#kyles.writing

[mirohtron]

“You’ve seriously never thought about us kissing?” The superhero crooked an eyebrow. “We’ve been marinating in sexual tension for three years now.”

prompt by @gingerly-writing :> <333

—

“You’ve seriously never thought about us kissing?” The superhero crooked an eyebrow. “We’ve been marinating in sexual tension for three years now.”

The villain choked. Went to hide their blushing face.

When they cracked two fingers apart to peak, the superhero was still staring at them through their cell's reinforced bars.

"No," they said. "You're a bit too terrifying."

That was not entirely true. The superhero was terrifying, yes. Loved by the masses. Feared by the criminal underbelly of the city. But the villain was enamoured, hopelessly, by that. The contrast between their charming, friendly persona that was reserved for the masses and their true cold, calculating, dangerous demeanor left the villain hopelessly pining after them. They were incredible, truly. Perfection.

They ran their hands down their heated face and looked up.

The superhero's perfect face stared down at them. The villain looked down at their crossed legs instead. "I thought you were just toying," they mumbled. "With the flirting."

Silence, again. The villain glanced up at the superhero through their lashes.

The superhero tilted their head in observation. The villain pressed their lips into a thin line and crossed their arms, hunching their shoulders.

The superhero crouched down to meet their level. The villain tucked their chin in and leaned back, refusing to make eye contact. They heard the rustle of the superhero's gloves slipping off of their fingers. They dropped to the floor, right in front of the bars. The villain could've reached out and taken them.

"It doesn't change my offer," said the superhero. "I get you out of this cell in exchange for a kiss."

Had it not been for their dark skin, the villain was sure they would've lit up red. But they couldn't accept the offer, surely. They imagined even a brush of their fingers would leave the villain dizzy and swaying on their feet.

They recalled, once, they'd thrown a stun bomb at the superhero and had them incapacitated for almost ten minutes. The superhero had risen up, suit torn (because they had it remade every day, since it was not completely reinforced so that the public could get glimpses of their skin—and that always, always left the villain faint).

They'd had them up against the wall, smiled down, body radiating heat, and said, "well, aren't you incredible?"

The villain's knees had turned to jelly instantly.

"I can get out of here on my own," they mumbled, biting their tongue right after they spoke so their mind wouldn't conjure up more memories.

"Is that so?" The superhero feigned a curious tone. "A little birdie told me you've bruised your whole body trying to break these bars."

The villain winced. They properly glanced up at the superhero, then, and saw they had their cheek resting on their fist. Their eyes were lazily hooded. Their other hand rose to trail fingers down their neck, to the side of their collarbone.

The villain's hand rose, automatically, to their own collarbone, to the bruise there that was exposed by the loose neckline of their shirt. They pulled it close. Their cheeks flushed for a different reason, then; they hated this cell and the way it suppressed their powers. It felt like one of their limbs had been cut off. They hated the Scientist—the villain that had trapped them here—for finding a way to suppress their powers even more.

They straightened their back. "Liar. This cell's shut down my powers. Maybe it's done that to you, too." They glanced back at the number of fortified doors the superhero had sauntered through when they first entered. They could've broken through those doors with ease.

Once more, the superhero crooked an eyebrow. They lifted their cheek from their fist and closed their fingers around one of the steel bars. The villain watched as it corroded beneath their skin.

They blinked. "Oh."

The superhero spread their hand in a voila gesture, raising their brow. "Oh."

Dumbly, the villain pursed their lips. They seriously considered the offer, then. Glanced, traitorously, at the superhero's lips. Thought of how it would feel to have their mouth pressed against that lovely pair.

Their lips buzzed with sensation. Oh, they felt dizzy right then.

"I'm not an idiot, in case you weren't paying attention," said the superhero. They tilted their head and raked their eyes down the villain—intoxicating. "I can hear your heart thumping like a bunny on caffeine. I always have."

The villain squeaked and put a hand over their heart, as if that would do any good. "You—you make me nervous."

The superhero smiled, then, all sly. "I know I do."

The villain's flush heightened, impossibly so. They didn't even know they could get this flustered. "This is unfair. You knew."

"I'm a very unfair person."

"I'm bad."

The superhero shrugged. "I'm terrible."

The villain clenched their fists. Everything felt very, very hot.

The superhero leaned in. They caught the villain's chin through the bars, bare, callused fingers rough and warm on their skin. "You're good," they said. "You're very good. You're exceptional, able to outsmart even me, and you just keep your talents on the down low so that no one targets you."

Again, the villain pursed their lips into a line. Wobbly. Burning with the phantom sensation of the superhero's mouth on theirs. They had nothing to protest with, then, just the heat curling all around their body, fingers going shaky. "You'll take me out."

"Mm." The superhero tilted the villan's chin as much as the bars allowed them. Ran their fingers around the underside of their jaw. Skated up to touch one burning cheek. "To dinner. Or lunch." The corner of their mouth quirked up, devastatingly sharp and evil. "Or a nice little rooftop if you kiss me." They scraped their thumb along the curve of the villain's bottom lip.

The villain's lips parted automatically. They took in a quivering, nervous breath. "You'll get me out."

"Of course."

"How long have you liked me back?"

The superhero looked pleased. That smile, god, that smile. It wasn't made for the cameras. It was evil, mean, smug. It made the villain's heart flip hopelessly. "I might let you know if you kiss me."

The villain clutched the bars and leaned close. The steel brushed cold against their cheeks. They had to know. Was it after they first drew the superhero's blood? Or from that time one of their inventions sent the superhero flying through ten walls? Or one of the times when they had the villain blushing, pressed flush to a wall?

The superhero chuckled to themselves, gently tipped the villain's chin up, and kissed them.

The villain sighed and pulled them close and the superhero pulled them closer. Their hands snaked beneath their shirt and ran over their back, their sides, teased the edges of their waistband. It stung just slightly from the bruises, but the heat that their hands left in their wake left the villain too brainless to think of anything else but them.

The superhero leaned back first. The villain would've followed their lips mindlessly if it hadn't been for the bars. But instead they stayed there, breathless, lips burning, cheeks still pressed to the steel bars. They tapped the corroded edge of the bar the superhero had touched in urgency.

The superhero ran their hands around the bars in a huge circle, and they snapped right off. The villain barely had time to get to their feet before the superhero had scooped them up into another kiss. This one was hungrier, eager for a proper taste, and the villain had to tiptoe to properly kiss them. They leaned back for air.

"Since the stun bomb," said the superhero. "I've wanted a smart, pretty thing like you since."

"O—oh." The villain wasn't sure how to properly respond to that. They were already afraid they'd been misjudged on the smart part, maybe the superhero had kissed them dumb. But they found that they didn't need to respond, because the superhero was kissing them again.

They walked out hand in hand. The superhero dropped them off on a nice little rooftop, cheeks still burning, lips still buzzing and swollen.

The villain touched a hand to their cheek, feeling the heat there.

Oh, they were head over heels.

#hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #villains and heros #villain x superhero #kyles.writing #heroes #superhero x villain #villains #superheroes #kissing #me putting 'prompt by gingerly writing :> <3' to hide the fact that i think this is the worst piece ive ever written #the superhero . is not evil enough . imo #but i am too lazy to edit #(false i will probs edit this once ive posted it) #writeblr #writers on tumblr

[motherfricker]

I posted 663 times in 2021

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My Top Posts in 2021

#5

prompt number i don't fucking know so let's call this hero Mildly Flirting with villain enough to confuse the bastard shall we

The hero blinked once they felt the villain's fangs press against their jugular. "Are you gonna kill me? 'Cause this is kinda gay."

The villain took their lips off their neck. "What."

The hero shrugged. "I'm just saying. I know you're doing that to scare me or kill me, because, y'know—" jazz hands "—jugular veins. Am I right?"

The villain tilted their head. "Your point?"

"It's just that you know I said I found them intimate. And you're doing it to either kill me or scare me. But it's still intimate, you're still making my heart race, fangs or not."

The villain stared at them.

"You might as well just buy me a croissant, you know."

"You're an idiot."

82 notes • Posted 2021-04-07 17:58:14 GMT

#4

prompt number ??? idk but hey we have a sexy hero here

"Is that a..." villain trailed off, staring wide-eyed at the new weapon hero was holding, "is that a fucking scythe?"

Hero grinned, eyes practically twinkling. They brandished their new weapon. "Sick, isn't it? Makes me look like the grim reaper, only I'm more badass."

Villain scoffed, leaning on their own weapon. "Don't you think it's a little too big for you?"

Hero hummed, and all of a sudden the handle of the scythe extended into something that resembled the clip of a gun. "It's pretty light, actually, despite having strong recoil." They braced the scythe behind them. They grinned even wider. "Speaking of recoil, check this out."

A gunshot sounded through the rooftop, and suddenly villain was pinned to the wall, wind knocked out of their lungs. Hero laughed, tilting their head. "Surprise!"

"You're the single most morally corrupt hero I've ever met," villain wheezed out.

"Aw, but I'm the most fun, wouldn't you agree?"

89 notes • Posted 2021-04-09 09:40:33 GMT

#3

i hate you

—

note: first part here except uhh theyre both shorter than my lifespan so ?? this can be read as a standalone so that’s sexy

—

Hero didn't...they weren't expecting to hungrily kiss villan in the darkness of a walk-in closet like this just because they'd been dared to play seven minutes in heaven. But they were, and God, they wanted so much more. They clung onto villain like a prayer and they were a sinner, fingers tangling into their hair and lips molding together and into each other so smoothly and easily it was completely and utterly ridiculous.

It was when they had separated, gasping for air, that hero had realised they'd kissed more than once or twice, like how they'd agreed on. And they despised just how much they liked it. Wanted it to never end. They hated that kissing villain felt like they're uttered a forbidden prayer to save themself from damnation.

Damn villain. Damn them.

"I hate you." It came out too weak, too breathy, but villain still sneered back.

"I hate you, too."

And then they roughly pulled each other into another kiss.

They were still going by the time seven minutes were up.

92 notes • Posted 2021-04-05 13:05:50 GMT

#2

prompt #7

"Love is blind."

"Not for me, though!" The hero pushed the villain into the rehabilitation center. "I would rather not have a serial killer as a partner. You stay safe though."

101 notes • Posted 2021-07-30 09:02:22 GMT

#1

friends

It was a nice night. A pleasant wind flew through the crack of the open window, calming the hero with its chill. He could hear the muffled sounds of the party two floors down. The music coming from there was loud, but at least the walls were thick enough for it to not be too much of a nuisance. He leaned against the cushioned walls of the bay window, staring at his dark room in silence.

Hero didn't know what to call nights like these, when his sibling threw parties and almost her entire grade was invited when their parents went on another business trip. Hero had stopped participating months ago, not having enough energy, especially after fighting crime every other week—even during exam season. It was completely petty on the villain's part, honestly.

A sliver of golden light peeked into the room from the hall. Hero didn't really bother closing his door entirely; he was comfortable like this, he didn't want to get up. Just then, a shadow obstructed the light. Hero straightened up, propping himself on his hands on the cushioned seat of the bay window, knees pulling closer to his chest.

The door opened, revealing villain standing there in his civilian clothes. He was smiling, but it was nothing like the smiles he'd give hero when they'd throw debris and magic at each other, calling each other curses. It was just a gentle thing, like they were old friends meeting again.

They were old friends.

"Hey," villain greeted, still standing in the doorway.

"Hey." Hero didn't make a move to attack, nor did he feel the need to sneer. Needless, he still wanted to make sure villain wasn't dangerous. "Are you gonna bomb this place up?" He knew it sounded like a joke, but he was serious.

Villain let out a little laugh, looking at the ground for a brief moment. It wasn't vicious. Or rude. It felt different. Too different. He'd been different for a while now. They both had been. Or maybe hero was overthinking it. "No, your sister's too nice for me to do that. Can I come in?"

Hero nodded, humming. He watched villain close the door and make his way over to where hero was sitting. Hero pulled over a few pillows he'd previously moved to his side so villain could sit down. He didn't really know what to say for a moment, and he figured villain didn't either. A tense silence took over them.

"Why are you here?" hero asked, "not a party person?"

"Too tired for one." Hero huffed. Of course he was, they'd fought earlier that day. "Fighting you's a lot more exhausting than one would think."

Hero laughed involuntarily. He wasn't expecting villain to allude to them being being hero, even if he'd known for a long time. Fights when they were in their civilian identities was off-limits, and they'd maintained that deal for almost three years, after all. But hero didn't trust villain enough to let his guard down.

