#villains and heroes

[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.

[assortedcriminality]

prompt #2

“Shit, you’re way more tired than I thought,” Villain said, easily dodging a poorly-aimed kick and ducking to avoid a malformed punch.

“Not tired,” Hero grunted, pausing the fight to half-fall into a wall, using an elbow to support themself. “Mmfine.”

Villain raised an eyebrow. “I see. Then you’ll be able to easily escape when I do this.”

Blindingly fast, they grabbed Hero’s shoulder and shoved them hard to the ground. The crime-fighter let out a sharp cry, pain radiating through their back. Their nemesis was on top of them before they could even think to move, straddling their hips and pinning their wrists to the floor.

“Go on,” Villain said, eyes gleaming as they locked gazes with their enemy. “Get up.”

[liberandi-causa]

Warmth

"Most absurd is," Hero scowls, "you cuddling me to sleep on the basis of a fever—do you really have a fever?"

"Mmhm, all thanks to you." Villain craddles Hero closer, full lips settling to the top of Hero's head.

"Then, why are you the big spoon?"

"The sick one gets a pass, now hush and sleep."

And they did, a blissful one — surprisingly even to Hero, who has been suffering from recent episodes of insomnia.

Little did Hero know, aside from controlling the flames, Villain can also regulate his body temperature freely.

[villainousauthor]

Villain arches their brow as they hold the paperback novel pinched between their fingers. Hero tries to ignore the heat creeping up their face. Villain doesn't even bother to speak, their face saying saying more than words could.

"I told you already, get the hell out of my house." Hero bites. They can't keep the tremble out of their voice.

Villain doesn't bother to respond to the demand, eyes going back to the book, then back to Hero, then back to the book again.

"I didn't know you were a reader." They begin, mirth beginning to color their tone. The corner of their lips twitch.

"Just shut up and-"

"Loving The Villain, what an interesting title." They're fighting a smirk at this point, as Hero begins to shake visibly. For once, not from fear or irritation in Villain's presence, but unrelenting mortification. They hadn't expected Villain to pull a home invasion today, interrupting their afternoon reading.

Villain returns the book to the coffee table gingerly, before examining the stack of books nearby. Undoubtedly Hero's recent reads.

"Get out." Hero demands again, words wobbling pathetically. Villain pays no mind. They run their fingers down the spines, some books worn from frequent rereads. Favorites, most likely.

"Touched by The Villain, Saved by the Villain," They drawl, "Villain's Mistress." They snicker, picking up another book and noting the risqué cover.

Hero manages to unplant their feet from the ground, stalking over and ripping the novel from Villain's hands. "Leave my stuff alone."

"No way, this is too interesting. I'm learning so much about you today." Their grin stretches from ear to ear, looking more delighted than Hero has ever seen them. "Is it safe to say you have a type?"

Hero moves to stand in front of their book pile, blocking Villain's view. "It -" They lick their lips, hesitating to find the right words, "It doesn't mean anything. It's just books."

Placing a warm hand on their hip, Villain slides Hero out of the way, not commenting on the gasp they let out at the sudden manhandling. They're absolutely not done picking apart their nemesis' literary interests.

"Sure. I'm positive 'My Sweet Villain' has absolutely no connection to anything at all." They tease, picking up another book as they read the synopsis. Villain may be many things, but a fool is not one of them.

"Well, you're an absolute freak," They say, thumping the book into Hero's chest as they instinctively catch it, "Maybe we should start a book club."

[avvail]

truth potion/serum 😌

“What’s that?” The hero murmurs uneasily under their breath, watching as the villain carefully inserts the needle into the soft flesh of their forearm, making them wince slightly. They watch it plunge into their vein, only daring to tug against the restraints once the needle is out of their skin.

The villain merely sends them a smile. “Nothing that’ll kill you.”

“Let me guess,” the hero growls. “A fate worse than death? Are you really trying this bullshit with me after all this time?”

“You don’t think our dynamic is a conventional one?”

