicing across their torso and the fresh bruises circling their throat said otherwise.

The villain arched a brow, crouching down so they were eye level with the hero. “Do you think I’m dumb?”

The hero glowered at them. “Seems like you're deaf, actually. I said I’m fine,” they snapped, even as pain shuddered through their battered body. “Now if you could just get out of my way—,”

“Darling, please. You couldn’t stand up even if you tried, let alone walk yourself halfway across the city to your apartment.” The villain smirked at the hero’s deepening scowl, but the teasing flair didn't quite reach their eyes. “Let me do you a small favor while I’m here, at least.”

The hero bared their teeth. “Fuck off. I don’t need your stupid healing powers. You'll probably turn this into one of your idiotic bargains—," A harsh coughing fit cut them off, rattling their chest.

They tasted blood on their tongue. Fuck.

“Gosh, so prideful." The villain sighed, tilting their head. "Oh look at that, you're bleeding." They lifted a hand and ran a thumb over their hero's lips, wiping away a smattering of blood that had spilled from their mouth.

The hero's breath hitched at the villain's touch, the smallest, most delicate of noises escaping them before they could stop themselves.

The villain paused, their brow furrowing as their gaze took in every little movement and detail of the hero's involuntary response.

The hero's jaw tightened. Every muscle in their body screamed at them to get away, but they couldn't move. Or was it that they didn't want to move? "Villain, I swear—,"

Then the villain’s hand was cupping their cheek, and the hero melted.

A desperate whimper tore from their throat, their head lolling into the cool touch of the villain's palm as all the pain and exhaustion radiating through their body suddenly evaporated.

They closed their eyes, feeling their face begin to burn with shame.

"Oh, sweetheart," the villain murmured. Their other hand swept through the matted strands of the hero's hair, working through the tangles.

The hero had to bite down on their lip so that they didn't make another embarrassing noise. So gentle. The villain's touch was so, so gentle. So at odds to their earlier opponent's strangling grip and blinding punches, so contrasting to gaping loneliness and helplessness of coming home to no one, of having to painfully stitch themselves up day after day after day...

The villain brushed away a tear that the hero didn't realize had fallen.

"Hey, look at me," the villain said softly, nudging their chin up. The hero blinked at them, fighting back a sob. "You need to let me heal you, okay? You're losing a lot of blood."

The hero swallowed, barely processing the villain's words, their brain entirely occupied by the hand still on their face—or maybe it was just the blood loss. "Yeah," they managed, voice hoarse. It felt like their vocal chords were coated in tar.

"I'm going to do your stomach first," the villain noted. "I need both my hands for this, alright?"

The hero nodded, ignoring the inevitable panic that shot through them at the sudden absence of the villain's touch, which returned almost immediately on the deep laceration on their lower torso.

The hero cringed, bracing for some kind of torturous, painful mending, but the villain's powers were warm, soft, like honey in a cup of hot tea or a crackling fireplace during a winter storm. God, how many years had it been since they'd felt so comforted?

A whimper escaped the hero once more. They tensed. Jesus fucking christ.

The villain cracked a smile as they worked. "Don't worry, love. You're not the first person I've healed that enjoys the feeling." They brushed a palm over the wound, weaving the hero's flesh and skin back together. "This is gonna scar, but at least you'll live to see another day, hm?"

The hero scoffed weakly, still drunk on the villain's magic.

The villain swept their hands over the hero's body, feeling for more damage. "Gosh, Hero," they hummed, "you get yourself into so much trouble, do so much for this pitiful city, and for what?" They placed their hands on the hero's battered neck, soothing the inflammation. "When's the last time someone took care of you?" they asked quietly, but the question seemed more for themselves than for the hero.

Several heartbeats passed before the villain pulled away, finished with their work. The hero couldn't stop themselves from chasing their touch, nearly toppling over.

The villain caught them before they hit the ground, chuckling. "Oh, what am I gonna do with you?"

The hero felt a lump form in their throat at the thought of the villain leaving. I'm not gonna make it home. Not without Villain. They squeezed their eyes shut, swallowing their pride. "Please," they whispered. "Take me home. All I ask."

"Don't need to ask me twice." The villain swept the hero up into their arms, smirking at their indignant (and exhausted) glare. "You're not walking, sorry. You're getting all my love and special treatment today." They winked, as if they were joking.

