#writing snippet

[save-the-villainous-cat]

i’d love to read a continuation of your recent snippet about the suspended hero who is working with the villain, and the villain makes them apologize on their knees! i would love to see a snippet later on in their “partnership” where an even worse enemy makes hero beg, but this time villain doesn’t like the fact that this is happening. maybe along the way they realize that there’s some lines that can’t be crossed, and completely breaking the hero, like this enemy is attempting to, is one of them. thanks!!

pt. 1

"What are you doing?" the villain hissed. They grabbed the hero's arm and pulled them close enough to make the hero's heart drop.

"Could you-" The hero looked at their arm and as soon as the villain's eyes followed, the grip around their arm loosened. The villain didn't let go of them, though.

"They are toying with you. They are using you, you know that, right?"

The hero bit the inside of their cheek.

"They have information."

"They are torturing you psychologically. It's only a matter of when they put their hands on you." The hero stared at their enemy and they barely recognised the person in front of them.

Usually, the villain acted rationally. They acted like an adult. They were organised, clean, neat. But now, they seemed to be acting like their age: restless, emotional, ardent.

Their usually perfect appearance was tainted by messy hair, dark circles under their eyes. A hoodie had replaced the fancy clothes.

This was a temporary alignment. Nothing personal.

"You also made me beg on my knees, so what's the difference?" the hero asked. They averted their gaze and concentrated on calming their heart down. Once they had left the premise of the supervillain, their hands had started to shake. They buried their fists in their pockets.

"What's the difference? What's the difference?" The villain grabbed them by the collar. "I didn't humiliate you in front of other people, I didn't make you cry. Your heart was going crazy the entire time, you were scared shitless in there."

"I'm fine," the hero spat. They put their hands around the villain's wrists. "I told you I am doing whatever it takes to solve this murder. So what's a little humiliation along the way? What's a little humiliation compared to what my colleague, my friend, went through?"

That shut the villain up.

They let go of the hero, took a few steps back and simply stared.

"I am grateful for your help and I will pay you back one day," the hero said. "But please don't judge me for my actions. The agency suspended me. I have no one in my corner at the moment."

The villain snorted. "You have me in your corner, you absolute fool."

Now, it was the hero's turn to be speechless.

They had never expected the villain to say something like that. They had never dared to think the villain might actually do this of their own volition and not only because the hero was going to repay them. Or because toying with a desperate hero was fun.

It was strange to see the villain this worked up. Usually, they'd be the first one to laugh when the hero stumbled over their own feet.

The silence stretched between them. Long. Uncomfortable.

Neither looked at the other.

The hero stared at their shaking hands and debated their next step.

"You cannot possibly be alright with them using you like that," the villain said. Their voice was shaking. "They know they have power over you. What if they are bluffing? What if they don't have any information at all? I know you are desperate. I know you want answers. But not at this cost."

"You know I don't-"

"Not at this cost." The hero looked at them again and this time, the villain looked unbelievably soft. "Please."

The hero mumbled the villain's name, eager to find a resolving answer, but within seconds, the villain was in front of them again, taking both their hands.

"Please," they said, begged. Their eyes were fixed on the hero's. "We will find another solution, I promise. We will find another way, just..."

Their eyes dropped to the hero's lips. It was within the split of a second. Barely noticable.

But the hero had seen it.

"Come to me when you need anything," the villain said. "Please, just come to me next time."

The hero nodded and although they were incredibly relieved that they didn't have to return to the supervillain's estate, they couldn't help but feel that the villain's and their role had exchanged completely.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing.

[super-ion]

"Dragons are covetous creatures," she explains, her breath hot on my neck. "We desire things of beauty. That is our nature."

I dare not breathe as she drags her tongue, rough and wet, across bare skin, down my neck and across my shoulder. The lick is saturated with her magic, and it leaves a trail of tingling skin as her power seeps into my flesh.

"Do you still not yet understand why I might want you?" she asks me.

"N-no," I reply, my voice small and unsteady, barely more than a squeak.

She nips my ear, razor-sharp teeth pressing dangerously close.

"Because you are beautiful, " she purrs.

[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.

[chaos-ducks]

Writing prompt:

The protagonist cackled maniacally, hands slick with blood. Blood, so red and crimson. Made of nothing but iron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen and hydrogen. The blood of their once-friends. Once-family. Once enemies. The river of blood never seemed to stop flowing behind them. The antagonist simply smiled, looking upon the massacre from a distance.

[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.

[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.

[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

[angelbitezzz]

"The stars had long since become mundane to Comet. When you're surrounded by them, traveling in them, eventually it becomes something no longer worth finding wonder in. After all, what mattered was credits, what mattered was finding ways to extend the endless journey, to keep moving.

But this monster? It was as if he'd stepped out of a star himself, a comforting glow radiating from him. It was warm...friendly. Beautiful."