Nonetheless, he put his hand over villain's wrist. "Come here," he said, tugging. Villain gave him a puzzled look.

"Putting the moves on your sister's classmate?"

Hero didn't laugh on purpose. He tugged a little harder. "We're the same age."

"Then why am I a grade above you?" villain asked, following his pull, letting hero take his other wrist too. Hero leaned back and put his hands on villain's back, letting him rest on his chest.

Hero leaned his head against the cushioned wall, looking out the window. "Because you stole IQ points to jump up a grade. You barely passed math tests in third grade."

Villain snorted, adjusting himself so his arms wrapped around hero's torso, looking at the door. "Is that so? I just thought I was smarter than you."

"Roasts, he has."

Villain laughed, pressing his face closer to hero's chest. He didn't say anything else next. Hero didn't mind, hands going down villain's back, roaming around mindlessly.

"Are you gonna kill me?" hero asked out of the blue. He looked down at villain's head, catching the way he blinked a few times. "You can kill me. I'm healing from that wound you gave me. It's shallow, but you can kill me right now."

"Is that an invitation or a question?"

Hero huffed, finally letting a little smile take over his face as he looked at the window again. He played with some things in his hands. "A question. Are you gonna kill me?"

"No."

Hero looked at the wall. "Really?" He threw villain's switchblade. It penetrated the wall with a metallic sound. Villain perked his head up. Hero threw the other switchblade along with it, and it penetrated right next to the first one. Villain didn't say anything for a few moments, going still on top of hero.

"You—"

"You were gonna break the deal."

Villain stayed quiet. He slowly got off hero, letting him straighten up against the wall. He didn't make eye contact throughout the whole thing. Hero thought his stare was probably making him uncomfortable. He wasn't sure.

"I was going to. But you didn't have a weapon."

"You were expecting to fight a wounded person."

"You're capable."

Hero furrowed his eyebrows. He was capable, yes, but was that it?

"You're not..." Villain looked up, not quite meeting his eye. "We don't meet often. Nowadays. I didn't have someone to spend time with."

"So you tried to spend time by trying to kill me—"

"Fight," villain cut off. He looked a little guilty. "Trying to fight you."

Hero looked at the way villain's fingers fidgeted. Villain used to have a habit of wringing his hands whenever he felt guilty. Hero wondered if he still had the habit. Villain liked looking at the night sky and the streets, too. After he'd done something that made him feel guilty.

"Fight me," hero repeated, looking at the slightly ajar window opening beside him. He opened it all the way, having to lean over villain so the window didn't obstruct their view too much. "Why?"

"It's the only thing I know to do with you."

Hero swallowed down a wave of sadness. They used to do more than just fight. Before the unspoken hero-villain rivalry started. They'd look at the night sky sometimes. He didn't want fighting to be the only thing they knew how to do with each other when there was more than just that.

He put his hand over villain's, slipping his fingers under his palm. "Let's look at the street."

"You could kill me, too."

Hero stared at the lampposts dotting the street, lights shining onto the dark asphalt from hero's house. "You could too. I'm lighter. You can just swing me over the window."

Villain snorted. "I could, but I'd rather not inciminate myself. My fingerprints are here. People can act as witness to testify against me and say they saw me come up. The investigation can be over in just three days."

"Not unless you run away and steal someone's identity."

"Too much work."

"And yet robbing a bank isn't?"

A few moments passed. Villain and hero looked at each other. And then they laughed. Villain didn't sound malicious, and hero knew he himself was laughing genuinely. Villain rested his head against the window, grinning.

The laughter died down eventually. Hero and villain continued looking at each other, and villain's eyes seemed to twinkle in the night.

Hero felt stupid for what he was going to ask, but he didn't want to chicken out before it was too late. "Can I—"

"Can I kiss you?"

Hero's face felt warm. Villain had beaten him to it, huh? He nodded. It was stupid. Villain was probably going to swing him off the window. He didn't care much.

Villain looked a little hesitant. He moved closer, cupping hero's face gently. Hero wondered if he could feel how warm his face had gotten. Villain brought their faces closer, and hero hesitated on closing his eyes, but shut them when villain did. He felt their foreheads touch, and then warm breath on his lips. He felt his breath hitch and his throat go dry, and he felt silly for it. Their noses touched, and villain nudged them together.

Villain exhaled. "I think I'll give you two for tonight."

Hero opened his eyes, surprised, before villain placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth before drawing back.

Hero swallowed. Was this a trick? "That's it?"

Villain smiled cheekily, but his eyes were warm. "Bunny kisses, love. That's what I meant"

Hero swallowed harder. Villain would call him darling, even if it was only in his villain identity. But never love. That was when they were close. Only when they were close.

"So you won't give me the other kiss?"

"You decide," villain said. He sat up, standing in front of hero. "During your sister's next party."

"Won't you get punished?"

Villain laughed. He scratched hero's scalp, looking at him gently. It made hero feel a little warm. "I'm retiring soon. Decided I'd rather be a normal 16 year old."

Hero widened his eyes briefly. Oh.

Villain dropped his hand. He walked out of the room, turning to look at hero one last time. Hero felt unbelievably giddy.

"Next week, love. Hopefully."

Next week.

Hero was a patient person. But that statement made him the most impatient he'd ever been.

146 notes • Posted 2021-04-05 11:56:01 GMT

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[mirohtron]

The villain had never seen the hero like this. Twitchy. Vulnerable. Volatile. Wide-eyed and not quite present.

Of course, after the media outpour, after the merciless backlash, after the mess that had went down between them and their agency, the villain had expected some form of pain on the hero's face, but not...this. Some look like they'd gone through a revelation that had ruined their life.

They got the compulsion to take advantage.

"I always knew they would do something like this," they murmured pitifully. They brushed slow, careful fingers under their chin. "But not to someone like you. Never you. You were always so... good."

The hero's eyes snapped up, suddenly cognizant.

The villain flinched back from the rage they saw, and just as quickly it flickered out in the hero's face and they were back to sadly staring.

A moment passed.

The hero said nothing, so the villain continued.

"Would you like to exact revenge?" they asked, gentler this time. "I could help."

The hero looked up again, wide-eyed, but this time interested.

The villain slowly raised their hand, careful not to spook, and touched their fingers to the hero's cheek. "They hurt you," said the villain. "You. I think that warrants some retaliation." They dropped their hand and the hero didn't follow it. The villain wasn't sure if they were cognizant of anything at all.

"Do you know the details?"

"Of what happened? No."

Silently, the hero tilted their head to the side.

"I don't want to take advantage of you," the villain told them gently. "I just believe your rage has been suppressed and smothered and doused for far too long. It's unhealthy, you know—"

"They threw me away," the hero said flatly. "Like rubbish. Because I found things." They tilted their head to the other side. "They sent people to me afterwards. Tried to get me to kill myself. When that didn't work they sent a hero."

The villain buffered as they processed this information. Of course they knew the higher ups at the agency liked doing terrible things, but...

"Just them?"

"Not just them. And not just the people."

The villain opened their mouth, considered their next words. But they were not sure what would give another seething head tilt and what would give the weakness they'd prefer.

"Not just them," the villain repeated quietly. They eyed the hero's stray hairs, the blood and dirt and cuts on their face. All their time in this job they'd never seemed to fit a place like this; a gloomy room, a star-lit sky, tall, looming, spindle-shaped trees. They raised a careful hand to tuck hair behind the hero's ear. "What would you like to do?"

"A lot of things."

The villain trailed slow fingers down the line of the hero's jaw. Slightly, so slightly they could've imagined it, the hero leaned into their touch. Their chest swelled . "Bad things?"

They placed their fingers over the hero's throat to feel the inevitable swallow. "Yes."

"You'd be justified. All these years of overwork, crawling into your bed each thankless night, this constant persistence that you had to do better." The villain stepped close as the hero's expression twisted in pain. "I'd justify that. I think, anyone who isn't an idiot would justify that. Think about it." They cupped the hero's face with both hands, voice down to a whisper. "Think of what you could do to them with my help."

Something in the hero's eyes cleared. They leaned a fraction of an inch back, all the fog in their eyes disappearing.

The villain started to draw their hands back.

The hero caught their wrists in a vice-like grip. They were present. Their stare was fierce. "No. Not just revenge," they said. "I want them to feel helpless. Do you know how much I've contributed to their strategies? Their technological advancement? And yet they don't give me any weapon that's not years old. I want them wishing they could've been better, that this could've been prevented." They shook their head just slightly, and the hair the villain had carefully tucked back came loose to frame their face.

"I want them wailing for help," the hero said. They let go of the villain's wrists and touched their palms to their cheeks instead. "I want the city bending at my whims," they breathed, stepping close, "like I bent for theirs. I want them to resent me. I want them to fear me. I want them scared when night time comes, because they fear I'll pop out and steal them. Then they'll see. Then they'll see how great I am. How great I always was. How I was their fault."

For the first time the hero looked like they belonged in this gloom, like the night sky was rising behind them; a lethal backdrop. The trees behind them seemed to rise up, pitch-black silhouettes. A bloody, dirty face, angry, wide eyes, horrible words spewing out their mouth—oh, the villain didn't know how they never saw it.

They looked like they meant every word. The villain was aware of every inch of them, suddenly alight with fury, with potential, with the need to ruin and desecrate.

The hero pulled them closer, until they were breathing each other's air, and the villain wanted to see their mouth dripping with blood that didn't belong to either of them. Such wild teeth they had. Such a cruel tongue. Such eyes, such hands, such looks. "I want them," the hero said, "to forever regret me. I want to grow like festering mold in their memory. I want to be a parasite in their history."

"You're wonderful," the villain whispered dazedly.

The hero snapped out of whatever had overcome them. They let go of the villain's face and moved back.

The villain snapped out of their stupour, straightening. Back they looked, and the hero had returned to looking like a fawn, all traces of that destructive sadism gone. The villain clenched their fist to collect themselves, bit the tip of their tongue.

"It'll be a pleasure to help you exact your revenge," said the villain. They thought of new ways to take advantage of the hero. Thought, distantly, how they could amplify their terrible side. "But you have to trust me."

"That'll be work."

"I will have to trust you, too," they said. "And—don't wear these colours." They traced the collar of the hero's ruined shirt. "I've always thought black looked much better on you."

The hero looked at the villain. "Your colour."

The villain tugged lightly on their collar. Looked back at them. "My colour." They righted it and brushed off lint that wasn't there from their shoulder. "Now, to work."

The hero followed.

In ten months they brought despair to the city.

In twelve the hero had made the villain theirs.

#kyles.writing #hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #hero #evil hero #corrupted hero #bad hero #corruption arc #writeblr #writers on tumblr #villains and heroes #writing #my writing #hero x villain community #sorry . that this is mid

[mirohtron]

Hero dropped down to their knees, keeping their gaze locked onto the villain’s, refusing to let go.

Their eyes were wide, and begging as they spoke. “Help me.”

Villain’s lip twitched into a smirk. “Say it again.”

The hero shivered, their voice breaking.

“Help me.”

“One more time.”

prompt by @avvail :>

—

Shame burned acridly in the hero's throat. They were stained with blood and dirt and soot. Gravel was embedded in their cuts. Their body was bruised and beaten and aching.

It frustrated the hero to no end, that before they’d come to the villain’s doorstep, the villain had probably thought that the hero was dead, and instead of seeming relieved that they were alive they were forcing them to beg. 

Still.

"Help me." They willed the villain not to hear it.

The villain's smirk burst into a cruel grin. Their gloved hand snaked out and landed on their throat, squeezing, like they were going to choke the hero. They glanced at the small sliver of skin that the glove exposed at their wrist, the thin, raised line following the green of their vein. 

The villain was out of their suit, since the hero hadn’t been expected. They doubted the villain was relieved that their biggest problem had shown up to their doorstep completely fine and only a little roughed up.

The villain's thumb grazed the bump of their voice box, pressing down just slightly.

It took everything in the hero not to move. The muscles in their arms flexed. Their fists stayed clutched at their sides.

Slowly, the villain stroked the dips along the line of the hero's collarbone, then went up their throat. The hero bared it for them, because they knew the villain would like it.

A dimple appeared on the villain's cheek. Their eyes crinkled. They looked wolfish. "So good," they said, then curled their hand around to take them by the back of their neck. "So tame. Oh, I could just eat you up."