But as the villain paced their way to the hero's apartment, and as the hero began to fall asleep in their arms, they both knew it wasn't a joke.

[kaiwewi]

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

[creweemmaeec11]

Reverse Tropes

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

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

Forced Marriage - Forced Divorce.

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

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

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

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

Love at First Sight - Hate at First Sight.

Rags to Riches - Riches to Rags

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

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

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

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

Villain Defeated by Friendship - Villain defeated by hatred.

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

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

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

Hero Gets Framed - The wrong villain gets framed.

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

[automeris-io-moth]

Short #5

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

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

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

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

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

_

Masterlist

[chaotic-scraps]

The hero lay on the floor curled in on themselves, willing the pain to go away. The creaking and clinking from the other room told them the villain was rooting around in their stuff again.

"Ugh… Villain?" They called.

Silence.

"Villain, I know you're out there."

They groaned and tried to stand. Not a good idea.

"Villain, if you're out there, bring me my meds, will you? They're on the counter?"

A pause in the shuffling. Footsteps.

A pill bottle hit their face.

"Ow!"

The villain retreated.

Silence.

The hero shakily lifted the pills to their lips.

The villain returned with a bag of bread and a bottle of water.

The hero looked up at them questioningly.

"You're not supposed to take that on an empty stomach," the villain said simply.

"Who eats bread from the bag?" The hero grumbled, but they pulled out a piece to nibble on anyway.

"You're lucky it's not poisoned," the villain replied.

"Am I?" The hero groaned.

"Lot of pain, huh?"

"…Yeah."

The villain knelt down in front of them. "Good."

The hero glared up at them. "Any chance of giving me a break today?"

The villain snatched the half-eaten bread and bit into it greedily. "I think you forgot we're enemies."

The hero laid back down. "Yeah, okay."

Uncomfortable silence.

"So, uh, this normal for you?" The villain tried. "You look a little… Not good."

"I'm kicking your butt so hard when these pills kick in," the hero grumbled. "Can you at least get back to looting my house?"

"I mean, I could kidnap you right now," The villain said. "You're at your most vulnerable."

The hero threw the bread at them. "Just because I'm not up to fighting you doesn't mean I'm helpless."

The bag hit the villain's foot. They gave the hero a deadpan stare.

"I'll bite your ankles," the hero tried.

Then the villain kidnapped them, and they went to Urgent Care together.

[autocrats-in-love]

Can you do a prompt about the Hero being apart of a team and Villain is forced to work with the Hero's team after being kicked out of their own villian team. The members of the Hero's Team doesn't trust the Villain but the hero does, mostly because the hero thinks the villain cute and reminds him of someone.

Very inspired by prompt 339.

Corrupted By a Pretty Face

The alarm blared across the spaceship. Red lights flashed on and off. The hero put down their sandwich. What was it now? They looked down at their watch. An incoming call was coming in from their second in command. The hero left the dining bay, running, and picked up the call. Their second’s distressed face projected above the watch. The hero held up their wrist as they ran.

“What’s the issue?” The hero said.

“Your fugitive!” Their second shouted. Veins were popping out of his forehead.

The hero sighed. “What has the villain done now?”

“Come and see for yourself! We’re next to the greenhouse.”

On the plus side, by the time the hero got there, the flashing lights and the blaring alarm had turned off. On the other hand, half the crew was standing there, everyone glaring at the villain. The hero slowed down, trying to piece together what had happened from everyone’s faces.

“This is why we don’t just pick up every criminal we-”

The second cut himself off when he saw the hero. Everyone else saw them and quickly scattered. Except for the second and the greenhouse head. The hero approached them. They gave the villain a quick look. They looked very pretty, as always. But also very guilty. Not a good sign.

“Okay. What happened?”

“Disaster, captain!” the greenhouse head said. Her eyes went wide. “They sampled the hybrids!”

‘The hybrids’ were several cross-plant breeding projects the on-ship farmers were working on. They were an innovation, considering the mixed plants were from different planets. A project like that could get you access to any planet across the galaxy. They took a long time to grow, and only 5 out of 100 would ripen well. So they were saved for the most important diplomats across the Milky Way. And the villain had eaten some.

“You’re joking,” the hero said.

They looked back at the villain. The villain blinked for a second, remembered what they had done, and took a deep bow of apology. Mostly, the hero thought, to avoid eye contact with the three people staring daggers at them.

“I’m truly, deeply sorry, captain. I didn’t know the fruits were of significance.”

