“Oh, Christ—” the hero cursed. They tried to laugh but this time, they couldn’t conjure the energy for it. Usually they laughed off most things but this was a little too serious.
“Stop moving,” the villain hissed. They pressed their palm into the hero’s side and although the hero wanted to pretend it didn’t actually hurt them, it burnt. It burnt a lot.
The hero had never experienced this kind of pain nor had they ever had the slightest idea how mortal they actually were. To be fair, they had never ripped open most of their torso either.
With the villain putting more pressure onto the wound each second, the hero could only pray that they wouldn’t pass out.
“And stop smiling, this isn’t funny,” the villain added.
“I’m nervous,” the hero explained. “And this fucking hurts.”
The villain slammed them back against the tiles when their hips moved up. It made the hero whine and beg like a dog but the villain didn’t seem to care about that. Eventually, they sat down on the hero’s hips and kept their hands on their flesh.
In other circumstances, this would’ve promised a good night. The hero was already without a shirt and the villain was, indeed, certainly attractive.
However, the hero was quite sure they had never seen this much blood in their entire life. If they had had the energy, they would have apologised for the bloody bathroom. The sink and floor especially.
“You won’t die on me. I know how to fix this.”
“Wouldn’t the bleeding stop if you pushed your fingers into the wound?” the hero asked. They felt light-headed. They had heard something like this in training. A sort of last-resort-thing.
But their thoughts already blurred together. They took in deep breaths as their body pumped blood through their torso. They were delirious, tasting blood. Oh God, the villain would kill them for ruining the bathroom.
“Do you actually want that?” the villain asked. The hero looked at the villain’s fingers move towards the cylindrical wound. Two fingers were on the raw and bleeding flesh, dipped in thick blood and nearly digging into the messy wound.
“Ah, maybe not—” It had been a screwdriver. The hero had been attacked with a screwdriver and their nemesis tried to save them from bleeding out.
It was so pathetic, so embarrassing, the hero could only laugh weakly. On their patrol the hero had been a little too confident, a little too cocky and now they turned the villain’s white bathroom into a red nightmare. This damn bathroom.
“Smart choice.” Instead of pushing their fingers into the wound, they used their palm again. Without much thought, the hero grabbed the villain’s arm but they couldn’t swallow the scream this time.
By now, tears ran down their cheeks and they could feel the wound pulsate. They wanted the villain’s soft touch and their sweet smile.
They wanted to fall asleep on their chest and forget about this stupid thing.
Longing for someone was something the hero loathed.
“Just let me die, please, this is torture.” They whimpered the last words. With one last rush of energy, they pushed themselves up to talk some sense into the villain but the villain only pushed them down again.
“I’m afraid this isn’t your decision anymore. I will save you and I’m sorry you’re hurt.” They grabbed the bottle of pure rubbing alcohol and the hero nearly managed to crawl back a little. “You need to survive.”
“Please, there is so much blood…”
“I am not going to let you die.”
“Then please be gentle.” The tears made it difficult to see them but the villain stared at them and the hero could feel something shift. Something was changing behind the villain’s eyes. They hesitated. “What?”
“Here.” The villain took their hand. “Squeeze as hard as you can when it starts to hurt.”
“You’re too kind,” the hero joked. Exhaustion took over them quickly. They were sweating. They felt disgusting. They were trembling. They waited for the alcohol to burn their skin.
“Oh, darling. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” The hero frowned but the villain slapped them immediately without an explanation. The hero was so confused, so offended that they didn’t expect the following pain of the alcohol on their raw skin.
They supposed it was better this way but they still cursed the villain with every single insult they could come up with.
”Nothing… and why would you care?” the hero snapped, having no patience for the villain's sudden kindness.
First, they broke their body yesterday during their fight, making the hero look weak in front of their team. Then they break into their apartment through the window, and to wrap it all up in a nice little bow, they had the audacity to ask if the hero was okay. Like they cared about them.
The villain slowly walked over to the hero leaning on their bedroom door. They softly brushed their hands over the hero’s wounds, making the hero wince. The hero hated the way their heart was beating in the villain’s presence.
The villain sighed, slowly lifting the hero’s arm, taking a disinfectant cloth from the first aid kit and quickly dabbing it over the angry bloody skin.
The hero sucked in a breath, and it scared them. Not the pain, no. The villain being so abnormally kind.
The worst part, it felt… good.