The hero's breath hitched and they knew the villain caught it. They chuckled. Humiliation bubbled inside them.

"This concerns you, too," said the hero, and right after they said it the villain's hand squeezed harder. They dropped the grin, shushed them gently, as though they were looking to soothe.

"I know, doll." The grin came on again, delighted. Similar to the look a thief got, looking at a vulnerable person walking down a deserted street. Eager to take. Twitching to take, to grab at any open seam.

The news was on every single channel there was, the hero was sure. They estimated ninety per cent of the city's heroes had been pronounced dead in the last ten hours

The villain continued. "I know. It must seem completely out of character, doll, but I did expect your little superhero to turn rogue eventually. I kept tabs. Noted every little tick."

The hero's breath hitched again, a harsher sound this time, wanting to rage. They kept themselves from asking—why didn't you let me know? But they shouldn't have expected any magnanimity from the villain. As for expecting the attack...

It still hadn't entirely registered in their head, they didn't think. They didn't believe the superhero was straight up evil. But they definitely weren't in their right mind, either. They were off the rocks. Wrong.

Today had started off like any other day. Everyone had gathered in the common room, chattering. The superhero had walked in, looked around once, and just... razed the whole place down.

"They're being controlled." It was the best explanation that the hero could give.

"Or maybe they've just realised the good side isn't all that good. Maybe they'll come for you next."

The hero's spine straightened. "Maybe they'll come for you first. You didn't see them firsthand. They went on a rampage." They'd torn the head off an innocent worker in the building, haloed by the fire, and stared straight at the hero. Feral. Rabid. Angry? Mad? Looking to take something the world had taken from them? The hero no longer knew. It all turned into one moment and the next.

A gloved hand made its way to their soot-stained hair. The villain peeled strands of sweaty hair away from the hero's forehead with their other hand.

With no answer from the villain, the hero grew twitchy. They rubbed the pads of their fingers raw. Dug crescent moons into their palm.

"You're smart," the hero tried eventually, reaching for something that would give in the villain. "Clever, strong."

"Dubious, greedy. Oh, and don't forget evil."

"Help me stop them." The hero's bare hand cupped the villain's own, gloved, tangled in their hair. They leaned forward. "If not to help me then for your safety."

“So sweet.”

“You know a rogue, indestructible hero will doom the city. You must’ve seen the news? The wrecked blocks?” The hero’s fingers slipped down to the scar on their wrist, fingertips slipping beneath their sleeve. The villain’s eyes flashed dangerously, but they pressed on. “I know what they’ve done to you—”

The villain's grip tightened on the hero's hair, forcing them to bare their throat. Their smile went mirthless and dangerous. The hero left their hands, kept them hanging harmlessly beside their head. "Quiet."

"I'm just saying."

The villain's voice dipped low, down to a delicate whisper, far away from that wolfish grin. "I know, doll, you're just saying. But you don't know me that way, do you?" Their free hand went to roam the hero's side. Their wrist flicked, and the cool edge of one of the villain's many knives pressed to their side. The hero's fists turned white-knuckled. "Do you?"

"No."

"Good." The knife disappeared. The villain pushed the hero's head away. "I miss when you were helpless. Tell me that again. Tell me what you need from me."

The hero steeled their jaw. They wiped dirt and soot from their cheek and didn't look at the villain.

"Tell me," the villain repeated. "Ask for it."

"Help me."

"Nicely."

"Please help me."

"Good." The villain grinned again. It wasn’t the same. "You'll do a job for me before I help you."

The hero went to protest. The villain's hand snaked out again, pressing a thumb to their lips, the side of their index finger cradling their chin. The scar on their wrist flashed in the low light. "I know, doll. I know. Smart, clever, strong. But evil."

The villain drank up every emotion that flitted past the hero. The hesitation. The consideration. The reluctance. The capitulation.

"I'll do it, and then you'll help. To stop superhero."

The villain tilted their head. "Of course, doll," they said. "Anything if you ask nicely."

#will be watching invincible after this #hero x villain #kyles.writing #prompt fill #prompt response #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #negotiation #hero #villain #villain x hero #heroxvillain #hxv #writeblr #writing #my writing

[mirohtron]

sorry if certain phrases sound off i originally wrote this in present but then it changed to past and i didn't notice until i was done 😭

@dmitrinfinite @hufflepuffwritingstuff2

—

"you're mine," the villain says. "aren't you? are you not mine?"

the drugs turn the hero's mind into a mess of thoughts—terribly slippery, foggy, unfocused thoughts. still they bite it out. "no," they hiss, or at least try to. "not yours. my own person."

"your own person," the villain agrees. "your own person, whom i own. yes? mine to ruin? mine to take care of? mine to hurt and heal?"

the hero spits in their face. the villain shrieks furiously and the sound sends chills down the hero's spine, fear flickering through their spine as quickly as the brush of a butterfly's wings against one's cheek.

"insubordinate," the villain hisses. they backhand the hero and their head knocks easily to the side. a headache bursts through their skull, pounding, their sense of direction briefly lost. "recalcitrant and flat out rude. don't you understand how much i'm doing for you?"

"ruining my life?"

"protecting you!"

"clipping my wings."

at that the villain gives a subtle pause. "yes," they say, and the hero's throat lodges. "yes, actually. well, no. pinning you to my soft plush little board."

"you're terrible."

"you'll learn to understand." the villain draws back. "you're terrible at keeping yourself safe. you flirt with those who do not have intentions as pure as yours." their fingers dig under the hero's clothes and their skin prickles in revulsion. the villain brushes a scar. the hero hates it when people touched their scars. "you constantly put yourself in harm's way and get these hideous marks. you should be flawless! you were born flawless. and yet...how blind you are to your beauty. how foolish of you not to preserve it."

the hero shakes and quivers. they want that hand to get off. why under their clothes? there were plenty of scars elsewhere on their body. the way the villain touches is disgusting, was always disgusting, really. "if you really loved me," the hero says, despite the acrid sensation climbing up their throat. "you would love me as i am."

"i really love you." finally the villain's hand leaves, but then they gently cradle the hero's stinging cheek. the drugs make them feel feverish, and it's terrible how they find the cold temperature of the villain's hand soothing. they lean into it and don't even notice, not until the villain's eyes melt completely. "i really do. i adore you. that's why i want to make you the best you can be."

the hero shakes their head in growing fear. they want to spit again, but the villain has sharp nails. they imagine those nails digging in mercilessly, not afraid to ruin their face further as punishment—with the way they're talking, the hero's sure the villain has developed some sort of technology to really heal their scars. "i will never be what you want me to be."

"i'll make you see," the villain whispers. their eyes are dark with complete devotion, with utter, unadulterated, hideous love. the hero doesn't even know how it got to that point. they would've done everything to stop it, had they noticed the signs. "i'll make you see how kind i can be. kind and loving and the perfect partner for you."

"for your pet?"

the villain's eyes light up, and they grin brightly. the hero's heart stops. "yes, if you want us to be like that."

#heroes and villains #hero x villain #tw yander #tw drugs #villains and heroes #hero #villains #kyles.writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #villain x hero #my writing

[mirohtron]

im writing for @kaiwewi for this year's Secret Santa :) their prompt was:

Please write a story about a villain who is more of a mascot for their group of competent 'henchman' rather than an actual boss/leader.

—

Technically, the villain should've had the foresight to see this coming. They should've, probably, mentioned it to their leader, and if not them at least some lower-tier henchman. At least casually. Been like, hey, if I get kidnapped, you'll wanna save me, right? Could be hard to replace me.

Oh, man. 

This wasn't really happening, was it?

A rough, hard punch to the cheek sent their whole world spinning. A pink leather-clad hand yanked them up from the back of their hair to keep them from sinking. The villain considered screaming for help and quickly thought against it. They had to stay put. Had to.

"Got you now," said the crueler hero. What was her name again? Something pretty and harmless that didn't match her dreadful grin. The guy beside her was all red and gold muscle. The villain had seen him grace the covers of a couple magazines before; their mother had been subscribed to Vanity growing up.

Oh, if only their mother could see them right now. Getting kidnapped in a back alley in the dead of night. In civilian clothes too, at that. Embarrassing.

"Took you long enough," the villain replied, and the next punch knocked a tooth out. They spat it out in a bloody glob, staining the red hero's boots. On the black asphalt, their molar looked like a red fucking star. Or perhaps a bloody ship lost at sea. Their saliva was salty and their breath metallic.

Fuck. Fuck, they should've brought this up with their leader at least once.

Red circled Pink like a slinking cat, waiting to strike at her say-so.

"Hurt them," she ordered, and Red drove his knee into the villain's gut, driving all the air out of their lungs, and threw them to the asphalt. Their palms scraped against loose gravel. Their tooth was right beside their little finger. The villain's lungs spasmed and they could barely catch up to their pain.

Their henchmen never hit them. Sure, the villain was used as a mascot, was the assigned 'fall guy' if it all went to shit, but their henchmen never hit them. Why would they? There was no reason to damage your mask... unless they ratted you out to a bunch of heroes.

What a wonderful excuse that would be. Hitting them to build up pain tolerance so they wouldn't go around breaking in interrogations. The villain wasn't even sure what these heroes did to get people like them to break. They'd heard horror stories about electrocution. Hallucinogens. It made their stomach churn.

Pink dug the heel of her boot into the villain's sternum, watching them struggle to breathe. Beside her, Red silently watched the scene occur like a good toy.

"Look at them," she remarked. Her eyes were alight with a predatory glow. "Helpless without their minions."

"Like you without your bitch," the villain rasped.

Pink's expression turned terrible, and she brought her boot down on their face with fury.

The world went white.

—

There is no point in explaining how they got into this position. The only thing you need to know is this: despite the fear surrounding the villain’s name and their face, despite their grandeur, and even despite the terrifying speeches they spent hours poring over before releasing to the public, all the villain was, was a mascot to their henchmen and their shadowy leader. They were powerless, merely a result of perfect cues and perfect illusions. Behind the scenes, they were as replaceable as a magician’s cards.

—

The villain could not see for several hours.

It was possible that nobody was coming. A small part of their mind, harbouring a particularly loud voice, feared that their henchmen were already looking for replacements. Maybe they already had a list of candidates that they were crossing out.

In the most pathetic parts of the villain's mind they considered giving up every bit of information they knew, inclined to believe that somewhere out there, was a body double suited up and in the midst of memorising a script. Perhaps in exchange for information, they’d be offered a stable life. How delusional.

Someone had taken their sweater off, and some skin on their forearms was raw and red from when Red shoved them to the ground, tender in the chilly air of whatever room they were held in.

Rough hands forced their arms to wrap around the backrest of a metal chair. The villain took in a wheezing gasp and struggled as they heard the rustle of a thick cord being unwrapped.

"Ugh," came an apathetic voice, and a third hand wrapped around the back of their neck and forced their head down. They couldn't struggle like this; the metal dug into their flesh and they weren't strong enough to put up a fight.

The cord was fastened, and the blindfold over their eyes was yanked out.

Neon lights as bright as the sun blinded them, and they caught the glint of water just below their vision.

“Now,” commanded a voice, and a red hand caught their hair, and before the villain could register a goddamn thing they were drowning.

The villain made the biggest mistake of their life: they breathed, and their brain went into instant shock as water burned their airways. They opened their mouth to gasp and choked on liquid death, ears popping, their body's temperature dropping. The bowl's edges dug into their neck and jaw and they struggled and struggled, feet kicking the floor, hitting table legs and air and other useless things.

The hand on their neck kept them down, cold, unfeeling. Murderous. The villain's lungs burned; the water remained ice cold. Their heart jack-knifed in their chest, threatened to break out of their ribs. The water suffocated them mercilessly.

They were dying. They were dying and nobody was coming to help.

The world went as white as those neon lights.

—

Cold water ran down their chin, wetting their chest, making their hair stick to their face. The skin on their arms burned from the metal chair. The interrogation (torture?) room was all metal walls and neon lights.

The villain's lungs burned with each breath, but they took in air graciously. Had they blacked out?

A blurry face, pale and cruel, came into view, haloed by the lights. Behind Pink, the villain spotted cuffs hanging from a stained wall. Beside her feet were worn cords, dried blood on them.

The metal on this chair was rusted. They'd need a tetanus shot if they got cut from this, right?

Pink turned to Red, who stood behind them. "Dim the lights."

The hand on their hair left. Pink caught the villain's jaw, leaning down to look at them eye to eye.