The hero had to tamp down a laugh. The villain’s tongue was purple with fruit juice.

“The fruits,” the greenhouse head mocked. “They’re scientific marvels! Why, I-”

“Hey,” the hero touched her arm. “How about you take a minute. Survey the damage. Get back to me later. Okay? I’ll deal with them.”

The greenhouse head looked even angrier, but she nodded. “Okay, captain.”

She stomped back into the greenhouse and slammed the door. The hero gestured at their second to get lost, too. He frowned. The hero gestured again. He rolled his eyes. 

“I hope you finally see what a mistake this was,” the second said.

Then he turned on his heels and walked away. His heels clicked down the corridor. The hero rubbed their temple. The people on this ship sometimes acted no older than five.

“Hey. Look at me.”

The villain finally broke their bow and sheepishly made eye contact. The hero tilted their head, surveying the villain up and down. Hopefully the villain would think they were just assessing the situation. The hero looked into the villain’s eyes again and started walking backwards.

“Follow me.”

The hero did this sometimes. They knew this ship with their eyes closed. And it was more convenient looking at someone while they talked. Bonus, it made the villain focus on them, trying to see if the hero tripped up. After watching the hero make two flawless turns, the hero finally started the interrogation.

“Tell me what happened.”

The villain rubbed their arm. “Okay, so, like I missed mealtime, right? So the dining bay wasn’t serving food anymore.”

“There’s always food. Make a sandwich.”

“But I didn’t want a sandwich.”

“Fine. So you went into the greenhouse?”

The villain nodded. “I was just picking some fruits for a snack.”

“And you didn’t notice the giant ‘don’t touch’ sign above the hybrids.”

“I don’t think so? Or I ignored it. I’m not sure.”

Of course they weren’t. The hero came to a sudden stop. The villain almost ran into them. The hero turned to their left. The room was numbered 38625B. Their office. They pressed their thumb to the scanner. The door slid open.

“Come in,” the hero said, moving inside.

Their office was a desk with high shelves on either side. They contained books, gadgets, and pictures from across the stars. Behind the desk was a mounted painting of the outside of the ship. The hero knew the villain thought the painting was a little over the top. But the hero loved their vessel.

The hero sat down at their crowded desk and had the villain sit across from them. The hero went into a desk drawer and rooted around. Finally, they pulled out a sheet of paper. They put it on the desk so the villain could see it. It was the agreement the villain had signed a few months ago, when they had just boarded the ship. It was an agreement to behave according to the ship’s code of conduct. The hybrids were explicitly mentioned. The hero plucked a pen from their overstuffed pencil holder and pointed at the clause.

“You’ve done some strange things on this ship. Spreading greenpox-”

“I didn’t know I had it when I boarded!”

“-and making the soap in all the bathrooms explode everywhere-” “I was just testing their durability.”

“What about almost killing Lucky?”

The villain rubbed their neck. “My bad. But dogs are contaminated with a million diseases.”

“That’s what his shots are for. Remember how you didn’t have any for greenpox?”

“Okay, point taken.”

The hero continued. “But messing with the hybrids? Clear violation of the code of conduct.”

“Trying to kill the dog wasn’t?”

“We’re not supposed to have dogs on the ship. So.”

“I knew it!”

“Anyway,” the hero tapped the contract. “I have grounds to kick you off this ship. Abandon you on the next sparsely populated exoplanet and let you find your own way.”

The villain took in what the hero said. It gave them pause. “But. . .you’re not going to?”

The hero balled up the paper and tossed it in the trash can next to their desk. “Nope.”

The villain stared for a second. “The crew’s not going to like that.”

“Which is why I’m going to draft up a new contract,  without hybrids, and we’re going to pretend that was the agreement all along. Like I forgot to add it.”

“You never forget anything,” the villain said.

“I almost never forget anything,” the hero responded.

The villain reached out and clasped the hero’s hands. The hero looked down at where their skin touched and tried not to blush. This must be a custom on the villain’s planet.

“Thank you,” the villain said. “How can I ever repay you?”

“By behaving,” the hero deadpanned.

They pulled their hands back. The villain was smiling wide. “I don’t know why you’ve decided to help me, but I’m eternally grateful.”

The hero smiled back. “If I left you, you would just find another gang to get abandoned by, and we’d find you again in six months trying to rob us to make ends meet.”

“Hey,” the villain said. “Rude.”