The hero shuts their mouth, contemplating what the villain’s game was. If it was a sedative, it was a slow acting one, since they couldn’t feel any symptoms creeping up on them just yet. It was peculiar - they felt just fine.

“Let’s be honest,” the hero sniffs, and they don’t miss the way the villain almost laughs in amusement. They don’t know why that’s funny. “If our relationship was a conventional one, you would have killed me the moment you kidnapped me.”

The villain hums, their eyes roaming from their face languidly, kissing their teeth. The hero watches with a stubborn frown as they begin to circle around them, ever so slowly, and it makes them nervous.

They try not to shift.

“You’re right,” the villain sighs from behind them, and they want nothing more than to crane around to keep their eyes on them, but they can’t. Their heart races relentlessly in their chest, clenching their jaw. “Would you rather we adhere to the stereotypes?”

They roll their eyes. “If it means getting killed, then why would I?”

“You’re self righteous and selfless, aren’t you?” The villain teases. “Doesn’t that come with your job?”

“It doesn’t mean I’m eager to die. Dying means defeat, and I wouldn’t ever let you defeat me. You and I both know that.”

The villain stops beside them, a smile on their face that the hero doesn’t like. They send them a sharp glare for good measure, just because they can.

“So, is that a no?”

The hero wants to know where this is headed.

“No,” they confirmed. The villain stepped closer to them, their thumb gently brushing over a tender bruise on their temple. The finishing blow that had rendered them unconscious, making it easy for the villain to drag them here into their clutches. The hero forces back a wince, their eyes hard and determined. The villain loves that look.

“But you’re like that with others,” the villain comments, still stroking their temple. “Other villains, I mean. Especially Supervillain - the typical good versus bad. You know they’d kill you if they could. Stereotypes, after all.”

To hero resists the urge to lean keenly into that touch. “Because I know Supervillain is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Their eyes gleam mischievously. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”

They shift. No dizziness yet, and their vision is completely clear, along with their mind. It’s not a sedative. What are they planning?

“No,” they respond after a moment, and the villain’s jaw ticks. It’s the only sign of irritation they’ve seen from them, but their tongue blurts more before they can stop themselves. “You’re dangerous in different ways.”

The irritation disappears, and the thumb slips down their cheek.

“Dangerous in different ways,” they muse, as if chewing the words that came out of their mouth. The hero’s heart is pounding against their ribcage, and they’re not quite sure why. The villain is incredibly close, feeling pinned down by their cold gaze alone.

“You’re easier to be around,” the hero speaks, trying not to stammer over their words. “I...” I hate you, don’t get me wrong. That’s what they want to say, but their throat closes up before they can. The villain’s thumb strokes the bottom of their jaw, and they shiver, as if encouraging them.

“Because I know you won’t kill me. When given the chance, you go easy on me.”

“You think I go easy on you?”

The hero gives them a disgruntled look. “You never torture me. Last time you kidnapped me, I slept in one of your guest rooms.”

“You were still a prisoner, or did you forget?” The villain scoffs. Of course they had been. The hero had spent all night trying to pick the lock, to smash the windows, but there was no point. They were a prisoner, but it never felt like they were in danger. Not in the same sense they felt when the supervillain almost incapacitated them. It was different.

“That’s not the point,” the hero snaps, unaware of their own rising irritation. They jerk their head away from the touch, feeling as though it was distracting them. The villain has this arrogant smirk on their lips, as if they know exactly what they’re doing. “If I ever kidnapped you, I wouldn’t stick you in a luxurious room. I wouldn’t let you sleep on a bed, I wouldn’t have you here and not torture you.”

The villain hums, their voice dropping low. “You like it when I treat you good?”

“Yes.” No. “I do.” It’s weird.

It takes a single, heart stopping beat for the hero to realise what they’d just said, their brows furrowing in confusion. They open their mouth to say something else, before their eyes flick down to the red pinprick from the needle in their skin. They release a shuddering breath.

“A truth serum,” they breathe. “That’s what you injected me with.”

The villain lets out a dark, amused chuckle. “I was waiting for you to figure it out.”