The hero sunk into the wood door, their eyes watching the villain’s handiwork closely. The villain's soft fingers stroked their arm as they tended the hero, leaving goosebumps all over, making their breath hitch.
The hero wasn’t sure if the villain was doing it to distract from the pain, or maybe they didn’t even realize they were unconsciously comforting them.
”Let me take care of you,” the villain murmured, still cleaning the wounds and looking them dead in the eyes.
The hero wanted them to. Let the same person who gave them these wounds clean them until the hero sank into their comfort.
They were in deep trouble.
The hero’s breath hitched, their body tensing when the villain's hand swiftly grabbed the hero’s chin. The only thing that didn’t completely scare the hero was that their grip was firm but still gentle.
”Then afterwards—”
The hero’s mouth fell slightly open as the villain came closer and closer to their face, their fingers rubbing back and forth.
Their eyes had that glint in them that killed. All the amusement, all the calmness from before had drained from their face. There was only anger left. The hero gulped.
”—You can enlighten me about the handprint on your face that I didn’t leave.”
“I wish we could start over.” Civilian mumbled through tears, trying to earn themselves one more look from their hero ex-lover, but Villain saw right through them.
Protectively, they wrapped an arm around the crime-stopper’s deflated shoulders, before they retorted.
“See, darling,” he murmured, brushing their hair almost tenderly. “See what happens when you try to help them?” The sobs only grew, tears soaking through Supervillain’s shirt, not that either cared enough to notice.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I thought-” a hiccup interrupted them, and Supervillain shushed them, leaning their cheek on the other’s head.
“I know, dear. You wanted to help. You’re sweet like that.” They waited for their child’s cries to quiet, pushing them away gently as they wiped remaining tears from their cheek. “Just let me handle this, now. I’ll make everything right, darling. You just stay here and be good.”
Whumpee was awoken by a sharp shift in the bed. Over their captivity, they had become hyper aware of the body sleeping next to them, stirring whenever he tossed and turned under the covers. Steadying their breathing, Whumpee focused on each move and sound he made, trying to determine what he was doing.
The sheets ruffled and then there was no more drastic movement. Air brushed against their back, the spot next to them cold with the open covers. Whumpee covertly looked to their left to see where he had gone, only to be surprised to find him still on the bed.
Whumper sat on the edge of the mattress, breathing heavily. His body shook slightly and his fingers twitched in a rhythmic motion.
One, two, three.
Four, five, six.
Seven, eight, nine.
As if he was counting the seconds.
They continued to analyze his body language, trying to ascertain whether he was a threat in this state. His shoulders were hunched, they could hear him mumble under his breath, and he seemed distracted. All things to be wary of, but no immediate action. They watched until Whumper’s hand stilled.
“I can feel you staring.”
Whumpee quickly turned back around and resumed pretending to be asleep, hoping he would think it was his imagination and not pester them.
However, his tired, gruff voice spoke up once more. “Prašau Whumpee, you have worked in the field; if you can’t tell that someone is watching you, you are dead.” He sighed. “Miegok. Go back to sleep.” Whumper stood up, legs faintly shaking, turning to walk around the bed to the door, “I’m going out,” there was a waver in his voice, “I’ll be back later.”
Whumpee’s mind raced. They could not let him leave. Despite the ease it brought it, Whumpee could not ignore the blood dripping off him. The rips in his clothes and the scratches on his skin. They knew intimately what it was like to be the object of his ire and would not wish it on another soul.
Before they could even process what their brain decided to do, Whumpee lashed out and grabbed his hand.
Whumper startled, ripping his arm out of their grasp, a flash of fear in his eyes, before he managed to smooth it out.
“W-wait!” Instinct tells them to drop it. Let him leave and vent his anger out on someone else. Save themself the trouble and pain. But they do not, a doomed mouse asking the snake for mercy, reaching out again instead.
“Why don’t you… stay here, with m- me, instead?”
A blank stare is all they are met with. He says nothing, searching them for something they don’t know. Whumpee’s lips quiver as they strain to stretch them out into a pleasant smile. They’re not quite sure they make it.
“Are you stupid?”
It is not a response they expected, but it does make them start to regret their decision. Whumpee curls back into themself in response.
Seriously! What was the goal with that? What was I planning to do?
A voice in their head— their survival instinct— berates them for their stupidity. But another speaks over it.
What if he kills someone? I know I can take it. Maybe I could even calm him down peacefully.