The villain took in another noisy, unsteady breath. Their stomach still churned. Their chest felt as cold as their chair.

The lights dimmed until Pink's features were highlighted ghostly white, shadowed menacingly. Red's presence behind the villain felt radioactive.

Someone had to come. Someone had to. They were a good mascot, weren't they? But acrobats were as replaceable to circuses as playing cards were to a magician. They clenched their corded hands into tight, trembling fists.

Her grip threatened to bruise. "I knew there was something wrong with you," she said. "So brave playing the evil guy, treating the city like it's a stage, but without your employers, you're just another regular crook, aren't you?"

The villain’s chest seized at the accuracy with which she’d clocked them, but they forced themselves to give her the most cutting grin they could muster. "We're much more similar than you think, you and I."

Red pulled their head back and pressed something metallic to their neck—a blade. The villain let out a terrified sound, and Pink laughed. "Look at them," she said. "Shaking like a leaf at a blunt knife."

"I could do a lot of damage with it," said Red. He dragged the knife down, rusty just like everything else in this damn room, trailing grime down their skin in its wake. He aimed the point of it at the hollow of their throat, and the villain choked on a noise. "Could poke here with enough pressure, see what happens."

The villain desperately shook their head as much as they could. Pink seemed to delight in their reaction.

Oh, god. They scrambled for some lines stored in their head, from watching movies and reading scripts and writing speeches. "Come on," they tried, struggling to get their voice to adopt a careless lilt. The blunt point of the knife felt suffocating. Was it blocking their blood flow? "Can't we all come to an agreement here?"

They weren’t even expecting a proper response to that. But Pink’s entire attitude seemed to flip, and the look in her eyes went from sinister to eager with such swiftness that it made the villain shiver. "Oh, we could," She said, crouching down and looking up at them with sudden kindness. "Tell me," she said, "what your henchmen are up to." She traced her thumb over the villain's knee. "And I will personally assure your safe withdrawal from them, and you'll never see us or them ever again."

The villain looked down at her in silence, unnerved. A cold drop of water dripped down from their hair, down the bridge of their nose. They wouldn't snitch. They couldn't.

She traced the outline of their kneecap patiently. Behind her, Red stood in silence. His knife was gone. The villain could hear their heartbeat.

"You know," said the villain. "Oddly enough I don't believe that."

Pink lit their knee on fire, broke a fucking bone, did something horrible, because their kneecap lit up in absolute agony and they screamed, and Red was drowning them again.

—

Their chest was soaked, their jaw ached from all of the punches and backhanded slaps they'd received, and their scalp felt bruised from the harshness with which Pink and Red manhandled their head.

Nobody was coming. The lights were dim and the sun was probably rising outside, and a rising sun meant no shadows for their leader to travel with. They couldn't tell how long it'd been.

It'd been long enough for an alarmingly red bruise to start forming on their knee, though. Perhaps a couple hours. Their leader’s right-hand had once told them how long it took for bruises to form. They reckoned this one would turn a hideous purple in a couple of days and stay like that until next week. If they were alive until next week.

They coughed up water and phlegm. Pink nudged them with rough fingers to their temple. Red sharpened that blunt knife with a whetstone, the sound of it piercingly loud in their ears. It wasn't rusty. It bled, staining the water red, making it glint like the devil's eyes in the low light.

Pink held out her hand. "Bring it over."

Like a fucking dog, Red obeyed. Pink flicked the knife around like a magician did their cards. The villain flinched.

She laughed. God, that dreadful laugh. She pressed the cusp of her palm down on their forehead and a whimper eked out of the villain's throat, but they couldn't snitch. They couldn't. Yes, they were expendable. Yes, they knew their henchmen looked down on them to some degree. And yes, all that they were, was a mask for a coalition of bad guys to hide behind. 

But. But.

They didn't have anywhere else to go.

The knife pressed cold against their neck. Red walked over to see, curious like a child. The lights were so dim that the ceiling was pitch black.

The villain stared at Pink with wide eyes, unsure if this was a threat or the real deal. But then the knife began to slice, and the villain jerked and flinched in their restraints.

Oh, god, oh god oh god oh god. The villain strained their wrists against the cords once more, dug their toes into the fucking floor, wishing something would swallow them up.

"I'm sorry!" they said in their absolutely ruined, drowned voice. "I'll—I'll tell! I swear I'll fucking rat those guys out like it's no tomorrow."

"There it is," said Red in his detached voice.

"There it is," repeated a pleased Pink. She turned the knife up and pressed it to a vein that the villain knew was important because the leader's right hand had mentioned it once. The jugular, or something? They choked on a breath. "Let it all come out, honey."

Oh, god, were they really going to do this? The villain looked at the ceiling, praying for something to come and help them. Their legs and arms shook. Their knee ached. They looked at a shadowy, void-like patch tucked away in the upper corner of the ceiling as though it would save them.

The void stared back.

The villain choked again.

One eye, glowing gold like a ring stared at them. Then another. A pair of eyes staring back at them, familiar ones, gold, like...

Their leader’s face emerged from the shadows, a finger pressed to her lips. Burning relief flooded the villain's veins.

Pink stared at them intently, patiently still. Waiting for a response. Their leader slinked back into the shadows, snake-like in her smoothness, and the villain scrambled to put on a mask.

Like an actor on stage, they twisted their face up in pain, anger, hurt, grief. "They're such cruel people," the villain said, staring deeply into Pink's eyes. "Such terrible, cruel people."

Their leader approached.

Pink leaned in, handed the knife over to Red to pocket. "Poor thing," she remarked.

The villain nodded, leaning in with her. "Yes," they breathed. "Poor you."

They kicked her knees and heard a crunch. Pink screamed, stumbling back, and their leader shot out of the darkness, fist curled and glinting—brass knuckles?—and punched the back of her head. She went down like a rag doll.

"Holy shit—" Someone snapped their cords off, and the villain was quickly hauled up to their legs, that same blade pressing into their neck. They seized.

Red's fist shook as he clutched the villain's hair. The knife quivered.

Their leader froze.

"Get down." Red's voice was calm, but his chest rose in unsteady breaths behind the villain's back.

The other raised her hands up placatingly, slipping the bloody brass knuckles off. At her feet, Pink's body twitched, her hair stained, blood pooling around her head and spreading at an alarming rate. Her twitching seemed to make Red tick worse.

The villain's heart felt close to bursting. Their chest was still wet from that water bowl, and their knee threatened to give out on them. The room was growing darker. "Stop that," gritted out Red. "I'll give you your mascot if you leave us alone. I need—I need to fix her."

"You'll remember us. You'll remember them." Their leader carefully gestured to the villain. "I can't let that happen."

Red didn't want to hear that—the blade twitched against the villain's neck. They whimpered in fright. The shadows twitched closer. "You hit the back of her head."

"Yes, I know how to give someone amnesia."

"I can heal the wound, but the brain damage will remain. She won't remember anything, and, and—" Pink twitched again, some horrible noise escaping her throat. Red's glove squeaked with the effort it took to not simply drive the blade into the villain's neck. "I'll give you your goddamn mascot if you take back the shadows, just let me save her."

The leader looked at the villain, no doubt taking in their dripping wet hair, the slowly forming bruises on their cheeks, the steady way the tiny cut on their neck bled.

The shadows retreated. Red shoved them forward and dove to Pink, quickly removing his gloves and hovering a shaking hand over her wound. He whispered soft, soothing things to her and caressed her bloodstained hair as his hand took on a healing, golden glow.

The villain stumbled into their leader's arms, completely wetting the front of their shirt, but the leader didn't seem to mind. Her arms wrapped firmly around them, protective, and pressed them closer. The villain gladly melted into their embrace, taking in trembling gasps.

Their leader bowed her head to whisper into their ear, "You betrayed us."

The villain bodily flinched. They looked up at their leader, but her expression was blank, unreadable. "What?"

One hand left to fish something out of their pockets, the other arm remained to keep the villain pressed close like a cord. Their leader pulled out a gun and the villain froze, paling, but she merely struck the butt of it against Red's head. It was too harsh; his whole body moved with the hit, and he was thrown to the side. His fingers were still stained with Pink's blood. "You broke, didn't you? You must've told them bits and pieces of information, to keep the pain at bay."

"I—I didn't..." The villain didn't what? They knew they should be defending themselves. But their throat was merely closing up. "Madame," they restarted. "She put a knife to my neck."

Their leader cocked their head to the side, as though they were trying to spot a lie. The villain stepped back and looked down at their feet, pressing a finger to their bleeding neck.

Stationed outside of what turned out to be an old, run-down building was their leader's right-hand. They took one look at the villain's limp and clucked, giving them their arm to hold on to.

It was still a couple hours from sunrise. The villain glared at the ink-blue sky stretching out into the horizon and let the right-hand inspect all the bruises and cuts they could see.

Their leader left to pull out the sleek black car they'd be travelling in.

—

So their henchmen hadn't come because they cared. They'd just come to protect themselves. Technically, the villain couldn't blame them—they'd been desperate enough to consider spilling all the information they knew to save their own skin.

But still. But still. They'd been drowned.

The villain stared out at all the buildings and streets they passed and tried to get any depressing thoughts out. They'd get out of this. They'd clear their name. And their leader would trust them less, but at least they'd still have a home.

—

The ache in their knee grew worse with time. To their chagrin, the right-hand carried them into the lair like a bride, and the mascot (they didn't need to pretend anymore) stubbornly stared at their hurt knee, chest still squeezing, heart still pounding. 

The right-hand wanted to take them to the med bay; their leader told him to look after the mascot in her quarters. As the right-hand moved aside paperwork, bottles of ink, and stacks of files and folders from their leader's desk, she went fishing for a medkit in her ensuite.

Right-hand caught their chin, tilting their face up to the light. They brushed a thumb against the corner of the mascot's frowning lip. "They punched you?"

"My tooth's gone."

The right-hand perched them over the expensive wood, their hands steady and oddly comforting. Gone as soon as they were done. "And what happened to your knee?"

"I don't know. One of them squeezed it or something."

"I see." The right-hand brushed their fingers over the front of their damp shirt, frowned, and went to look for drier clothing.

Their leader came back and placed the medkit down on their desk with too much force. The mascot flinched. Their right-hand glanced at them from where they fished for new clothes.

Her expression said: explain. The mascot swallowed.

"I didn't tell them anything," they said.

Their leader tilted their head to the side, and it made the mascot's chest squeeze. She leaned into their space and the mascot clenched their fists. "I'm being very gentle because I know you don't like pain, and I know that that would've made you betray us back in that old warehouse. That red hero knew you were a mascot. What else did you tell them?"

"I didn't—I wouldn't—"

"You would."

The mascot shoved them. The right-hand glanced at the two, alarmed. "If you were as helpless as me, you would crack too!"

Their leader, to the mascot's frustration, showed no reaction to that shove. They went down on their feet despite their hurt knee, putting more distance between the pair. Their hands shook. Some papers flew off of the desk, and the mascot didn't care that they stepped on them.

"I know I would have." Their leader took on a faux-soothing voice. "That's why I'm asking you—what did you tell them?"

"Nothing!"

"You were ready to rat us out like no tomorrow. That's not nothing."

"What?" the right-hand asked from near the wardrobe. 

"Shut up!” yelled the mascot, feeling slightly hysterical. This wasn’t going well. This wasn’t going well at all. “I had a knife to my neck!" They pointed to their cut. They could feel their throat closing, their voice growing croaky. "I was drowning, and they were hitting me, and—" To their embarrassment, wetness was coming to their eyes. They felt terrible. Of course their leader wouldn't trust them; the mascot didn't trust her either. But they felt hurt regardless.

They thought they were worth saving. Weren't they?

"Oh." The leader sounded disappointed. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't cry like that."

The mascot threw a bottle of ink at them. It shattered against their chest, staining it black.

Their right-hand was frozen. The mascot swayed on unstable feet, head pounding. Their leader looked at the mess on their chest in mild shock, eyes imperceptibly wider than before. That didn’t make the mascot feel better.

A tear, traitorously, escaped and ran down their cheek. The mascot covered their red face. They could hear their heartbeat. It drowned out every other noise there could be.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," they confessed. A soft hiccup escaped their throat, and their body felt tight in their discomfort. "It's not like I shattered. I was afraid the moment they caught me. I was afraid I was going to be replaced up until the moment I saw you. But I didn't say a single thing, not until they cut me, because they were cruel—I didn't want to lose my fingers and teeth to people who would never come to save me."