They lean back, creating a rift of air between them where the hero can still feel their warmth. It still feels hard to breathe, their wrists flexing under the restraints, and they grind their teeth hard together. This is dangerous. This was exactly what they were talking about.

“Are you tired, Hero?” The villain’s soft voice questions, enough to make the hero swallow uneasily. Their heart is racing now, so fast they feel like they’re going to throw up. They screw their eyes shut.

“Yes,” they say, feeling fingers under their jaw, tipping their head back. Their eyes open instinctively. The villain almost coos.

“And you love how easy it is with me,” the villain murmurs, admiring the embarrassed, shunted look in those cute eyes of theirs. “Love how I treat you.”

The hero’s fists clench. They desperately try to say no. “Yes.”

“And,” the villain purrs, their thumb brushing along their bottom lip with precious ease,” it’s dangerous because it’s so easy to shut your brain off. So dangerous to let your guard down around me. Easy to manipulate, as much as you wish that wasn’t true.”

The hero almost whines. “Yes.”

“Do you think I’m manipulating you?” They ask, their voice a hushed whisper, like a soft lull in their brain. The hero squirms, but they still can’t look away, not even daring to swallow. The villain leans in closer, their lips so close to theirs, and their voice turns dark. “Do you think it’s working?”

Who knew the hero’s weakness was simple acts of kindness. The villain had never thought going so easy on them would make them putty in their hands. But it did.

The hero bites down on the inside of their cheek, straining not to answer. The villain’s fingers curl around a lock of their hair, tucking it behind their ear tenderly. Too tenderly - the hero loves it.

“Better not fight it,” they hum. “It’ll hurt.”

“Yes,” the hero finally gasps, the throbbing pain in their head easing. They almost feel out of breath, trembling under each of their cunning touches.

The villain’s eyes gleam, leaning forward to kiss them. The hero had been so adamant they could never defeat them, and it almost makes them crackle. Maybe never in the stereotypical sense, but they had proved this was not a stereotypical rivalry; what was true defeat if they didn’t conquer them, after all?

@badthingshappenbingo

[whumpberry-cookie]

Villain *calls Hero on video cam* Well hello there. I believe I have something of yours.

*there's a cinnamon roll teammate on the screen, clearly in distress*

Hero: They have nothing to do with this!! Release them!!

Villain: "release"?! Dude, come collect them IMMIDIATELLY. They grabbed me in the mall saying they got lost and recognise only me and now they won't let go of my sleeve! I have shit to do, you know?

[girlwithherheadinthestars]

Supervillain monologuing to the entire civilization of Villains: I will burn this world down and remake it into a thriving, beautiful metropolis where we will all be free to do as we wish without all that bullshit --

Hero (leaning against the wall, studying their nails): Language.

*everyone turns to look at Hero in shock; they didn't see them come in*

Hero: Oh, were you having like an epic bad guy moment there? Sorry for that man, I’ll just back up and you take from the top…

Supervillain: What-what are you doing here? Didn't I kill you?

Villain (hanging from the ceiling): Yeah, well, it clearly didn't work did it?

Supervillain: AND DIDN'T I FIRE YOU?

Villain: *shrugs*

Supervillain: AND HOW DID YOU TWO EVEN GET IN THIS IS THE MOST FORTIFIED BUILDING IN THE WORLD?

Villain: Well I'm glad you asked allow me to explain my brilliant idea -

Hero: You mean my brilliant idea --

Supervillain: Why do I even bother -- what do you two want?

Hero: Um, it's literally in my name. I'm a hero. I'm here to beat up villains. So unless you can prove yourself to be a good guy in the next two seconds it’s gonna get ugly.

Villain: i am so in love with you right now.

[run-little-hero]

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

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

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

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

“From Supervillain?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hero plans on sleeping in and waking up alone.

—

snippet #3

[creadigol]

Prompt #7

"So a siren takes the form of whoever you most desire?"

Supervillain rolled their eyes at Henchman, "It takes the form of whoever you love the most. Love and desire are not the same thing. You would die for someone you love, not someone you only superficially desire."