“But I’m not wrong.”

The villain didn’t have to know how cute the hero found them. Or that they reminded the hero of everyone back home they had a crush on. The villain would probably tell everyone, and the crew wouldn’t take kindly to the hero giving someone they found attractive special treatment. But boy, did it make it hard to look at the villain’s face and stay mad. If the hero ever even was mad.

“Okay,” the hero said. “Get out of here. I don’t want to see you leave your quarters until tomorrow.”

“But-”

“I’ll bring you food later! Just get out of here.”

The villain nodded. They stood up, bowed once more, and quickly shuffled out. The hero leaned back against their chair and sighed. Why did they always fall for criminals? It was going to get them in big trouble one day.

Then again, you only live once. The hero hated to say it, but they were looking forward to visiting the villain’s room later.

[chaotic-orphan]

Concussed villain gets kidnapped?

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

If Hero was even home.

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

That wasn’t good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Villain had to warn them, they had to!

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

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

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

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

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

[writinggremln]

June of doom 8 - "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Concussion | Mugged | Drugged

"Hero?" Villain nearly cackled at the sight. Hero was a lot of things. Hero was a beacon of light, a bringer of hope, a shining star in the middle of the darkest sky. Brave, kind, strong. Incredibly stubborn. Annoyingly stubborn. Frustratingly stubborn.

What Hero wasn't, well... Hero certainly wasn't the moaning, pathetic mess that was laying in front of Villain's estate. It couldn't be. But then again, that physique was certainly their nemesis'. The stance however...

...left a lot to be desired.

Hero's body was hunched forward, their legs shaking as they wobbled and fought to stay straight. "V'll-.. V'llain..." they slurred. Oh my God, were they drunk? The villain's lips curled upwards. This was a rare sight.

Villain crossed their arms over their chest. "Taking a stroll, my darling?" Their eyes followed Hero's shaking hand, which was aiming (and failing) to reach out to them. Oh, they were enjoying every second of this. "It's dangerous to just roam about in this area, though." They eyed the trembling hero from head to toe. "Especially in your state."

Hero slurred something that sounded like either "shut up" or "fuck off". Not that it mattered, since it came out as garbled nonsense anyway. The villain laughed.

"You don't look so well, darling." They tilted their head to the side, leaning against the wall, as if they hadn't a care in the world.

"Villain, I..." Hero froze suddenly.

"Hm?"

"I..."

"...Hero?" Villain tensed a little. Hero let out a loud whimper before they fell on their knees with a loud thud. They were still shaking, but they seemed... unresponsive to the villain, who now sat on one knee in front of them. Villain slowly put a finger on Hero's chin and tilted their head to see their face better.

They were not drunk, they realized. They were drugged. Their eyes were too unfocused and unaffected by the blinding light coming from Villain's house.

"Hero." Villain demanded. "Hero, look at me."

The hero didn't even blink.

"Hero, darling." That seemed to spark something. Hero groaned and Villain cupped their whole face with their hand. They raised the other, showing off their middle finger. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Hero only blinked, a bit of drool pooling on the bottom of their half-opened mouth. Villain sighed. The other was worse than they thought. It was a miracle they were able to walk to Villain's house. Wordlessly, they hoisted the hero up in their arms and brought them inside.

"...whyre..." Hero grumbled in their arms.

"Hm?"

"Mphr..."

"Please use your words, darling. I can't understand a thing you say." The villain said as they layed the drugged hero on their bed.

"..why... why armh.. why are you..." Hero trailed off and let out a deep sigh, as if even talking took most of their energy. Maybe it did.

"You're the one that came to me." The villain whispered in their ear as they shifted Hero into a more comfortable position. "Why did you come to me?"

Nothing.

"...Hero?"

Still nothing. The villain groaned, a bit annoyed. "You're no fun like this, you know." They patted the hero's cheek gently. "You better pull yourself together, darling, or I'll get bored."

"Huh?..." Oh, good, they were back again. "V..Villain?"

"Hello, darling." The villain kept their hand on Hero's face while the other scrolled on their phone. "I'm gonna call the doctor. And when this is over, I'm going to make you tell me exactly who did this to you." They stroked the their cheek. "Am I clear?"

Hero only whined and leaned their face on Villain's hand.

"Good." The villain smiled and pressed call.

[ghqstwriter]

“You aren’t Superhero.”