For a very, very long moment, nobody said a goddamn thing. The mascot wished to disappear. Someone touched their shoulder and they swatted that hand off. "Don't touch me."

The moments ticked on. The mascot stared at the floor in a quiet, tired sort of anger. The kind that a toddler experiences after throwing a tantrum that gets them nothing but a tired body and a tear-soaked face.

They should’ve never been saved.

“I’m sorry,” came the leader’s quiet voice. The mascot glanced up and saw that she was not looking at them. “I have misjudged you. I shouldn’t have.”

It would be the mature decision to accept that apology, but the mascot didn’t want to do that. So they stared at their feet and said, bitterly, “When have you not?”

Their leader’s hand was stained with ink, as dark as their shadows, and they rubbed the pads of their fingers together. “You can retire to your quarters now. I’ll send my right hand to check on you soon.”

The mascot was thankful for that; they stepped out of the room and burst into tears immediately.

— 

The right-hand’s fingers rested on the mascot’s hip as they applied a salve to their hurt knee.

“I’m sorry,” came their quiet apology.

“What are you apologising for?”

They didn’t meet the mascot’s eye. The right-hand gazed at their thumb, which traced circles on the villain’s slowly numbing knee. “It wasn’t a unanimous decision to save you, I admit. There was a fight. But the leader and I wanted you back. We were all divided. But she insisted.”

The mascot laughed wryly. “‘Cause I’d leak information?”

“That’s not what was on the forefront of her mind.”

“Then what was?”

The right hand looked up at them, and they really did seem regretful. They cupped the mascot’s jaw. “I knew you were missing a tooth the moment I saw you. We found it, you know, in a back alley near your apartment. She flipped before we could even confirm it was yours.”

“You…confirmed it was mine?”

The right-hand turned a bizarre shade of pink. “When you first joined us, you gave up your medical records. And that includes your dental records, so…”

“...Oh.”

— 

Crickets chirped past their bedroom window. The mascot stared into the darkness of their room, sleep slow to catch up to them. The salve’s effects were wearing off, the pain coming back in growing aches. Faint rays of five a.m. sunlight trickled into their room through gaps in their curtains, glowing prussian blue.

When their eyelids began to grow heavy, the shadows in their room curled towards them, hesitant to touch, keen on encompassing.

“You came,” the mascot mumbled tiredly. The shadows came nearer. “Because you thought I was hurt?”

I was afraid for your safety, said the shadows. But I didn’t make that clear, and I let my paranoia get ahead of my better judgment. For that, I am sorry.

“But you still came,” they repeated, “To save me.”

As soft as morning mist, the shadows slithered around before their lips. I did, it agreed. Of course I did.

The mascot drifted off to sleep, safe and snug.

#secret santa #kyles.writing #so sorry. if the dynamic is weird. i tried to cook #AND SORRY THAT ITS LONG OH GOD 4K WORDS 💀 #omfg but shes done 😭😭😭 FINALLY #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #villain x villain #mascot x villain #mascot x villain x right hand #if you squint #i tried to cook as i said #hero x hero #if you squint marginally less #theyre kinda....idk #pink x red #kaiwewi

[mirohtron]

The supervillain dug their talons deep into the hyperventilating villain's neck. This was unbelievable—the villain was nothing, nothing, how did they sneak in?

"I should kill you," they said coldly.

The villain made a noise wholly born of fright. "Please, please, don't, I want to make a deal—hah!" They choked down a sob, bit down on their lip to do it, when one of the supervillain's sharp talons scraped down their skin. "They wouldn't let me in, you have to believe me. You can't possibly think I was trying to sneak in to, like, steal—"

The supervillain yanked them up, so they were sitting on their desk. A bottle of ink had spilled and matted part of their brown hair black. The villain didn't dare move, tensing up every muscle in their body.

The supervillain clenched their jaw and squeezed the villain's neck, making them whimper in fright. "Tell me how you broke in," they said lowly and through their teeth, "from where you broke in, and why you thought sneaking up behind me was worth a deal I could reject."

"Let me tell you about the deal first!" the villain said, and then screamed when the supervillain raked sharp talons down their skin. "Flowers! Flowers. I brought sleepy poppies to the back guards and acted smitten and said I wanted to give it to you. They sniffed it and were out like a light in minutes. And then—I used their fingerprints and keycards and stuff to get in."

"Sleepy poppies?"

The villain sniffled. "I grew them experimentally. They're mine."

The supervillain rolled their tongue, beyond furious that a stupid thing like them could trick their guards. Somebody was going to die tonight.

"There's people constantly on watch," they said. "Constantly at work. You will tell me exactly how you got inside my office."

The villain pointed up, to the open vent. They dug in their pocket and took out a pen. "Heated the grates off. I didn't wanna make noise."

The supervillain yanked the pen out of their grip. They took the cap off and found a piece of metal that was in a similar shape as the cigarette lighters in cars inside.

The villain sobbed in panic when they glared. "Why are you mad? I was—I wasn't going to do anything bad—" they shut up when the vampire sneered.

"You're not even in gear."

The villain's voice came out in a loud, panicked shout. "Because I wasn't going to fight you!"

"Shut up!" The supervillain yanked them close. The villain's eyes were wide, their chest rising up and down unsteadily, their knuckles white as their hands turned to fists. "You come into my lair, my office, with nothing but a piece of metal that can get hot and flowers, and you think I should appreciate your brain because you got past a couple useless guards?"

Blood was already dripping from the shallow wounds the supervillain had given them on their neck, scented sweet. It would be so, so easy to just squeeze and stop their whining. The villain's face twisted. "I didn't come here to make a useless deal!"

"Then why, pray tell, did you come here? To join me?"

"I came here because superhero's gonna kill you!"

The supervillain froze. For a moment all the anger and arrogance left them as they stood there to process. The villain was red-cheeked and panting, and the part of their hair matted with ink was drying into a solid clump.

Slowly, the supervillain turned their talons back to their cold fingers. "Nobody can kill me."

The villain half-scoffed half-laughed, and it came out halfway broken. "You're a vampire."

The su—the vampire froze, once more. The villain was clutching the edge of their expensive desk now. The ink bottle had a dark pool around its mouth, staining the mahogany.

"I'm no vampire."

"Silver hurts you! And—" the villain took a breath too big and coughed. "And your hands are cold," they said miserably, as though temperature was their biggest worry right now.

"Silver doesn't hurt me, I wear silver jewellery. What are you—"

The villain slipped their hand under the vampire's sleeve and held their wrist, and immediately the vampire's skin burned. And it wasn't like their skin heated up, no. It was like blue fire had touched their skin, like their nerve endings were sizzling.

The vampire screamed. The villain went pale and started to snatch their hand back, but the vampire took it and slammed them back down on the table.

In rage the vampire caught their face in their fingers, digging their human nails into the hollows of their cheek. The villain took their turn to scream in fear. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, my ring is silver and—I'd been careful not to—"

"Fine," the vampire gritted out. "Fine. I'm a god damn vampire. How did you find out?"

The villain took a remarkably steady breath, visibly swallowing down all of their sobs and hiccups and the rest of their pathetic crying. "You don't appear on camera. Your body is cold. I came here before, way back before I became a villain, as some else's arm candy. I noticed you didn't have a single thing that was real silver. Gold, brass, steel, bronze, diamond—you had everything except silver. I..." The villain's breath hitched.

"Go on."

The villain took a breath halfway through their nose before they realised it came as an annoying sniffle, and took in the rest through their mouth. "I kept notes. I theorised that your weakness was silver. You kept it hidden well but..."

"And the superhero now knows?" The vampire squeezed the villain's jaw. "She knows because you told her, didn't you? And she's going to kill both of us now because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut?"

The villain frantically shook their head. The spilled bottle of ink was right by their head. "They broke into my place and went through my stuff." They lifted the arm of theirs that wasn't pinned down to the table and shook it to shimmy down the sleeve. The vampire turned their head and saw the beginning of what looked like a deep cut that just missed their vein. "I've got these all over me. They found out my theories on you and kept me alive just because they thought I had something that could kill you. I lied and said I did."

"How did you escape?"

The villain's face twisted in anxious frustration. "Why does it matter? Why does it matter at all—I ran when they weren't looking!" They curled away from the villain's sharp talons. "Please, please, I promise I only came here to warn you."

"And?"

The villain looked at them tearily. "And for protection from heroes."

The vampire gritted their teeth. They'd kept the silver thing hidden well, and for so long. If the villain had figured it out just because they happened to connect a few dots...

Well, it seemed like they were slacking off. And as cowardly and weak as the villain was, they'd clearly been silently observing a lot of people, and they were also resourceful and intelligent.

The vampire brought them up again. "I don't care about you, let's make that clear."

"Well, I don't care about you either." The villain frowned childishly, sniffling. The vampire laughed in amusement.

"Good, so this relationship is purely professional. You must know what the superhero's weakness are."

"Some," the villain said. "She's good at hiding it if something hurts her, but she's always shocked first." The vampire caught them flexing their ringed hand. "As strong people always are."

The vampire looked back at the villain. The villain quickly realised that the vampire had clocked that movement and paled, and then quickly flushed and opened their mouth to no doubt apologise, but the vampire ignored them.

"Work with my men," they said. They let go of the villain's neck, which was now red and bleeding, and placed a finger over their chest. "Co-operate. They will send me periodic reports on you."

The villain's features lifted in shock, and then they took in a relieved breath. "So you'll offer me protection?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, oh my God, thank you. I was so scared you wouldn't, I'm so grateful and I...I..." They trailed off as the vampire began to make their way to their office doors.

"Be gone from my office by the time I come back," the vampire said, hand on the door handle. "I need to sort things out and fire a couple guards."

The vampire left.

The villain wiped off all traces of their act from their face, and twisted their silver ring around their finger.

They took that stupid bottle of ink and threw it to the ground, and then put their head in their hands and groaned.

God, if they were busted, they'd so dead.

#heroes and villains #antagonist and protagonist #vampire villain #vampire supervillain #kyles.writing #villains and heroes #writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #superhero #supervillain #hero #villain #villains #negotiation #dealmaking

[mirohtron]

inspired by this post by @pain-after-dark hehe

—

the soft crackle of a lamp bulb coming to life lifted the spy up to consciousness. their eyes felt like lead balls, their shirt sticky and wet, the world not quite ready to abandon its murkiness and grow clear. sand was in their mouth and gallons of water filled their head.

"all right, lovely? can you hear me?"

cold fingers gently caught their chin, tipping their head up carefully. the sudden shock of temperature made them more alert. the ache in their body became more apparent. their wrists were sore and the wood of the chair they were tied to dug into their arms. the spy opened their eyes up.

the villain—their target—looked down hungrily at them, eyes raking down every inch of skin and muscle. they tugged the bloody part of their shirt that caught to their body up, and watched it fall back down with a wet sound. their lip curled. "ugh. you're too messy for your own good."

the spy said nothing.

the villain's palm dragged over the curve of their cheek, paying no mind to their bruises and cuts. "but blood looks good on you. it makes you look wild. uncontrollable." they wet their lips. grinned. "insatiable."

"speak for yourself."

the grin widened just a fraction and the villain leaned back. they looked immaculate as ever, pristine. untouchable. their fingers traced the spy's shirt collar. "i saw you, you know," they said. "long, long before you attempted to kill me. don't get me wrong--you're wonderful. i'm just too good."

the spy said nothing. the villain fixed their collar, set it straight, smoothed out the wrinkles. their fingers ghosted downward, over the blood, barely brushing their wounds. the spy clenched their teeth, bracing themselves for pain.

the villain's fingers gently traced the edges of their cuts. the spy breathed carefully through their mouth. "two years ago," the villain said, a little softly, "rome. you were wearing emerald green."

the spy choked.

the villain hushed them quickly, other hand taking their chin, thumb to bottom lip. "it's not your fault," they cooed. "you were a treasure. it would've been inevitable. the way you moved across the room..."

they couldn't help their shivering. the villain liked their pretty things to a sadistic degree—they liked the way they cried. the way they screamed. the way they begged.

delicately, the villain traced the tips of their fingers down to the knot of their tie. "you gorgeous thing," they whispered, awed. "you're amazing. it took me time, you know. to know you were spying. your work is flawless. perfect."

"i'm flattered." it did not come out strong.

their tie came undone in one pull. the spy swallowed down every rancid sensation clawing up their throat down. they needed to live. "wait."

the villain politely paused.