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Rook x Observant Reader excerpt pt way too many:

You give Vil a tight hug back. 

“You remind me of a mom,” you state. 

The model freezes. 

“What?” he asks.

You elaborate, “We’re your found family and you fuss over us, wanting us to be our best selves. You take care of all of us. Is that not what a mother does? Besides, you lean into your femininity and we all consider you the Queen of Pomfiore, not the king. Queens are sometimes referred to as the Mother of the Country.” 

“I suppose that makes sense. Thank you. I’m glad I’m a source of safety and comfort for you,” the actor answers, rubbing your back. 

“You also give milf vibes,” you add. 

He stiffens. You let go as Epel and Grim scream and cackle in the background. You grin, and Rook chuckles. 

“Oui, Roi de Poison does exude that beaute and mature energy,” he comments. “Just remember that people find them devastatingly attractive, Vil.”

The hunter maneuvers you out of the queen’s grasp and to the dormitories. From behind you, you hear Vil scolding the freshmen and demanding to see their homework. He’s not beating the milf allegations. 

(I love Vil. This is also very accurate... I hope I'm not giving away too many funny parts. Although I suppose I'm saving the drama for the full fanfic)

[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

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"No offence, but you look like a corpse."

"You've been oddly cheeky for a hostage."

They stared at each other - both ready to strangle the person in front of them - and forced respective smiles.

The hero crossed their arms in front of their chest, shrugging. They couldn't pull themselves together. They loved annoying the villain a little too much.

"I'm just saying, if you do collapse, I won't do the heroic thing and cardiac massage you back to life."

"I doubt you'd be able to perform any type of cardiopulmonary resuscitation correctly anyway," the villain answered. The hero's smile twitched.

The villain was already getting on their nerves again. It hadn't even been half a day as the villain's hostage and the hero was losing their mind.

"Our great doctor here is in a good mood, I guess," the hero pressed out between gritted teeth. "No need to rub in past mistakes."

"You brought it up first, darling," the villain said. Their eyes widened. They leaned in, their breath tickling the hero's neck and their voice dropped shamelessly. "Don't start wars you cannot win."

"I'm gonna kill you," the hero whispered back. The villain smelled like coffee. But there was something else, something gentler. Vanilla, maybe? The hero's heart dropped inexplicably.

"I'd love to see you try." The villain's smirk didn't falter, but that didn't mean the hero couldn't see the dark circles under their eyes. The hero stared at the villain's face, looked at the shape of their nose, their lips...they supposed their nemesis was quite attractive when they weren't stuck in that ridiculous suit of theirs.

Although, the hero did like the new design they were going for - it was much simpler, darker. It was quiet. Subtle. Somehow comforting.

"What?" the villain asked. This time, their voice was gentler than the taunting melody from earlier. The hero hadn't even realised that the villain's chest was basically pressed against theirs.

They looked away.

"I'd appreciate it if you let me go," the hero said. "You bore me."

"I bore you?"

"You do. You're boring. You constantly work on this stupid thesis of yours and I am supposed to sit still and wait until the city comes up with a ridiculous amount of money in exchange for me." Their eyes narrowed. "You have your ultimate nemesis right in front of you, yet choose to work all day."

"Do you want to spar?" The villain's fingertips brushed the hero's wrist. Purely accidental.

"Do you think sparring in your condition is good for you?"

"That again? One might think you are worried," the villain said. They towered over the hero, but found enough mercy (or cruelty) to bend lower. Once again, their lips were hovering next to the hero's jawline. "Don't get attached."

"You've kidnapped me three times this month already. I don't think you are one to talk about attachment." The back of the hero's hand touched the villain's fingers and they moved their head ever so slightly, until they were able to look into the villain's eyes.

The villain's eyes dropped to the hero's lips.

"Touché..." they said, their voice nothing but a whisper.

The hero was certain they could hear their own heartbeat. They touched the villain's knuckles gently. The villain didn't pull away.

Their eyes met again.

So many times, their eyes had met. On the battlefield, in captivity, in public. But right now was different. It was very different.

The hero could see the many colours the villain's irises were composed of. They could feel how warm the villain was.

Right now, the villain wasn't some enemy the hero needed to defeat. Right now, the villain was terribly human. Terribly soulful. Full of personality. Stubborn, smart, sassy. Full of human nature.

They wetted their lips.

"You..." the hero said. They put their hands on the villain's collarbones and as if the villain had waited for it, they brushed the hero's waist with their fingers. Testing the waters; they hadn't grabbed the hero, yet.

"...yes?" The villain still stared at the hero's lips and pushed a strand of hair that wasn't even in the way out of the hero's face. They tilted their head, came even closer. Their lips almost touched.

"You look even more like a corpse from up-close."

They really couldn't pull themselves together.

[inkpotsprite]

Another snippet from my Duke infused Titans Tower WIP.

[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.