The remark came from behind the hero, resonating within the shadows that the rookie was certain they’d checked just moments ago. The voice sounded amused, almost. Like it was ridiculous to think the person standing in front of them should have been the famous, almighty Superhero. As though the difference between the two was so staggering that it was practically humorous.

Hero turned around at the noise, a few moments slower than they probably should have, eyes widening at the realisation that they truly weren’t alone in the room. The figure before them was dressed in dark colours, not visibly armed but still radiating an aura of intimidation nonetheless. Most notably, however, the figure was entirely unmasked, staring directly at Hero with wide eyes and enjoyment tugging at their lips.

“I’m uh— sorry to say I don’t recognise you, either,” Hero commented, trying to play it cool as though there was ever an ounce of chill in their entire body. Their hands fidgeted slightly, fingers flexing nervously. Whoever this was, they weren’t in the files. That was strange, since the villain before them was completely unmasked, as though their identity meant nothing to them.

“I gathered. Don’t get out much, really. More on the introverted side, I’d say. Though, I can’t say the same about you: you’re the newbie I read about last week, something about a fire, hm?” The villain pointed a finger towards Hero, tilting their head to the side. Hero cursed internally, things weren’t looking good for them here.

This was their first major mission, a chance to get their name out of those boring papers that nobody reads and into the news stations that seemed to praise every other benevolent hero on the streets. Superhero had a habit of taking the rookies out for a fly everytime a mission was too dull for their tastes, and this time it appeared they wanted Hero to join them at their side.

“Listen— Superhero is on their way right now. So don’t try anything, ok? I mean, you were expecting them, right?”

“Aw, pity. Here I was, hoping we’d have a little more time to get acquainted. Hero, wasn’t it? Rhetorical question; I know I’m right.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor for— you know, torture and stuff?” Hero questioned meekly, to which the villain laughed. It wasn’t particularly menacing or cruel, not the type of cackle you’d see on a Sunday cartoon. It appeared as though everything about this was genuinely amusing to the villain. An amicable conversation with an old friend. Meanwhile, Hero had to tense all of their muscles in order to stop the trembling.

It wasn’t the sheer sense of power radiating from the villain, they weren’t terrified of evil. It was the uncertainty that shook them deeply. The agency’s success had always been defined not by the endless valour of their heroes, but by their extensive knowledge of the city’s threats. Hero had studied the files for hours on end, noting just how thorough everything was. A complete and comprehensive guide to Villainy, where even the most powerful, evasive villains were exhaustively documented. This one wasn’t.

“You’re just adorable, aren’t you? I think I’ve gotten quite lucky today. I mean, if any other hero had taken this route, I’d probably be stuck talking to some self-righteous idiot. Much less tolerable than you are.”

“What are you—“ Hero started, though was cut off as soon as they noticed that the criminal was walking towards them. They paused in their stride when the two were only standing a couple inches apart. As much as Hero wanted to flee, to create some space between the pair, they gathered that ‘against a wall’ is the last place they’d want to be right now.

A C-Rank villain. They were supposed to be fighting a C-Rank. Mild fire powers, flamboyant, much more bark than bite, though still good for publicity (according to Superhero). Despite how weak Hero’s powers were compared to the other supers, even they could take down a C-Rank. This villain was no such thing. Hero felt their blood run colder by the minute as the criminal looked them up and down, investigating now that they were close enough to see every nook and cranny of their persona.

“I’ll be honest,” the villain grinned as they spoke, hands gripping their new friend’s shoulders. “I’ve never actually spoken with a hero before. Never been one to see the value in the showmanship part of villainy. No heroes to foil your schemes if they simply don’t know you exist. Alas, as rudimentary as I find the agency, they have something I need.”

“I’m not telling you anything, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Hero bit back, more than intimidated by just how close the villain was. Upon further inspection, Hero confirmed their worries: the criminal was unarmed. That was unnerving. What kind of villain goes to confront a hero without any tools?

"Sweetheart, I'm not here to interrogate you. I just want to make a deal, one that'll benefit the both of us." As they spoke, the villain's hands started to inch closer to the hero's neck, although their grip wasn't particularly tight. The type of hold that would have felt soft if not for the hands tracing the hero's collarbone leaving behind a lingering threat. The criminal ventured onwards.