"Yeah, okay...but Villain is on deck right now and..."

Supervillain whipped their head around, "What do you mean Villain is on deck?! I expressly gave the orders for everyone to stay below!"

"I know but sir...."

"No buts! Go out there and get them back inside!"

"You should really see..."

"Really see what?"

Henchman rubbed the back of their neck, "The form the siren took for Villain, to lore them outside...it looks like..."

Supervillain narrowed their eyes, "Like who?"

"Like Detective."

[chorusofcrows]

Villains who are polite and elegant while commiting crimes. Their fighting looks like a dance form. They're well-versed in how to act for/ preform for/ entertain the rich (they are the rich, "villainy pays well"). Genius (actual braindead idiot).

On the other hand, a hit-hard, ask-questions-after kind of hero. They're a disaster, and quite frankly help others because they don't know how (or don't want to) help themselves. Braindead idiot (accidental genius).

Now make it enemies to lovers.

Hero "hates" villain for their mannerism, but they're really just infatuated with them. Villain's taunts make them think about their actions.

Villain's attraction is "why are people in their midlife crisis so hot" and moronsexual™️. Hero makes their brain shortcircuit.

Hero: "Oh poor you, your perfect, greasy, pretty hair is singed."

Villain: Are they flirting or insulting me? God they're so bad at it no matter which on it is (It's both), that's so sexy

Hero, bruised and bloody, getting up with shaky legs, smiling. It's very attractive: "I've been hit harder"

Villain, nose bleeding: "Hello, sailor"

Villain, dusting off their now riped-in-shambles suit, and straightening the cuffs, "I just got this suit after you destroyed the last one. I would ask you to purchase me a new set of attire, but I doubt you can afford it."

Hero, their brain thinking 'No, I deffinately cannot' to 'I'd like to see them without the suit entirely' to 'Wait, what?' and 'God, I hate them, their lovely voice, their hair that smells like how honey tastes, the way they smile when they reveal their plans' and would really like to see villain without the suit entirely (even through villain looks great in all of their suits): "Just stop wearing suits and wear something that can handle me."

Villain, wondering if Hero is doing this on purpose (they aren't) and what their relationship even is: "Hot"

Hero: "What"

Villain: "What"

Hero: "Did you just call me ho-"

Villain, paniking: "You're on fire"

Hero: "???? No, I'm no-????"

Villain, pulling out a flamethrower and shooting Hero (dw they're flame-proof): hO t.

[addiepaca]

#01 Blue Hour Talks

“Are you an idiot?” Medic glared at the Villain, their eyes slightly narrowed while they wrapped a bandage on the other’s arm. “What?” The Villain, slightly baffled at the sudden jab that broke the peaceful silence. They had hoped to at least get some slack after the disastrous fight in the warehouse last night. Bags clearly visible under their eyes after barely getting any sleep for the past few weeks and their body riddled with fresh cuts and bruises.

“Did you really let the Hero beat you because they seemed ‘under the weather’?” They tighten the bandage around their arm, causing some tension in their already strained muscles. “I did not, I just didn’t want to fight a sick hero,” Villain cleared their throat. The two had been throwing punches like usual when the Hero’s eyes seemed hazy, their breathing uneven and their face slightly paler than usual. Their moves were also lacking the typical force and precision, the Villain dodging every blow with ease it was almost laughable. Though the thought seemed to churn the Villain’s stomach with an uncomfortable feeling. Probably pity or something.

“Right, whatever helps you sleep better.”

Medic finished wrapping up their arm and leaned back on their seat, crossing their legs. Turning their attention to what the Villain assumed was their patient file. Villain scoffed lightly, pulling down the sleeve to cover their arm and rolling their eyes. “You know I’m really not appreciating your judgmental comments,” they sneered, brows furrowing as they rested their chin on their hand, pouting like a petulant child.

“I don’t get paid enough to keep those comments to myself,” Medic didn’t look up from the stack of papers in their hands, noting something down with barely readable handwriting on one of the pages. “You don’t get paid for this at all,” Villain retorted.