"why torture me? i'm good. i'm great. you said so yourself. you can—you can make me work. for you. it won't be good to render your favourite thing unworkable."

the villain tilted their head to one side, as if they were considering. they twirled the tie around their fingers. "haven't you figured that i thought about that?"

"you'd be an idiot not to consider it."

they laughed. they pursed their lips, humming. "honey, i think the blood loss is getting to you. i don't need your work." they moved to wrap the spy's tie around their mouth. the spy wheezed in a breath.

"there's better ways to do this—"

"hushhh," the villain whispered, dragging out the syllables, dissolving into a soft laugh at the spy's helpless look. "puppy-eyed. i think you might just be my favourite." they secured the gag with deft fingers and sauntered away to take out every little torture device they were going to use on the spy.

the spy pulled on their restraints until their wrists bled. every damn device glinted in the light, shined to perfection.

the villain laughed, taking in their expression with delight. "pretty thing," they said. "you'll look prettier when i'm done with you.

#this is kinda mid sorry #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #villain #villains #writeblr #whump #torture #spy whump #spy #spies #kyles.writing

[mirohtron]

the villain jumped at the sound of a twig snapping.

and then, immediately, felt faint. they pressed their palm to the bleeding wound on their side and tried to pay no mind to the white-hot pain, instead focusing on where the sound had come--from the bushes of this park, long forgotten by the city, along with this little neighbourhood. they peered, blinked hazily. light played from a dim little lamppost onto a figure, a pair of eyes peering back.

oh, how close the villain was to home. and yet, look at how close danger was to them. they drew their knife from their boot with a shaking, blood-slicked hand. they willed their voice not to shake as the lamppost flickered. "out," they called. "now."

from the bushes came a soft gasp, and then rustling. it wouldn't be smart to throw their knife at whoever was there and hope it landed on the target. the villain found themselves considering that option either way.

this park was unkempt, uncared for, the grass going up to their knees. this was where teenagers came to smoke or have unhygienic trysts. the trees, old and heavy with their branches and planted too close, formed canopies. benches lay half-covered in weeds and moss. the lampposts were dim, flickering, with weak bulbs and creaky poles. this was not the best place to fight, especially considering their state. going to the blocks would be much safer.

the villain forced themselves to step away from the rusty lamppost they'd been leaning on and winced when it creaked. they kept their eyes trained on the bushes. they stepped backwards and closer to the gates, knife before them. they ignored every terrible ache in their body, gritted their teeth.

they heard a pained groan. tilted their head to the side.

out, with impossible speed, came something red. the villain could barely comprehend it before a human-shaped weight partially slammed them against one of the stone pillars lining the metal fence, and their shoulder went white with bruising pain when corded muscle hit one of the anti-climb metal spikes. oh, this was so uncomfortable. the corner of the pillar dug into their muscle.

suddenly their entire skin stung, and the villain's body contracted and jumped at a spike of electricity. their vision was hazy, and then quickly the weight shifted, and an annoyingly high nasal voice screeched in their ear.

"oh my god! oh my god, shit, i'm so sorry, i--"

the villain groaned, starting to slide down, but hands caught them by their sides and forced them to lean against the pillar. they blinked spots out of their vision, and a pair of worried, flickering amber-yellow eyes came into their view, along with a nose, slightly bruised, taped with white medical tape.

ah. that explained the terrible voice.

"i'm so sorry," said the person who had slammed them into a fence at light speed. the villain could barely think, barely manage another groan. "holy shit, you're bleeding. i mean, i knew you were bleeding, but not so much--"

no shit, sherlock, the villain wanted to say. but they were stung with another bout of electricity. the speedster yelped and let go, allowing the villain to sink into the knee-high grass. they kneeled and pushed grass away from the villain's body. where did their knife go?

amber-yellow electricity flickered around the speedster's body. the villain glanced up and now saw brown eyes, the amber gone.

"you..." they said, and wanted to hiss it, but ended up sounding just croaky.

"i'm sorry, i don't know how to control it yet," the speedster said, speaking swiftly. but it was unnatural; they enunciated each word properly, but their tongue seemed to move unnaturally fast, like a sped up recording. "i don't know anyone who can help me except you, i mean, you have powers too, right?"

no. the villain merely faked that with tech. but they nodded either way, because they didn't trust themselves to have the mind to omit vital information should they explain that right now.

"so you're not here to kill me," they said in a croaky voice. nonetheless, it sounded pretty all right.

"no! no, i just--i don't trust those heroes."

the villain laughed at that, and then hissed when it sent pain to their side. "good kiddo."

the speedster hovered their hands over the villain's wound, awkward, unsure of what to do, but still eager to help. "i'm not a kid." the speedster said.

"think you'll shock me again?" the villain asked, ignoring the speedster.

"n-no? it only happens when i'm nervous."

"do i make you nervous?"

the speedster frowned. "i dunno, do you like getting electrocuted?"

that almost made the villain laugh again, but instead they just settled for a grin. they held out their bloody hand. "get me up."

the speedster pulled their arm around their neck. "ew," they complained, queasy about the sticky blood. but they lifted the villain up and apologised when the villain groaned and led them out of the park.

"tell me about your powers," the villain said, so that they'd have a distraction from their pain.

relief spread over the speedster's face, like they'd been eager to share their story. "oh, it was a mess how i got it. i, like, visited the rich part of the city for a university interview. i got lost, and, like, i had money. i thought i'd get something to ease up, you know?"

the villain chuckled and bit down on the pain that bloomed from it. the speedster huffed but righted their body and went on. their voice fluctuated between nasal and normal, like they were putting care to incorporate their stomach into their breathing.

"so i walked into this shady place. fuck, dude, it was this horribly surveillanced lab. i touched something i shouldn't have—i didn't even need weed to be that stupid!—and spilled some chemicals i didn't know about. it was raining that day too, and, like, it blew out the electricity. i stumbled into something, turned something on. i got shocked so hard that i should've died, but i woke up surrounded by these scary, suited-up people. and i got scared, and i started, like, vibrating and electrocuting these guys. i saw a window to escape, so i ran. i ran back home. slammed into a couple walls on the way." they pointed to their broken, bandaged nose. "i don't know how to control this."

for the first time, the villain peered more closely into their face and saw how badly their nose had been taken care of. there was too much stuffing in one nostril, too little in the other. it was not going to heal in a straight line. "i can tell."

the speedster moved their face back, and the villain's knees gave out at yet another electrical shock, pulling the speedster down with them. they gasped.

"i'm so sorry!"

"s'fine." the villain gasped. "you got a medkit at your place?"

"uh-huh."

"take me there."

the speedster blinked. "are you sure?"

"yes."

"aren't you scared i'll hurt you?"

"scared you'll do it on accident."

the speedster frowned, but they lugged the villain on.

their place was small, the paint slightly cracked. outside, their complex appeared run down, the balconies rusted and old, graffiti at the entrance and more on the walls which bordered the complex. but the speedster had made their apartment look as cozy as possible, with warm lights and little trinkets and large posters of bands and movies and television shows plastered to the wall.

"it's not much," the speedster said as they came out of the bathroom, medkit and damp towel in hand. they handed the towl to the villain, who cleaned off the blood from their face and hands.

"it's cute," said the villain. the speedster's twin-sized bed, on which the villain sat, was beside the window that led to one of the balconies, slide up to allow cold night air in. not all buildings in this part of the city had balconies, and for the ones that did, they were too old to safely stand on. the villain noted that the speedster's balcony was tipped slightly downwards.

the speedster placed the medkit down beside their desk, and the villain pulled it towards their body, opening it and pulling out the hydrogen peroxide. the villain eyed their torn suit and their wound and sighed and pulled the top off, neck first so it wouldn't stretch unnecessarily.

electricity flickered, and the villain looked up to see the speedster decidedly not looking at them, standing awkwardly. they smiled. "i don't make you nervous, you said?"

"didn't say shit."

the villain directed their smile to the bottle and pulled out the cotton, wetting it. they hissed as they dabbed at the wound. the speedster shifted on their feet. "how long since you've had these powers?"

"...three days."

"hm."

"what?"

the villain took out the gauze and bandage with one hand and made a come hither motion with the other. the speedster bent to their level, and the villain ripped off their bandage.

"ah!" the speedster yelped, jumping back in a flash of electricity, covering their nose. they glared up at the villain, eyes amber-yellow, electricity in their pupils. "what the hell, man!"

"look at your nose," the villain murmured. "it's getting better already." that bruising from earlier was completely gone.

the speedster blinked, removing the cotton from their nostrils, half-bloody. they breathed in through their nose. "holy shit."

the villain raised their eyebrows. "super healing. electricity. super speed." they leaned back on an arm, tilting their head. "aren't you something."

the speedster pinched their nose. "it only aches."

"come here."

at that the speedster's attention came to them again. they stood straight, eyes accusing. "don't do something like that again."

"it's nothing like that." the villain gestured towards them with the gauze and bandage. "dress my wound."

the speedster blinked once more, but they came to the villain's side and kneeled, happy to help, and obediently dressed the wound.

the villain looked down at them with dark eyes, legs spread. "how eager you are," they murmured, "to get between my thighs."

the speedster made a flustered noise and flashed with electricity, prepared to run back, but this time the villain was fast enough to yank them onto bed. the speedster yelped, cheeks red. the villain came close. the speedster scooted back.

"uhm," the speedster said, wide-eyed. their hair was floating up now, static electricity buzzing around their body. the villain felt the hair on their arms rise, but they pushed forward regardless. "aren't you worried i'll, like, shock you?"

"aren't you worried," the villain murmured, and placed a hand on their heaving chest, "that i'll do bad things to you? i'm a villain, after all."

the speedster made a funny noise. "like--" they cleared their throat. "like what?"

the villain leaned in, breath brushing delicately against the shell of their ear. "like this," they whispered, and shoved the speedster out onto the balcony.

the speedster yelped, and then sat up, looking at them in shock.

the balcony creaked on rusted hinges. the villain yanked the window down just as the speedster moved to climb back inside.

they stared at the villain in hopeless dread.

the balcony gave. the speedster plunged. and then the balcony underneath their's fell under their weight, and so on and so forth, a horrible cacophony of rusted, creaking metal giving way over and over again, the result of the city's municipality forgetting this run-down neighbourhood.

when there was no more sound the villain opened the window and peered down to look at the speedster lying in bloody metal. they groaned like a wounded animal.

in the low light of the streetlights the villain watched the speedster's body heal, the bones mending, the skin stitching itself.

delicately, they perched their chin over their palm. "i'll help," they said. "but i'll help as bad guys do. and if i ask for favours, consider it a chance to pay off this debt." they checked their nails idly, and picked at the grime underneath. god, this new development was making them feel better already.

the speedster wailed.

"don't worry, darling!" they called. "i'll fashion a nice suit for you as a gift." wound and aching body forgotten, they fished out one of the speedster's clothes and tugged it on, and headed down to help their new...sidekick? apprentice? whatever the speedster had just become to them, the villain was glad they were their problem to handle.

this was going to be one hell of a ride.

#yeah i watch justice league. yeah this is blatant flash plagiarism. idc #speedster #villain #superheroes #supervillains #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #speedster x villain #speedster/villain #if you squint #spilled ink #writeblr #writers on tumblr #kyles.writing #abr te speedsterxvillain tag. i changed the ending . i suppose even squinting will not help now #but i will leave that on there for the girlies who skipped their wp phase and went straight for c0h0 #i suppose u deserve an outlet....a space to grow....also it wouod be funny if they ended up together even after this stunt #just fucking hilarious imo #leaving that there. for the bit

[mirohtron]

"You don't understand," the villain hissed. "Loving me will ruin you, you stupid thing. Maybe you want that, maybe you want to be ruined and left unstable and hurt, but you don't seem to realise the extent. I will take all the light you can give me and let you burn to ash, even though I can see it'll kill you. I will not blow you out. I'll take it, selfishly, and I'll exhaust you until you hate me. I—"

The hero trapped them against a wall and kissed them, and kissed them more, and then some more until the villain was pushing against them dizzily and the lack of air crumpled their lungs up.

Then, the hero let go.

The villain slumped against the wall, staring, reeling, gasping in precious air.

"I don't care," said the hero. Just as breathless. "I don't care, I really don't. You think we're bad for each other? Then let's just exhaust each other until the novelty wears off. Until then," the hero kissed them again, harder, shorter, and the villain couldn't suppress their noises, "I'll just take what I can get."

The villain didn't have a response to that.