‘Calm him down peacefully.’ Like that’s my job?! Let him suffer. Let me get some sleep while I can.
Diverting their gaze, Whumpee listens to their arguments, the angel and devil on their shoulders. One looking out for themself, honestly the smarter option, while the other parroting ingrained selflessness, perhaps the moral option.
They should have let him be. Whumper would do what he wanted no matter their opinion. Why trouble themself with the pain of interference.
But what if he actually listened for once? He had proven time and time again to be weak to them— when it came to other people— why not test the theory again.
The incessant arguing in Whumpee’s head ceases when he talks once more.
“What? Is the hero finally having second thoughts; not able to play the bystander anymore?”
An unbidden memory of looking at absurd trolley problems with Bestie pushes to the forefront of Whumpee’s mind. Choosing ludicrous option after ludicrous option, giggling at the scenarios the poor stick figures found themselves in. If only things could be that simple now.
He grabbed their cheeks, forcing them to face him. “I asked you a question.” Their situation slaps back into focus, and Whumpee stutters to give a response.
His voice seemed more curious and surprised than angry, so Whumpee tried to give him a more natural answer. “… No…” Honesty always went far with him. “I just…” They tentatively place a hand on his face and Whumpee instantly softens. A good sign. “You have me now. You don’t need to leave anymore.”
He doesn’t respond, only nuzzling into their hand further, but they can feel him ponder her words. They needed to fully entice Whumper into staying.
“Lie down with me. Let me make you feel better.” He looks at them confused, but not disinterested. No going back now.
Whumpee coaxes his head into their lap, repressing the urge to tremble at his proximity. He complies, curling into them like a cat. Taking a deep breath, Whumpee lets out their fears and misgivings about the situation before continuing. Their quivering fingers part his hair, threading through the dark locks.
They’ve rarely touched them before, only having yanked the tresses to inflict a margin of the same pain he’s given them, panic driving them on despite any potential consequences. Yet, this stress is different. As they run their hand through the soft strands, resentment starts to build in the place of their anxiety.
The intimacy is a spark to the meager kindling of their frustration.
However, Whumper is content, practically purring at their ministrations. Their actions have had the desired effect, calming the man from whatever torment ailed him.
They remain there, one serene with their touch, the other restless at his affection, for a while, until Whumper hesitantly breaks the tranquility.
“I love you…”
It was one of the few times he said it without any underlying malice or lust, and each time it makes their stomach clench. The emotion, the context, the… everything behind those three little words made them hate him more each time.
They just didn’t want to be here anymore.
“I love you so much.” The words tumble out of him in a rush, like he’s worried that they don’t believe him. “I promise I love you. I’m sorry… for not- I- I can’t- You’re-” he stumbles over his words, a rare look of guilt on his face, “I’m sorry for not letting you go.” Whumpee’s hand stilled.
“But, I- I just can’t. You have to understand. It’s just too late.” Now he feels ashamed? “I should have never kept you for so long, I should have never let you leave the basement, I should have never taken you in the first place.” Now he regrets it? “But now, I’ve condemned us both.” They nearly miss his next sentence.
“You made me think I could make something sweet.”
He quiets down once again, face scrunched in thought, and the time passes like honey dripping between their fingers. The silence stretches for what could have been hours, minutes, or seconds. They resume petting him; the repetitive action agitates them. Finally, his face smooths and he pipes up again.
“But, it’ll be okay. We’ll be a real family… You’ll get used to this… I’ll get used to this.”
It’s quiet once more, and Whumpee refuses to speak or even acknowledge what he has said. Their hand pauses once more in disbelief. Closing their eyes and desperately struggling not to scream, rage burns its way up their throat.
“I hope you can forgive me.”
Forgiveness? How could they even forgive someone like him, after all he’s done to them?
It wasn’t fair. They were supposed to be in their apartment, snuggled up in blankets and watching snow through the window. Or sipping hot cocoa with Bestie as they watched corny romcoms. They were supposed to be refusing Caretaker’s invitation to join them on a too early morning run. And staying way too late on overtime combing through paperwork.
Not this.
Right as their fury was to peak, as their indignation was to boil over, it all abandoned Whumpee in a moment, hand restarting its rhythmic motions in his hair.
They were stuck here now, and there was no changing that.
Villain let out a deep sigh as the walked into their lair. That day had been rough. Their little scheme that they'd been planning ended up turning into a big scheme due to some unknown information that had made itself known during the mission.
