messythoughtsandscribbledplots

[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"Oh, darling," the villain sighed, voice laced with mocking pity. They crossed their arms lightly over their chest as they leaned back against the doorframe, each casual movement lined with grace and power.

The hero froze in place at the sight of them, suddenly unable to move, to breathe. Their legs that had been prepared to run and run and run, forever and ever until their lungs gave out, until the villain could never find them again, now trembled in place as their heartbeat spiraled out of control, thundering so loud in their chest that they couldn't think beyond a panicked no, no, no—

The villain only smiled, cruelty gleaming sharp in their eyes as they strode slowly toward their prey.

"Did you really think I'd let you leave?"

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"Please," the villain whispered.

They didn't fight as they were thrown into the cell, only stared at the hero with pleading eyes so full of guilt and regret—and so at odds with the cruel, merciless eyes of the villain who had slaughtered innocents and leveled cities without a second thought.

"Please, just one more chance. I'm trying—I'm trying so hard to be better, for you," they pleaded, kneeling on the floor of the cell. "Please, please don't leave me here again—"

"You're out of chances," the hero said—cold, unflinching, apathetic. They should have felt some pride at the sight of the mighty villain kneeling, begging at their feet, but they were so tired of dealing with this, of putting up with the same act over and over again, that they felt nothing.

And whatever small part of the hero that had tried, over and over again, to hope, to forgive... it shattered as they slammed the cell door shut on the villain.

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"I hate you," the hero snarled, burning with the force of their rage. "You deserve to suffer, to die for the things you've done—"

"Oh, come on, darling," the villain laughed, stalking closer and closer to the hero's outstretched blade. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

The hero didn't, couldn't, pull away from the villain's touch—not as strong, gentle fingers traced a line down their cheek and along their lips, not as their traitorous heart started beating faster, faster, faster.

"You've always been so terrible at lying."

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"Please," the hero whispered, blade slipping through their fingers to clatter against the stone floor.

They had no strength left to fight this, to do anything but stare in terror as the villain's power swirled around them, an angry mass of shadows stretching farther and farther out into the world. The villain only laughed, cold and cruel, as that monstrous power burst out of them.

"Please, you don't want to do this."

"Oh, darling," the villain sighed, the words laced with venom, a maniacal gleam in their eyes that was beyond saving, beyond stopping. "I most definitely do."

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"Please," the villain whispered, "just stay. We can talk about this—"

"I have nothing to say to you," the hero snarled, pushing past the villain.

"Wait." The villain grabbed the hero by the arm, a desperate pleading in their eyes as they met the hero's stare. "Please, I can't lose you."

Shame flushed bright red across the villain's cheeks—shame at their own weakness, at the vulnerability they couldn't hide—but the hero only jerked their arm away, anger burning in their eyes.

"I am not yours to have or lose."

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"I can't do it," the hero whispered, hands shaking. They had the villain pinned beneath them, tip of their blade balanced directly over the villain's heart, yet they couldn't bring theirself to land that killing blow. Victory was theirs, yet they couldn't bring theirself to take it. "Pathetic," the villain snarled, spitting in the hero's face. "You've always been such a coward." Maybe so, the hero thought as they shifted their weight, lowered their blade. Maybe they weren't cut out for this, to fight and defeat a monster that they only felt sorry for. The hero reached down to help the villain to their feet, but the villain only scowled at the outstretched hand, at the pity in the hero's eyes. "If you can't do it, I will," the villain snarled, and plunged their blade deep into the hero's chest.

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

Could you write one where the hero is completely broken by their abusive mentor who believes "cant break what's already broken" so trains him to be broken and all they are good for is hero stuff and the villain finds out...and hero wakes up in the villain's base, no clue how they got there and they notice the villain caring for them gently and lovingly and the hero dosnt understand why because, thanks to the mentor, pure fear and pain and being heroic is all they know/felt/endured...

The hero stumbled back to the base, almost collapsing as they passed through the entrance. They were exhausted, sore, aching, but they had made it home.

Home.

But the hero couldn't rest, not yet, despite how they longed to curl up right there on the floor and sleep off the ache in their limbs. The hero had braced theirself to return here and face their mentor empty-handed, yet still they winced at the sight of the mentor waiting for them, waiting for answers—feet planted firmly apart, shoulders back, arms crossed.

"I let them get away," the hero whispered, leaning against the wall to keep from toppling right over. They hung their head, unable to face the disappointment in that cold, unforgiving stare. "I was hurt, and cornered, and... I ran. The villain... I wasn't ready. They were going to kill me."

"You failed."

The hero whimpered—a small, choked sound—and bit their lip to hold back tears as their mentor approached, each footstep heavy and deliberate. The hero kept their gaze pinned on the floor, wishing they could hide, disappear.