The hero kissed them again.

#was gna make this a pr0mpt #then i was like hm... hm... #hero x villain #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #kyles.writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #writing #hero/villain #villain/hero #hxv #vxh #villain #villains #kissing #my exams ended today so i might subject everybody to more snippets idk . depends on the brain #lately though ive been wanting to write more fucked up shit . kt might be bc i read tvd micah nemerever #villain x hero

[mirohtron]

The hero noticed the villain's white-knuckled grip on their gun.

Inside, the party slowly descended to chaos. They figured their guy was sending out accusations to his rivals, raising guns, over the dead body. They fixed their hair and wiped their smudged lipstick off. "Sorry."

"You're so goddamn unprofessional."

"Hey, our guy has a taste for babes."

The villain groaned. They raised their own hand to wipe off smudged lipstick from the hero's mouth, and it clicked in their brain that this proximity was far too close compared to their usual skinship level, but the villain seemed more frustrated than flustered at doing this. Actually, they didn't look flustered at all, and didn't even take the opportunity to flirt. They simply glared.

"Focus." The villain went to fix a strand of the hero's hair. They cocked their gun. "We've got a party to ruin." And they brushed past them, through the balcony doors.

The hero stayed fixed to their spot for a couple moments, just listening to the sounds of people screaming and the villain's gun going off. Then they fixed their jewellery and joined them.

Interesting.

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #kyles.writing #villains and heroes #villain x hero #party #villain #villains #heroes #i'm sleepy zzzzzz

[mirohtron]

k-k-k-kyle please write an unhinged hero for me >.<

Something was wrong.

The villain shot up in bed, alarmed. The right side of their bed was empty—the hero was gone.

They fisted the cheap motel bedsheets. The hero couldn't be gone. If anyone was meant to abandon the other during a joint mission, it would be the villain. Not the hero. Not the goddamn goody-two-shoes.

A thud came from outside. The villain flinched, going cold. They called their powers. They got out of bed and stood a good few paces away from the door.

The door opened. The villain's fist burst with light, buzzing and humming, ready to blind and burn.

The hero stood bloody at the door, a knife so red it seemed almost painted crimson in hand. The villain took in a sharp breath, heart dropping, stepping back as they noticed the limp arm peaking out of the doorframe like the poster of a goddamn whodunit. Their light flickered like an exhausted bulb.

The hero tilted their head. Their eyes looked wild, their hair wilder, their smile cutting. "Hey. You're awake."

"What did you do?"

The hero's brows rose. They swung their knife up and forward and the villain shot a small blast at their hand. The hero dropped the knife, hand stung, hissing. They put their hands up placatingly.

"I wasn't going to hurt you," the hero said carefully, despite their twitching fingers. They looked jittery, like they were coming down from an adrenaline rush. The villain's heart pounded deafeningly in their chest. The hero. With a bloody knife. The city's sweetheart and golden child. With their left arm soaked in red. With their cheek smeared with blood.

The hero sighed, ran the bloody fingertips of their right hand through their hair and shook their hair to let it fall into place naturally. They looked so, so wild, and out of their costume and in a ruined tank top, they looked terribly enticing, But the villain couldn't focus on that. Even if the moonlight painted their edges silvery.

Their fingertips crackled with light.

Slowly, the hero gestured their hand again, like when they had the knife in hand. "You're asking me like I did something terrible," they said. "That's what I was going to ask. I wasn't going to throw a goddamn knife at you. Who do you think I am?"

"This evening, a really annoying hero. Now?"

The hero laughed dismissively, shaking their head softly. "A serial killer? C'mon. You're worse. Drop the hand."

The villain did not drop their hand.

The hero chuckled once, and it almost seemed like they were enjoying this. “It’s always scary when a good person turns evil, even for you, huh? No one’ll believe you.”

“Why did you kill them?”

“I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Does there need to be a reasonable, justifiable why? I just wanted to. I got an urge. I'm as bad as you.” The hero kicked their knife away. “Happy? Put your hand down. My arms are getting tired.”

The villain eyed them.

The hero eyed them back.

The villain cautiously brought their hand down. Their light dimmed slowly, like a bad bulb. The hero slowly put their hands down too, watching their expression closely.

“See?” they said. “That wasn’t so hard.”

The villain clenched their jaw. The hero huffed out a breath, putting their hands in their pockets in a casual, harmless gesture. They lolled their head down to look at their feet, their carefree demeanour vanishing, and gave the villain a lethal look.

The villain brought their hands up again.

In seconds the hero had the villain’s wrists pinned to the wall. Their grip was so tight, it hurt to struggle, even with the blood on their hands.

“Now listen, okay? All right, okay.” The hero closed their eyes against the onslaught of light. “Let’s be calm.”

“Don’t fucking talk about calm!”

“Fiesty. Calm down. I can’t hurt you. I can’t even see you.”

“You can feel me!”

The hero snickered like any of this was funny. “Well, I would love to feel you.”

The villain’s light flickered in bewilderment. The hero slid their wrists up, forcing them on their toes, humming in satisfaction. “Turn it down.”

“What the hell are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to warn you. Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t hurt you? Don’t force my hand.”

The villain still tugged on the hero’s grip. But there was no getting out, and they couldn’t keep the light up forever. They dimmed down. 

The hero opened their eyes. They let the villain drop to their heels and kept their wrists pinned beside their head. “Don’t utter a word,” they said. “To anyone. Not even another villain. Not even a thief, or a goddamn baby. Okay?”

“You said no one’ll believe me.”

“There’s already rumours going around about me. I don’t need fuel added to the fire.”

The villain scoffed. “How many of those rumours are true, huh?”

The hero lifted their wrists off the wall and slammed them right back in. The villain yelped in surprise more than pain. “Shut it.”

“Fuck you.”

The hero tilted their head.

The villain looked down and tugged urgently.

The hero let their wrists go.

The villain pushed their chest immediately, stepping around them. “Asshole.” The hero flicked their hand and wiped it on their top. They ran their right hand through their hair again and shook it to mess it up like a bloody puppy. The villain looked at the way the tank top stuck to their torso, glanced down to where it rode up just a little bit to give them a glimpse of their toned stomach.

When they looked back up, the hero was looking at them.

The villain flushed. The hero laughed and gave another cutting grin, pressing bloody fingertips to their lips to blow them a kiss.

The villain's jaw worked as they nearly threw back an insult, but they thought better of it. That'd just give them something to retort to. So they picked up the knife and pointed at the limp hand at the door. "We need to bury this."

"Of course." The villain hated that grin. "I know a spot."

The point of the knife dipped as the villain wondered how many bodies had piled up on this mission without their knowledge. It made them worry, but it also made their heart stutter to think of blood dripping down the lines of the hero's face. They shook their head.

The hero extended a hand. "Help me bury it?"

"Of course," the villain said. "I'm better at disposing bodies than you are."

#heroes and villains #villains and heroes #hero x villain #villain x hero #villain #unhinged hero #murderer #evil hero #writeblr #writing #kyles.writing

[mirohtron]

"You don't understand," the villain hissed. "Loving me will ruin you, you stupid thing. Maybe you want that, maybe you want to be ruined and left unstable and hurt, but you don't seem to realise the extent. I will take all the light you can give me and let you burn to ash, even though I can see it'll kill you. I will not blow you out. I'll take it, selfishly, and I'll exhaust you until you hate me. I—"

The hero trapped them against a wall and kissed them, and kissed them more, and then some more until the villain was pushing against them dizzily and the lack of air crumpled their lungs up.

Then, the hero let go.

The villain slumped against the wall, staring, reeling, gasping in precious air.

"I don't care," said the hero. Just as breathless. "I don't care, I really don't. You think we're bad for each other? Then let's just exhaust each other until the novelty wears off. Until then," the hero kissed them again, harder, shorter, and the villain couldn't suppress their noises, "I'll just take what I can get."

The villain didn't have a response to that.

The hero kissed them again.

note: i wrote an extended version of this :) its p long

—

They fought. It was so early in the relationship that after the villain's mind had cleared they hit the pillow and spiralled and spiralled and spiralled some more until they were convinced everything was a mistake. They never voiced out their troubles.

"I'll make you hate me," the villain said one night, when they were staring at the lights in the street in the night and sitting on the grass in some lonely park in the city. "I'll make you regret ever starting this." It wasn't a threat. It was just something inevitable. It happened all the time.

The hero stared at them like they were taking that as a challenge. That felt like a threat. Later the villain found themselves trapped against the wall and keening like an animal because the hero was being too gentle with them, kissing them too gently, holding them too gently. The fact that they were doing something new so soon scared the villain—they wanted to hold onto this as long as possible. They wanted to stay warmed by the hero's fire as long as possible before the novelty wore off. They missed their rough kisses. They were made for that. They were not made to be held like a fragile thing, because they were far from fragile.

Later the villain killed someone. They held the body close to their own and tried to breathe through the panic because this would be the dealbreaker. They'd gone months smothering all the ugly, disgusting parts of themselves, and that had bottled up and burst and turned into this.

It's not like the villain wasn't a killer. It was just that no one knew. This felt like infidelity. It was the only way the villain could describe the feeling. A betrayal. An unfaithfulness toward an unspoken agreement. A catalyst thrusting them into destruction.

When the hero saw them, the villain watched the revulsion flicker through their face like a flame in the breeze. The villain was prepared for handcuffs and a death sentence. The hero took the body and helped them bury it and the two didn't speak a word, didn't say anything. The hero took them home and washed them and scrubbed the dirt and blood and tears out of their face and the villain was too tired to bear the emotional weight of what would happen if they asked why this was being done. The hero ignored the way the villain looked at the hero's clothing when it was held out to them to wear (because they couldn't wear their clothes, surely not after doing something so horrible—forcing the hero to do something so horrific and irreversible and sinful). The soft fibre felt suffocating and more incriminating than their bloody, ruined clothes.

Afterwards the hero towelled the villain's hair dry and they grew more exhausted, trying to figure out why the hero was doing this, the silence wrapping around their own throat and dared them to break it. They laid down on the hero's bed with the villain staring at the ceiling too sad to go to sleep and the hero's warm arm over their chest, their face against their neck.

"You're right," the hero's words were soft, but the way they shattered the silence with no warning made the villain flinch. The hero's grip turned unforgivably harsh. "You are ruining me."

The villain knew that something would give, soon. Something had to.

The hero kind of, sort of rationed their affection when the villain said too much. Gave away just enough to sustain for a little, but not enough to really survive on it.

"I'll ruin you," the villain said once. "I'll hurt you and it won't be fair."

The hero kissed them and bit their lip until it bled for that. Then they drew back and looked their fill and decided they weren't anywhere near done, so they leaned back in and kissed the villain until they were coming up breathless and pushing against the hero for air.

One night, the hero came home bloody.

They stood at the door, arms shaking, staring into nothing. They'd left a bloody, muddy trail. The doorbell had their bloody fingerprint. The villain had thought that their whole world had crumbled.

The villain had held them, whispered into their hair that they'd take care of it, to freshen up. They burned the body, scrubbed the blood clean, scrubbed the floors and the welcome mat and any dirty thing their eyes landed on and took up as much time as possible removing all the evidence. They sat on a bench outside, curled up, stared into the night and thought, something was going to give. Something was going to happen. The villain was going to do something, and the hero was going to kill them for it. They were going to die a hundred times, one death for each time they forced the hero to chip off a little bit of their conscience, until they were something else entirely.

Is this how God had felt, seeing his prettiest, loveliest, most perfect angel commit sin? Is this how Achilles had felt, hearing of Patroclus' death? This blood, after all, was just the villain's armour, wasn't it? Some type of shield? And wasn't that death in the hero's eyes? Hadn't they died along with their victim that night? Hadn't the villain killed them?

They came back exhausted. The hero had made a cup of warm hot chocolate for themselves. The villain stood at the door and stared. Nobody said anything for a long time.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," the hero said.

"Do you think I'm a parasite?" the villain asked, when they were in bed.

"No." But the hesitation before their answer was telling.

There was no love to share, that night.

The hero was not the same after that. Their kisses came the same way someone's fingers would scrabble for purchase at the edges of a waterfall. The villain still burned for it. This was grief, they thought. This was the burning sort of pain, the torturous asphyxia, people got when they changed too quickly and too greatly, when their previous self slipped out of them too quickly for them to catch.

The self is the only thing that keeps one sane. It is a shame that, for us creatures who are so afraid of change, it shifts and transforms as easily as water.