Medic finally shifted their gaze and groaned, hitting Villain on the head with their own file which made the other gasp in disbelief. “You’re right, it’s charity work. Be grateful I’m even listening to your nonsense,” Medic grumbled. Throwing the papers on their lap for them to read later. “Oh shut it,” they muttered under their breath.

It’s not like the Villain cared or anything, they just happened to be a considerate person. Besides, what good would beating a sick hero be? It’ll be too easy, too boring and definitely not worth their time. Villain had better things to do than prolonging the fight that night, like getting a few minutes of sleep before inevitably failing to get some rest. Eventually dragging themselves to the infirmary to treat the wounds they had been too lazy acknowledge.

“Really, how long are you going to keep this up?” Medic sighed, their eyes scanning over them with a thinly veiled exasperation. Villain, sprawled up on the patient bed with arms folded across their chest raised a brow at the vague question. “Keep what up?”

Medic made a strange gesture with their hands. “This ‘thing’ with the hero,” Swirling their left hand around unceremoniously while scrutinizing the Villain, their face almost looked annoyed. That fact, for whatever reason, made Villain just as irritated. Why couldn’t people mind their own business anymore?

“There is no ‘thing’ between us,” Villain said with a stern tone. Leaving no room for interjections as they glared at Medic. If they were allowed to punch medical personnel on company time, this ridiculous conversation wouldn’t even be happening right now. Medic pursed their lips with a sceptical expression on their face.

“Right,” they replied.

“Right.”

A moment of silence passed over them, as if to let the words sink in before Medic started persisting again.“So there’s nothing going on between you two?” They tilted their head in curiosity like a cat. Villain fought the urge to roll their eyes and rubbed their temples instead, surprisingly taking a second to think before answering. “Other than the usual hatred and disgust, no.” The other hummed in acknowledgement, nodding as they took in the Villain’s reply. “So if the Hero were to start seeing someone else, you wouldn’t mind?” 

The sudden hypothetical caught the Villain’s attention, making them flinch and glare at their sibling, dumbfounded. “What kind of question is that?!” Their voice slightly raised, though they didn’t mean to come off as harsh, the provoking question just irked them. Medic scoffed, a mocking smile playing on their lips as they brushed off their aggression. “Just answer it,” they urged. 

Villain bristled at the smug look on their face, weighing the consequences of knocking them out right now. “I don’t care who they see or don’t see, they’re not important to me.” They lied, the thought of it brought some discomfort to the Villain. After all, who has time for relationships when you’re busy fighting crime? Why would you not devote your utmost attention to your enemy? It’s absurd to think their the Hero would start to stop paying their attention to the Villain in favor of their spouse. The Villain had almost forgotten the fact that the question was a hypothetical.

“Okay,” Medic raised their hands in the air in a defeated gesture while averting their gaze. The corners of their lips twitching to hide a smile, undoubtedly. They leaned back in their chair again, quietly reaching out for the TV remote on the nearby desk. “You don’t believe me,” the words came out from the Villain’s mouth as more of a statement than a question. It wasn’t particularly hard to tell when Medic didn’t believe their half-assed lies. The derisive tone seemed to run in the family after all.

The TV screen lights up the dimly lit room, causing the Villain’s eye to twitch as they adjusted to the brightness. “I believe you, I’m not sure if you believe yourself,” Medic feigned indifference as they casually propped their feet on the bed. “Shut up,” Villain remarked. Kicking their feet away with a grumble, earning an annoyed scoff from Medic. 

“At least say thank you for patching you up,” they pressed the buttons on the remote, rapidly switching between channels while humming. The Villain slumped on their bed, stretching their bandaged arm carefully, almost forgetting the fact that their body hurt like hell. “No.”

Medic turned their head towards them and huffed out an annoyed breath. “Say thank you or I’m telling mum you ended up in the clinic again.”