Let's just say chaos ensued.
Villain should've just gone home and crashed into their bed but no; they somehow convinced themself that they still had enough energy to complete the work they were supposed to complete earlier if the mission didn't take as long as it did. Now, they were feeling it.
The squeak of the chair could be heard as villain sat heavily in their desk chair with a huff. Only after a few seconds did it catch their eye. A wrapped box with a pretty orange bow on top that contrasted beautifully with the purple gift wrapping. Villain's favorite colour. A letter sat beside it reading,
"𝑻𝒐 𝑽𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏"
Villain stood to admire the amazing work on the wrapping. Everytime they wrapped something, or tried to, it came out looking like they did it with no fingers. A cellphone once got mistaken for a hockey stick.
How? Don't ask them.
A box of this size shouldn't alerted them the second they walked into the room. Another testament as to why they need to call it a day and just go home.
Villain decided to open the letter addressed to them first. Written in the same same neat cursive as the address was a note that read:
There were a million things Villain should be thinking of right now. Like how Hero got into their lair or how they just insulted everything about it, or how Hero even knew it was Villain's birthday, but instead, all Villain could think about was,
"Generous?" Villian snorted. "Yeah, right."
Villain opened the box to see the golden ring with its holy engravings. The amethyst jewl shing bright in the light. Villain's favorite colour, but Hero knew that. It's the same ring Villain's team wanted to get for Villain's birthday, but due to unfortunate circumstances, couldn't. To say they were bummed would he an understatement, but Villain ensured them that it was the though that counted and instead went out to dinner with them.
They put the ring on and watched it glimmer in the light.
Maybe being Hero's wasn't so bad.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's my Birthday🎂🎁🎈🎉🥳🎊
So decided to write a birthday themed prompt today!!!
Hello!! I would like to request a part 2 (or not? more like another POV) to the protective younger sibling!sidekick snippet if you’re okay with it ^^
This time it’s hero asking henchman to meet up and henchman just panics like “omg do they know who i am?? bro im going to get my ass beat and die 😭💀” and decides to spill everything from their real identity to their bar escapades with sidekick
but in reality hero was just really glad that their younger sibling finally got a special someone so they just wanted to get to know them more and all about their relationship😭 also ofc they knew who henchman was all along, duh (their villain lover tells them literally everything)
pt. 1
“I swear, I wasn’t trying to spy on them or anything like that — at first I didn’t even know it was them and I think they still don’t know it’s me. I just kind of met them a couple of times coincidentally and I don’t know, I like them a lot, I really do. They’re so smart and like, I don’t know, so quick? Like they can keep up with my mind and I wasn’t really trying anything at first, I didn’t even think they’d like me and I was just kind of—”
“Woah, I didn’t even get to accuse you of anything.” The hero played with their pen out of habit and studied the henchman. They were certainly panicking and the hero was not going to let something this small turn into this giant thing. “I wish all my interrogations would go that way. Would make my job certainly easier…”
“Please don’t kill me,” the henchman whispered.
“Jeez. Relax. I’m not gonna kill you for dating my sibling.” The hero rolled their eyes. What exactly was their lover telling the henchman about them? That they were some sort of monster?
They definitely needed to talk to the villain. They’d danced around this subject for a while now. When the hero had found out a few weeks ago, they had wanted to talk to the henchman immediately but the villain had urged them not to rush into anything.
And they supposed the villain was right about that.
Getting into other people’s business didn’t always turn out great for the hero.
And they simply really wanted to see their lover.
“Technically, we’re not dating…”
“Well, whatever you want to call it, I can’t tell you what to do and what not to do. You’re great, so I have nothing to fear. I just wanted to get to know you a little better.” The hero worried their lip between their teeth. Maybe they had enough time to visit the villain during lunch? They let the pen spin in their hand.
“Wait…really?”
“Yeah, you’re old enough, I reckon. You can decide these things for yourself.” The hero took in a deep breath. Maybe they should review some cases first? For whatever reason, their mind kept jumping from one topic to another and they weren’t really sure if it was the coffee or them being a little more nervous than they wanted to admit.
This was their sibling’s first (potential) relationship. Clearly, they were old enough and the henchman was a great choice but the hero wondered if their sibling wanted to distance themselves now that they were older.
Whatever choice they’d make, the hero was going to support them, even if that meant they were the annoying older sibling. Maybe the villain had some advice for them.