"You were weak."

The hero couldn't bring theirself to speak, couldn't think of what to say. Their mentor was right—the hero was weak. They had one job, one purpose in this life, and they had failed. Again.

"Look at me." The mentor gripped the hero's chin, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, and tilted it up until their eyes locked. Held it there long enough for the hero to read the emotions in those dark eyes—anger, disgust, disappointment—and then, faster than the hero could anticipate, the mentor's fist slammed straight into the hero's face.

The hero screamed, crumpling to the floor.

"Can't even take a punch. Pathetic," the mentor snarled. "Get up."

The hero struggled, arms shaking, to push theirself off the floor, whimpering at the pain that had the corners of their vision going black. Despite it, they obeyed as the mentor instructed them to take off their shirt, to face the wall, to brace their arms above their head.

"Please," the hero whispered. They had already been dealt so much pain today—

But their mind went blank as the first lash broke through their skin, warm blood leaking down their back. They bit their lip to keep from screaming—the mentor liked it when they kept quiet, took the punishment without a sign of weakness. They pushed the pain to the back of their mind, burying it like the mentor had taught them.

Another lash.

"Good," the mentor said, and the hero smiled, and replaced the pain with thoughts of happy things.

Your body is an object. A weapon. Weapons do not feel pain. Weapons cannot be broken.

Another lash. Again, again, again.

By the time the hero passed out from the pain, their palms were bleeding from how hard their nails had dug into the skin, their lip bleeding from how hard they had bitten down to keep from screaming.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When the hero woke, the pain had faded to a dull throbbing from their head to their toes. They kept their eyes shut, wanting to stay in bed for just a moment longer, not quite ready to face the day that awaited them—but the bed they lay in was not their own. The blankets beneath them were soft and fluffy, the mattress thick—a far cry from the scratchy sheets and cardboard-thin mattress on their small cot at home. They opened their eyes to see walls that were blue, not gray, and a large window open to let in a fresh, cool breeze. They didn't have a window at home.

The hero scanned the room and stiffened when they saw the villain, reaching immediately for a weapon that wasn't there. They had been stripped bare, their torso wrapped in bandages, wearing nothing but a clean cotton shirt and pants. Completely and utterly defenseless—and alone with the enemy.

The hero pushed theirself out of bed, ignoring the agony as wounds in their back split open, blood soaking through the bandages.

Bury the pain.

The villain was on their feet in the instant, reaching for the hero. "Stop, you're hurt. You need to rest-"

The hero flinched at the movement, backing away with their teeth gritted.

'Why are you hurting me?' the hero had sobbed when they first started training with the mentor.

'This is for your own good,' their mentor said. 'I will break you so thoroughly that you can never be broken again. You will learn to bury your pain, to not feel it, to let nobody use that weakness against you. They cannot break what is already broken.'

"Where am I?"

"My home," the villain said, gently, carefully.

"How? Why?"

"Your mentor," the villain snarled, nearly spitting out the word before regaining their calm composure, "left you sprawled on the floor like a bloody slab of meat. Unconscious, defenseless, free for the taking."

The hero swallowed down their questions, a nauseating mix of emotions swirling around inside their gut.

"I assume this was supposed to be another test," the villain sighed, after a long moment of silence. "Send you straight into the enemy's hands, already injured and hurting, see if all that training did any good. But I assume you're tired of all the training and tests. You look like you could use a vacation."

The hero stiffened. That's what this was. Another test. Another chance to prove theirself.

"Don't pretend to know anything about me or my training," the hero growled. They squared their shoulders, forcing theirself to meet the villain's eyes with determination instead of fear. "What I'm really tired of is games, so stop playing them. You can trick me and torture me all you want, but I will never tell you what you want to know and I will never surrender to you."

No pain. No fear. No weakness.

They repeated the words silently as the villain drew closer.

No pain. No fear. No weakness.

The hero flinched as the villain's arms wrapped around their body, the villain's hand reaching up to hold the hero's head against their shoulder. This wasn't like any kind of punishment the mentor had given them—it didn't even hurt.

"What are you doing?" the hero hissed, arms hanging limp at their sides.

"It's a hug, dumbass," the villain sighed. "You look like you need one."

"I—wh—I don’t—”

"I'm not playing games, and I'm not going to hurt you. I know you're in a lot of pain, and you've been forced to be strong, all alone," the villain whispered, pulling back to meet the hero's eyes.

"But I'm here for you now, and it doesn’t have to be like that anymore.”

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"No," the villain gasped, falling to their knees beside the hero's body. "No, no, no."