“Why do you always pull that card?” Villain had the urge to throw them out of the room, but relented given their threat. Which they knew wasn’t a bluff. “Because it always works,” Medic shrugged as if it was a common fact. 

Villain groaned and leaned their head against the headboard, running their hands through their ruffled hair. “Thanks, happy now?” they gave in. Secretly fearing the wrath of a certain woman who they haven’t called in a month.

“Good enough,” Medic smiled smugly. Putting away the remote after settling on the news channel, one of the few that was interesting enough to capture their attention.

“Freak,” Villain muttered under their breath.

“Loser,” Medic replied.

The news flashed a clip of various heroes being awarded a few days ago, smiling and waving to the locals. Their hero inching closer to a certain rookie who hadn’t even been in the business for a year, hand in hand as they laughed softly together, lost in their own world. The Villain clenched their jaw.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Can you please write something where the villain has to take care of the hero’s wounds. Thanks! I absolutely love your writing!

"Don't bloody touch me."

"Your wounds will get infected without the right care."

"Then get one of your lackeys to do it," the hero snapped. "But you - you -" Their throat tightened. Maybe because there were no words to describe the villain, the thing that had once been their friend. Maybe because there were too many words, and they all crowded the hero's windpipe, making it difficult to breathe.

The villain considered them, head tilting, still clutching the first aid kit in their hands.

The hero let out a breath between gritted teeth, tugging at the chains holding their wrists useless above their head.

The villain gave an unreadable sort of hum, then stepped forward with the first aid kit anyway. They knelt. It felt like getting kicked in the jugular.

"If you headbutt me," the villain said, "you'll just get even more restrained. You won't like it. It will set off your claustrophobia."

"Then don't touch me. Don't - why - don't act as if you give a crap."

"Of course I do." The villain took a pair of scissors out first, cutting away the hero's trousers so that they couldn't get at the ruined skin on their leg. Their hands were terribly gentle as they cleaned the cut. "I mean, I also need you alive. But. You know."

"If you gave a crap about me you wouldn't do this. Any of this."

"Ah, love. You're mistaking care with being my first priority," the villain said. "You are, as ever and always, my third."

The hero scoffed, bitterly. Stupid tears threatened to well in their eyes and they jerked their head away, glad, at least, for the sting of disinfectant as an excuse.

They knew the exact list without asking.

The villain's grand plans. Their power.

The villain's life.

The hero's life.

As ever. As bloody always.

The villain glanced up, unerringly finding the hurt.

"I say mistaken," the villain kept their voice light, their hands busy. "It's closer to you thinking it doesn't count, right? If you're not everything?"

The hero's jaw clenched. The tears rolled down, as they knew the tears would, if the villain insisted on touching them with those familiar hands. They were so different, and yet they smelled the same up close, same body wash and shampoo or whatever as they'd always had. Amber. Their touch was the same, precise and dangerous and oh so careful. The hero would know it anywhere. Because, well...

You were everything to me.

It was the fundamental, rotting, entirely infected truth of their relationship.

"What would that team of yours think if they knew you only do what you do to - what? Spite your ex? Get them back?" the villain asked. They moved from disinfectant to the needle and thread.

"You killed people! You need to be stopped. It's not - it's never enough for you! All the power and it's never going to be enough for you, is it? You're a monster."

"And you still want me." The villain smiled at them, blandly. "Worst thing that ever happened to you. That I ever did to you. Is love a thing one does to another, like violence, do you think?"

"You disgust me."

"Mm. Would you like to bite down on something before I give you stitches? Or do you want to take this as an opportunity to work on biting your tongue?"

"I'm not going to stop."

"Of course not. That would require moving on."

The hero snarled, feeling feral, feeling animal. Feeling like they hated that the villain had reduced them to that. All blood, and exposed nerves and bones sticking out where they shouldn't be.

The thread went in and out, in and out.

"Pressure on the wound," the villain said, softly. Then they shoved their hands down hard enough to make the hero whimper, make them writhe. The villain watched. They held on a beat longer than needed, capturing a pained gasp with a press of lips. A nip of teeth. It couldn't really be called a kiss. "You think I'd ever, ever, let my lackeys put their hands on you? You're mine."