They closed their eyes and took in a deep breath. Speculating wouldn’t get them far.
“I’m not really used to…responsibility, I guess?” The henchman stared at the hero’s desk as if they were trying to control it with their mind. Their nervousness had shifted to embarrassment and the hero didn’t want that in their office either.
“How so?”
The henchman thought about their words carefully, as if the hero was still an enemy they needed to be cautious around.
That was smart. But the hero doubted they still saw them as a threat. If they really wanted to date the hero’s sibling, they’d try everything to end up on the hero’s good side.
God, their mind was racing. They really needed to see the villain. They always managed to calm them down.
“…sometimes I feel more like a burden to the villain. They barely take me out on missions or let me help them,” they eventually said and the hero couldn’t believe how far off the henchman was with an assumption like that.
Them? A burden to the villain who protected them, shielded them as if they were their own child?
“They’re terrified of losing you,” the hero said.
“I can take care of myself. I’m not dumb.”
“They don’t think you are.” The hero clicked their pen a couple of times and doodled some hearts onto paper. The henchman seemed to be a usually quiet person but right now, a lot of frustration was set free.
It wasn’t exactly anger; it was disappointment.
“Still, I would appreciate a little more trust. I am more than capable to help them. I don’t want to do just research. One time, they nearly died because they didn’t tell me they were injured.”
“They do trust you. They’re just trying to shield you from the bad things. Believe me, I’ve tried doing that and I’ve failed,” the hero said.
“Then what am I doing wrong? I’m not a child anymore. I know how to fight.”
The hero was quiet for a moment. Apparently those doubts had manifested throughout time. The henchman felt quite worthless and couldn’t really see how much the villain actually cared about them.
How the villain made sure they were eating and drinking enough. How they called them several times a day to make sure they were okay. How they researched schools and workplaces for them all the time.
“You’re an orphan, aren’t you?” they asked as gentle as possible.
The henchman nodded. “I barely talk about it.”
“Well, the villain is an orphan as well and they were robbed of their childhood. They don’t want you to grow up as quick as they had to. That’s why they let you do…well, office work instead of getting your hands dirty. It’s more of an excuse. They want you to study people instead of fighting them.”
“…but they need me. They’re a total idiot sometimes. Last week they were clearly outnumbered and almost got themselves killed. Again.”
“Well, thank God I am here now to help them. More or less.” The hero leaned back. Most of the time, they disagreed with the villain when it came to work. But they’d obviously break a few rules to save their lover every now and then. “You need them just as much as they need you, don’t you?”
The henchman didn’t meet their eyes, so the hero continued.
“You think they don’t care and you think they’re pushing you away but that’s not true. Truth is, this isn’t all fun and games. Seeing someone you love collapse is the worst thing in the world. Losing someone close to you is an indescribable grief. Let me do the saving and the nasty work. You can guide them. Do the research and make plans. Fight my sibling occasionally…”
Suddenly, the henchman blushed.
“Oh, I…uh…”
“You’re right. You aren’t a child anymore and you can decide what you want to do with your future. But there are people who care about you and they will try to shield you from danger, no matter how old you are.” The hero stretched their limbs and suppressed a yawn. They stared at the doodles they had drawn on a few sticky notes.
They had subconsciously written the first letter of the villain’s name into the hearts.
Now, they really wanted to see their villain. They knew their lover was calculated and smart and capable but the hero needed to see that stupid smirk more than anything. All this talk about danger and death…
“Don’t worry, okay?” they asked and the henchman nodded. “If you need anything, just ask me.”
“Thank you. Really, thank you.”
The hero stared at the doodles and smiled softly.
“Don’t you have a date to go on? Or is that tomorrow?” they asked.
“Tomorrow—” The henchman was still blushing when they stood up. “I should, uh, probably go. Again, you really helped me. Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
It was safe to say that the hero and the villain had lunch together.
I started reading The Property of Hate (2012-) webcomic and im liking it so far a lot
so i animated 2 pages of it where the movement flowed so nicely in my head
References below!!!
This webcomic strikes a nostalgia chord in me for some reason, its good of course, but i feel like i read it as a teen even that hasnt occured xd do you call this gaslight nostalgia
anyways i feel really comfy reading it and imagining amv's of it to tally hall songs
“Miss Iris Davis… spends a great deal of time recovering cats with the aid of a "lassoo” from the debris of bombed house. So far she has rescued six hundred of these feline strays, 8 November 1940.“ Source.