They pressed their hands to the hero's chest in a pitiful attempt to stop the bleeding. They were shaking from head to toe, trembling as panic built up in their chest. The hero couldn't die. The hero couldn't die. The hero couldn't die.

"Hey, it's okay," the hero whispered, placing a hand over the villain's, intertwining their fingers together, holding them close to their heart.

"You promised me you’d be okay. You promised me you would live," the villain whimpered, a single tear falling down their cheek. "You promised."

The hero only let their eyes fall shut with a final sigh, a soft smile twisting up the corners of their lips.

"Sometimes it's easier to lie."

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

It was the fear that froze the villain in their tracks. It was the fear that dug a knife into the villain's heart, brought tears to their eyes, sent shards of glass shattering through their soul.

It was the pure, undiluted terror that shone in the hero's eyes, the tremors that racked their entire body, and those broken whimpers that broke from their throat... God. The villain's hand went limp at the sight of it, weapon falling forgotten to the floor.

The hero flinched at the sound. "Y-you... you're not going to kill me?" they whispered, the words barely more than a shaky breath that broke the villain's heart.

"No," the villain whispered, falling to their knees beside the trembling hero, taking the hero's hands in their own and holding them tight.

"No."

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

The hero's strength was lagging. They could feel exhaustion pulling at their bones, in every clash of swords that sent them staggering back a few steps.

They were on the verge of losing, but they had been outmatched from the very beginning. Every move they made, every breath they took, was just a delay of the inevitable, a hopeless battle against fate itself.

And the hero was so, so tired of fighting.

They barely registered the feeling of the sword slipping through their fingers. Barely registered the shock that shot down every nerve as their knees crashed into the cold stone floor.

"You don't get to quit," the villain snarled, but the hero barely heard the words, the world around them fading to a dull buzzing in their ears. "Pick up your sword and fight back!"

But the hero had no fight left in them.

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"I trusted you," the hero whispered, blinking fast against the flow of tears.

The wounded beats of the hero's heart were the only sound to break the silence stretched thin across the room. The hero lifted their head to meet the villain's eyes, searching for something there—some guilt or regret or pain to match the hero's own—but there was nothing. The villain was nothing more than a statue, cold and unmoving, eyes dark and empty when they finally opened their mouth to speak.

"Your mistake."

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

"Leave me alone."

The words were cracked and broken, muffled with the hero's head buried in their arms. They didn't bother to look up as the villain entered the cell. They didn't bother to hide their pain, their fear.

"I'm sorry," the villain whispered, watching the hero's shoulders shake with silent tears.

"I really thought somebody would come to save you."

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

The hero couldn’t keep their hands from shaking as the chains tightened around their wrists, as the sound of the door locking echoed like a thunderclap around the cell. They couldn’t contain the soft whimpers that broke out of them like the weak, miserable cries of a wounded animal. The hero was stuck, trapped, paralyzed by fear and locked down by chains, all alone with the villain and they couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—

“Relax, darling.” The villain’s words were too gentle, their eyes too warm, their smile too sweet. “I won’t kill you.”

Somehow, the words weren’t comforting.

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

hello. could you write one where the hero thinks the villain hates them because the hero had to kill someone who the villain was working with/was companions with and the villain has to convince the hero that they still love them.

There was a sick feeling in the hero’s chest as they waited on the villain’s doorstep. They should feel relieved—they had just escaped death, after all—but the blood on their hands didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a punishment, hot and sticky as it dripped to the ground, a reminder of who they were, of what they had done.

They flinched as the door opened, as they were faced with the villain. Could the villain see the guilt shining bright in the hero’s eyes? Could they tell what the hero had done? Could they tell that the hero was a monster?

“Oh, thank God you’re still here,” the villain said, pulling the hero into a hug with a sigh of relief. “Henchman didn’t make it back, I was worried you might be hurt—is that your blood?”

The hero was limp in the hero’s arms, shoulders shaking with silent sobs as the tears began to fall.

“Hey, what’s wrong—”

“It was me,” the hero choked out with a muffled whimper. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so, so sorry. They didn’t give me a—a choice. They were trying to kill me. I’m sorry. I—I should have let them. I should have let them kill me. I—”

“Hey.” The villain grabbed the hero’s shaking hands, tilting the hero’s chin up to meet their eyes. “Let’s get you washed up, okay?”

The hero had frozen, staring into space with a blank, lost look in their eyes, but the villain led them carefully into the house, knelt by the bathtub and began to scrub the blood from their hands, their hair.

“Can you ever forgive me?” the hero whispered as the water around them turned crimson red.

“Of course, darling.” The villain’s voice was calm and gentle as they worked.

“Can you ever—” The hero was cut off by a broken sob. “Can you ever love me again?”