Then it was gone, and the hands were gone, and the villain deftly did their bandages as the hero slumped. Clammy with cold sweat.

"And I will always give you the right care you need." The villain straightened, they loomed, looking down at the hero. "Get some rest. It's good to see you again."

They left with the hero still swearing at their back.

[assortedcriminality]

prompt #7

“Damn, you’re so strong,” Hero marveled, tracing a finger down Villain’s muscled arm. “I bet you could just throw me over your shoulder and carry me like a sack of potatoes, huh? Yeah, you totally could, wow.”

Villain scowled. “I’m holding a knife to your throat. Stop flirting with me.”

[liberandi-causa]

Enemies with Benefits

"So, let me get this straight," Hero raises a hand, "after throughly beating me out there, you're here now, treating my wounds and my twisted ankle, while also feeding me soup?"

Villain raises a brow, "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Yes," Hero rolls her eyes, hands moving to cover her face—as if hiding an embarassment that shouldn't have been hers. Then, she places them both by her sides, leaning onward to Villain, "have you considered that maybe it's not the usual procedure between the Chosen One and the Harbinger of Ruin?"

"Traditions bore me." Villain wipes a stain of the cream soup on the edge of Hero's mouth, "Now, say ahh."

[villainousauthor]

The hero wrinkles their nose at smell of antiseptic wipes, at the cold feel against their skin, as the villain prepares to draw more blood. They've lost count how many vials Villain has taken at this point.

Hero winces, trying to flinch away at the inevitable sharp pinch, and Villain digs their fingers into their arm some more. They press hard, cold hands keeping them still. "If I mess up, I'll have to stick you again." They warn, voice level. Paper crinkles under where Hero sits, the soft sound filling the silence.

Hero keeps their gaze downward, the bright florescent lights over head giving them a headache. You think with how long they've been here, they would have gotten used to the ugly, artificial glare, but they miss the sun.

They look up at Villain through their lashes, who's currently too focused on their current task to notice, eyebrows pinched together as they seem deep in thought.

"I doubt you're even certified to be drawing blood in the first place." Hero ribs, voice quiet, the words light but the humor just quite not there.

Villain snorts, as they finish and pull the IV out gently. "I've seemed to be able to do it fine all these weeks." They apply the cotton bandage to the area, securing it in place, though it's honestly not necessary, the small wound already likely healed.

Hero knows they shouldn't be trying to make Villain laugh, or trying to lighten the tense air that surrounds their every interaction. They should be attempting to escape, should be fighting tooth and nail against the strange experiments their arch nemesis insists on trying, but so many failed escapes and so many weeks without the presence of any other person has them weak for any human contact they can get.

They've almost begun to mistake the way Villain grabs their arm when taking blood, the way Villain's cold hand holds their face still when swabbing their mouth, the way they stand close when checking their vitals, as misplaced forms of affection.

It's pure delusion, Hero knows this, but they crave another persons touch so much they can almost believe it. Thinking about it too much makes their head hurt more than even the obnoxious overhead lights do.

Villain takes their silence as a sign to continue speaking. "Soon enough, I'll find the secret behind how your regenerative abilities work and then I'll be unstoppable." They say cleaning up, and placing the three tubes of blood they took on the tray to their left. Hero's head swirls as they watch the swishing of the dark red liquid.

Facing them again, still standing close, Villain's eyes finally meet Hero's and their voice softens slightly when they say this next part. "I won't have to poke and prod you so much when I do." Their voice is gentle enough that Hero wants to believe them, to trust them.

Hero licks their dry lips, voice cracking slightly. "Will...will you finally let me go once you do?" The question Hero has been avoiding asking this whole time.

The question gives Villain pause, as they seem to consider it for a moment. They step closer, placing their hands on either side of where Hero sits, bracketing them in. "I could...I probably should.." Villain's voice is whisper quiet as they stand inches away, breath fanning over Hero's ear.

"But I think prefer keeping you for myself."