"Your little agency has a lot of data, no? A complete documentation of all the criminals of the world. But, all that information is practically public. Accessible to any trainee, any visitor, any eager reporter wandering around the building. It would be a horrible decision for them to document some of the more gritty, immoral details, and thus the comprehensive guide becomes not-so-complete. Tell me, Hero, where is it that you get all the information for your missions?"

"So what some information is missing from the database. If it was important to a mission, they'd tell me."

"Sure they would."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I've read everything there is to read about you, Hero. And, if my intuition is correct – which it will be, you'll rise through the ranks quite quickly with that potential of yours. They'll start assigning you to much more deadly villains and, well, I'm sure you've realised by now that the dangerous ones are the ones off the books. No information for them, what a tragedy."

Villain's eyes glinted slightly, words carefully planned. They were cunning, Hero thought to themself. The dictionary definition of the mastermind archetype. Although, they seemed a lot more defined and well-trained than the typical evil genius.

"Is that your end of the deal, then? Giving me information in exchange for something else?" Hero questioned, desperately trying to follow along. If this villain thought they'd picked the wrong hero to confide in, they'd likely get rid of them and search for a much more competent one.

"I'm not asking for much. Just that you'll keep the door open for me when I come knocking. My contacts list is extensive, a web of the most skilled professionals and bastards out there. But, unfortunately, no heroes. I'm looking to remedy that. It's a simple enough request, isn't it? Just think of it as friendship blossoming between us, if that helps you sleep at night."

Hero gulped, legs feeling unsteady. As much as their moral compass wanted to scream and kick, they really didn’t have an option here. It wasn’t just the villain that was leagues stronger than Hero, it was everyone. Their powers were more of a nuisance than anything, and all of their skillset relied on their strategic planning. If they lacked information, they’d be hopeless in a fight.

Deep down, Hero wasn’t even certain that the threats were the main incentive here. Sure, death was still a terrifying concept to them, they were a rookie. They couldn’t deny that for a second. But, if they refused this offer, it wouldn’t just be them dying. If a dangerous criminal got loose, and nobody knew how to stop them, how many civilians would die? At just the concept of it, guilt rushed straight to their chest.

“And what kind of favours do you tend to ask your contacts for?” Hero asked, uncertain.

“Like I said, you won’t need to get your hands dirty, Hero. I’m not a violent person. Far less bloodthirsty than most of my associates. I’ll be asking no more of you than your coworkers would. Information, security, a place to go when clients get a little roudy. Of course, all these same privileges would belong to you, too.” The villain promised, never once breaking eye contact with the hero.

Confidently, the criminal reached out their hand, waiting for Hero to shake it. A promise, one Hero knew they could never go back on. One that could save lives, albeit at the profit of perhaps the most deadly enemy there could be.

I'm sure you've realised by now that the dangerous ones are the ones off the books.

Trembling only slightly, Hero’s hand met the villain’s in a firm handshake. The latter’s expression shifted to something much more prideful, indicative of a job well done. They’d managed to convince a hero to make a deal with the devil, after all, no blackmail required. Hero didn’t let their glee deter them. This was the right decision to make; they’d spend so many nights sleeplessly scanning through documents because they knew that information was their one shot at heroism. At the promise of more, or more accurately: the threat of missing some, the hero was certain that the good of this deal outweighed the bad.

A commotion began to kick up outside, though the villain didn’t seem to react. Superhero was here, alongside that C-Rank who seemed much more insignificant now. Nowhere near as interesting. The villain gave one final smile before turning on their heels and headed straight to the door. Before they left, they swivelled their head back to look at Hero, who stood idly in the centre of the room.

“I’ll be in touch soon to set up the all the arrangements. Nothing too complicated, don’t worry. Oh, and of course, try not to tell your supervisors about our little chat.” Hero could only nod silently in response, a thousand sensations storming their mind at once. Their fists continued their incessant routine of tightening and relaxing as their nerves grew.

Heavy footsteps pounded from the top floor of the building. Superhero on the lookout for their newest trainee, oblivious to the scene that unfolded moments before their arrival. The criminal laughed softly, the type of laugh that sounded more like an exhale than anything. Then, moments before Superhero walked through the doorway, they left after making one final comment.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Hero.”

[the-modern-typewriter]

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

“Do they.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not yours.”

“Babe.”

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

“I didn’t agree to this.”

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

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

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

The hero kissed them, then, savagely.

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

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

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

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

“…Ugh.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hero’s breath hitched.

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

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

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

The hero swallowed.

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

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

No.

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