“I will never stop loving you,” the villain said as they turned the water off, running a towel through the hero’s hair. “Never,” they added with a small, pained smile, as they lifted the hero up, carried them to the couch, set them down on the pillows with all the care in the world.

“I’ll leave,” the hero said. The hero’s eyes were drifting shut, their voice heavy with sleep setting in. “I’ll leave, if you want me to. If you don’t want me around anymore.”

The villain only knelt on the ground beside the hero’s head, took their hand and pressed a gentle kiss there.

“Never.” They smiled as the hero drifted off. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

“Stop.”

The hero’s voice rang around the room, leaving a dark, heavy silence in its wake. The hero swallowed, heart skipping a beat as the villain’s attention turned to them.

“Take me instead.”

The villain raised a single eyebrow at that, eyes brightening with amusement.

“Silly little hero,” they said, a pitying smile twisting up the corners of their lips. “Why on earth would I ever want you?”

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[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

love your writing! just asking if you could write something based of this idea: the hero after fighting the villain loses their memory of being a hero as well as the villain's identity and the villain pursues the hero (now a normal civilian as they don't know how to control their powers anymore) romantically where the hero is more fun and outgoing than what the villain was used to, thanks if you do it!

The villain’s heart stopped when they saw the hero.

They gasped and time stopped, their heart frozen, their breath held as they took a single, shuddering step forward.

Then time started again, the world around them came rushing back into focus, and the villain remembered theirself, started moving again so as not to draw attention. But they couldn’t take their eyes off the hero walking down the street ahead of them, couldn’t swallow down the lump in their throat, couldn’t shake the desperate wanting from their thoughts.

The villain had been wandering for so long now, had been lost for so long now, but they finally, finally felt like they could breathe again.

If the hero noticed the villain, there was no sign of it—so they really had lost their memories, then. The villain hadn’t wanted to believe the rumors, but seeing the hero here, alive and carefree, spring in their step as they strolled down busy shopping streets, the villain knew that this was for the best. Even if it meant the hero wouldn’t remember them.

The villain was so lost in thought that they didn’t notice the hero stopped in front of them and it was too late, and they were tripping, sending them both sprawling across the street.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” The villain pushed theirself to their feet, then helped the hero up, heart leaping at the touch of the hero’s hand in theirs. The villain’s cheeks flushed bright red, but the hero was laughing.

“It’s okay.” They brushed the dust off their clothes and looked up to smile at the villain. “Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, have I?”

The villain almost winced, heart aching at the bright innocence in the hero’s eyes. “Nope, I just got here.”

“Well, welcome.” The hero was practically beaming, their smile radiating warmth, their eyes shining like the sun itself. “It’s a small town, but I’d love to show you around, if you’ll let me?”

The villain couldn’t help smile at the hero’s outstretched hand. The hero may not remember them, but there were some things that were better off forgotten, and things were different now anyways. The hero’s hand was a promise, a new beginning, a second chance.

And feeling freer than they’d ever felt, the villain took it.

#request #writing #my writing #writeblr #hero x villain #heroes and villains #writing prompt #writing snippet #writing inspiration

[messythoughtsandscribbledplots]

Hi! You have such a way with words! Would you mind maybe writing something to the prompt 'show me no mercy?" Where the hero cracks under pressure, turns on themselves and tells the villain to show them no mercy? Thanks and feel free to ignore this if you don't want to xx

The hero was gasping for breath as they chased after the villain in the streets, lungs burning, legs aching as they weaved through crowds of people. When they finally caught up, they grabbed the villain by the shirt, shoving them into the nearest alley.

“Hey, what the—” The villain turned to see the hero standing before them, eyes wide and wild, chest heaving. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I know you’ve been looking for me. I know you want to hurt me.” The hero laughed, a broken, maniacal laugh. “Come on, give me your worst.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” the villain said. “Not here.”

“Why not?” the hero hissed, swinging their arm at the villain. The villain grabbed it, and then the other, pinning the hero in place.

“Hey, what’s going on with you—”

The hero broke from the villain’s grasp, wiping tears from their eyes with shaking hands. When they lifted their head again, the villain saw that their eyes were bloodshot, their cheeks stained with tears.

“I said, give me your worst,” the hero snarled, wild anger burning in their eyes as they hurled their magic at the villain. “Show me no mercy.”

The villain flung up a wall, deflecting the hero’s chaotic bursts of power. It wasn’t long before the hero collapsed to the ground, bent over their knees, their breaths slow and heavy.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the villain said carefully, as they knelt beside the hero, resting a gentle hand on the hero’s back.

“Please,” the hero whispered. When they looked up, the wild rage had disappeared from their eyes, leaving behind an empty, broken shell.

“No,” the villain said with a weak smile. “No, I think you’ve been hurt enough, darling.”

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