Sometimes the villain thought of death. The pains of this world were neverending. They'd wake up earlier than the hero, watch them sleeping on the bed. The hero was so upset all the time, always worried, always grieving, always in pain. The villain had made them that way. But when they were asleep, they were the closest thing to an angel this world had to offer. In their sleep, they looked as though not even the most world-ending kind of suffering could touch them. How free they looked, from the pain, that the villain always wished they could keep them sleeping forever.

Maybe they were more parasitic than they'd assumed, though, because when the kettle finally burst, it was the hero who attempted on both of their lives.

The villain didn't understand, despite all those months they'd spent slowly ruining the hero. They threw up all the poison they'd been given (put into their dinner, of course, the dinner the hero had been lovingly making them all these months) and the hero pressed into the walls of their home, watching them, wide-eyed. The villain saw the regret, the revulsion, in their eyes. The way they changed. They didn’t understand. But they knew the hero had changed for the worst. 

It was a metamorphosis. They were completely broken now. It was all the villain’s fault. All their doing.

After that, the hero cleaned their vomit, rubbed their back. Curled fingers into their hair. Soft. Gentle.

There was no love to share. There was just this pain, this constant echo of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill you, and maybe it didn’t even matter. The villain had killed the hero in their own special, fire-to-matchstick way, and the hero had killed them in their own, let-death-make-us-unpartable way.

The villain looked at the hero.

The hero looked back at them.

They couldn’t go to bed like this.

Looking at the hero made the villain feel sick. Still, they looked. They forced themself to do it. They had to see. They ought to. It was the least they could do. It was their handiwork, after all.

They still couldn’t go to bed like this. 

They walked the streets of the city the villain plagued and the hero disinfected. They’d done that the first day that they’d made it official, when the dread plagued the villain severely, when the hero had been drunk on love and their own twisted sort of affection. They’d walked the streets in silence, in the soft hush of the night, their hearts beating red and burning against their ribs.

“Is this it?” asked the hero, so blankly that they seemed as though they would’ve been perfectly fine with any answer.

“No,” the villain said, but the silence before their answer said on the contrary.

They sat on the grass together. The streetlamps in their city had nightshades over them, so that no light pollution hid the beauty of the stars. The villain cradled the hero’s face in their hand, a pretty, gorgeous painting ruined. They were like a corrupted, twisted version of Joan of Arc and the archangel Micheal.  Micheal (the villain — here to corrupt, here to be a parasite, here to captivate and charm and ruin), whispering into the ear of Joan (the hero — innocent, wide-eyed, mulish and too loving).

The hero wrapped one arm around the villain, the other holding their hand positioned at their sides, like they were going to dance, but it was just that neither of them wanted to let go. They pushed the villain down onto the grass, buried their face into the crook of their neck. Their breath hitched, then broke, and the villain felt the tears hit their skin long, long before the sobs came to wreck through the hero’s spent body.

“I’d warned you.” It was a horrible thing to say, but the villain had nothing else to tell them. I’m sorry. I love you. I’d warned you. It all boiled down to those three phrases. 

They expected the hero to say horrible things in anger, sadness. You’re horrible. I wanted you to die. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you so much. But the hero didn’t say any of those things. They took in deep, hitching breaths, until they broke, until the villain felt the tears land on their skin. Then, in waves, came the sobs, wrecking through their body. The villain wrapped an arm around the hero and rubbed circles into their back, soothing, whispering soft things into their hair. 

Their fingers intertwined. The hero wailed, and cried, and held close. The villain could hear every sort of pain in their voice. The unwillingness to face that this was the end. The regret of coming to the villain in the first place. The indescribable pain, of knowing that the love was there, it really was, it was so evident in its presence that it hurt that it couldn’t work out. The what if’s. The maybe’s.

When the hero got the energy to get up on their elbows, face the villain again, it had been hours and the sky was a dull, greyish blue. They’d aged decades. They would never be the same.

The villain ached to hold on. They pushed the hero’s hair out of their face, tenderly tucked it behind their ear.

The hero kissed them. The villain kissed back, carded their fingers through their hair, swallowed their cries. They whispered a hundred different variations of the same thing against their mouth. I’m sorry. I love you. They did not burn for it. The hero did not bite them. There was nothing either of them would gain from this, except for a memory to hold on to, a phantom touch against their lips. A remedy to soothe their unbearable pain.

They kissed until they couldn’t breathe, kissed until they grew faint with it, kissed until the last second, until their visions flickered. Only then did they pull apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. The hero’s tears fell to the villain’s cheeks. How poignant, the villain thought. Your grief is mine to be shared with. The shape of our pain is identical.

They stayed like that for a long time. Lips close together. Breathing each other’s air. In utter pain. Like two statues of wailing angels in a cemetery.

When the hero pulled away, they let go of the villain’s hand, and it was impossible to cope with that. It was horrible to know that this was the end. It was unbearable to know that the hero was going to walk out of this park, and that the villain would never feel their love again. But it was better than whatever they’d become if they stayed together. It was better. Any option without the villain was always better.

“The sky,” the villain said softly, “is gorgeous, isn’t it?”

The hero did not respond, but the villain had become so accustomed to their presence that they knew that they were there. 

They walked away, cold grass crunching beneath the soles of their shoes. The villain felt the thread connecting them stretch at the distance, pulled taut, until finally it broke; this was it. This was pain. This was suffering. This was every unbearable thing the world had to give. And the villain would take it and move on, without the hero. Without their love.

They didn’t see each other again.

#hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #kyles.writing #villains and heroes #codependancy #writeblr #writers on tumblr #hero x villain community #heroxvillain #hero/villain #villain/hero #toxic villain #toxic romance #romance #angst #hurt no comfort #severe angst #yeahh #i apologise

[mirohtron]

merry chrysler i joined a secret santa thing hosted by crewe (@creweemmaeec11) love u crewe anyway I'm writing for @auratusaria hi hello

their prompt was: Supervillain isn't the type of person to celebrate the holidays, but villain and their henchmen want to show their appreciation for Supervillain being the best boss they could ever have so they plan a secret Christmas party! The villain could drag any heroes along too for it as well.

—

The betrayal went like this: the hero, leaning against the wall, panting, exhausted of all their powers, yet satisfied and content. The villain, leaning on the wall opposing them, them, too, exhausted, overexerted, but eyeing them curiously, unusual creature they were.

"Oh, fuck," wheezed the hero, leaning on their weapon. "God, those minions were terrible. Uhm. Is this it?"

"For us." The villain leaned up from the wall, paying no mind to their exhaustion. They were like that. A little robotic, forgetting they had a human body sometimes. The hero assumed they were going to work more. Poor thing. The hero eyed the corpses on the ground.

"And for you?"

"I'm not done," they said. "Not with you, at least." And after saying that, they knocked the hero out with the butt of their gun. Splendid. Perfect.

The hero woke up mad that they felt well-rested and ready to curse the villain out with all their fury. Unfortunately, they couldn't do that, because the villain slept soundly beside them on the bed their wrists were cuffed to--and it was already a very obvious courtesy that the villain cuffed them to something as comfortable as a bed--and the hero knew how horrible the villain was at taking care of themselves. They wouldn't be so cruel as to wake them up.

But still. The hero cursed the villain out in their mind. In fact, as they soundlessly tugged on the handcuffs and looked around for anything to pick them with, they busied their very hyperactive mind to come up with insults and lectures they'd spill onto the villain the second that they woke up. You two-faced buffoon. You... you... disappointment? Damn it. You shitfaced brick wall. That was a little funny.

The hero twisted their wrist a little wrong and made the chains of the cuffs clink together too loudly. The villain jolted awake at once and stared at them a little like a deer in headlights on the offensive, ready to jump onto the hood of the car. Then they quickly caught themselves and their usual annoying sangfroid slipped back into them.

"Oh. It's just you."

"Just me?" The hero's hackles rose as they watched the villain get up from the bed and slowly strip. What, like this was a one-night stand? "You brat! You could've given me a concussion!"

The villain looked back at them, bemused, as they unbuttoned the top of their uniform. "No, I know where to hit to give you a concussion and where to hit to not give you a concussion. It was uploaded in my memory before I was changed to this body."

"Brat!"

The villain's brows furrowed for just a moment as they thought of an insult back. "Loser."

"Cunt!"

The villain looked off into the distance, deep in thought, before they nodded their head in approval. "Whore."

The hero gasped. They watched the villain make their way to some wardrobe to the side of the room and fish out a button-up, shucking it over their shoulders like a jacket. "Wait. Is this a warehouse? You can't experiment on me--"

"It's not a warehouse. And your consent wouldn't matter," they added as an afterthought. "It's supervillain's compound." The hero gasped again, then went to pull the damn handcuffs off of their wrists with fervour. "Calm down. You won't be, like, Christmas Turkey, or whatever."

The fact that the villain was using filler words such as whatever and or, like was a serious smack in the face. But the hero had bigger problems. "Then?"

The villain finished buttoning up their shirt and rolled their shoulders now that they were in more comfortable fabrics. The hero heard a bone pop and the villain stared at their own shoulder in alarm, still not used to their human body, before they quickly muttered an oh and moved on. They hummed in thought, which was very odd and concerning because they rarely ever paused to think because their brain was so fast. They tapped the side of the wardrobe doors and looked back at the hero. "You're boss's favourite hero."

"So I'm a Christmas present?!"

"No." The villain frowned. The hero had to admit, the frown was a little adorable on their usually serious face. "You're a...hm, I suppose you can be called a guest."

"A guest to an all-villain party. Only hero. How amazing."

"Not all-villain." The villain raised up a finger. "That fireball-blasting vigilante's going to be there."

"Oh. Okay. That one's head over heels for me." The villain blinked in the hero's peripherals. "All right. So what's the party about?"

"Christmas."

"I know, stupid, but why are you guys hosting it?"

For a beat the villain stayed silent. Then they stared at the ground and then the bed sheets and anywhere else but at the hero's face. They walked to the bed and sat down and the hero saw that the tips of their ears were pink. That put the hero off to a very great degree, but it wasn't bad. The hero often thought that it was endearing whenever they found a new idiosyncrasy in the villain because of their human body.

"Well, supervillain made me," the villain said. "They gave me terabytes of information to preserve and keep and then they risked losing all of it just to save me with a human body. I have to give them something back somehow. This is the only good place I know to start from. They barely ever stop working."

...oh. The hero suddenly felt the very urgent compulsion to hold the villain's human face in their hands. Would the flush in their ears travel down to their cheeks if they did that? The hero quickly exhaled. Don't think. Do not think.

"Anyway." The villain quickly picked themselves up and got up from the bed for the second time that day. "Their henchman is also very eager to give back their generosity somehow. I'm kind of competing against them for best employee. And you're supervillain's favourite toy."

"That's so dehumanizing. So dehumanizing. You of all people should understand that."

The villain cocked their head to the side. The hero didn't think that the villain knew how endearing the confused tic was.

The hero shook their cuffs. "Well, get me out of these. We've got a party to fix, right?"

The villain eagerly nodded their head. "The best Christmas party ever."

#i have not writtten hxv in a hot min #mmm joints r rusty i must say #hero x villain #villain x hero #henchman and villain #henchmen and villains #heroes and villains #villains #christmas party #kyles.writing

[mirohtron]

prompt #20

The villain—choked. "You have freckles."

The hero craned their neck, a furious blush on their cheeks. "Bothered?"

"No—it's just..." they were on their back. The villain wanted to lean down and kiss.

#thinking abt how my carrd links 2 my tumblr and its linked in mh discord and im in a server w/ my classmates . #sure hope nobody clicks on the tumblr icon and sees this ! xoxo #writeblr #writers on tumblr #heroes and villains #kyles.writing #hero x villain #villains and heroes #my writing #hero/villain #villain/hero #hxv #vxh #villain x hero #villain x hero prompt #prompt #prompts

[mirohtron]

Commitment issues hero X desperate Villain

their world was falling apart.

"you're a liar," whispered the villain.

the hero stared down at them. before they'd been coaxed into sleep, the fire had made the hero's brown eyes look warm and gentle and embracing. but that was back when they were pretending, when the villain believed the hero wouldn't leave, wouldn't dare think of leaving.

the hero looked utterly cold right now.

"i thought--i thought this was worth it," the villain went on. their throat felt tight. there was a void yawning open inside them, because nothing could've prepared them for this. for this hard outer shell to bounce back out when they'd tried to coax the hero out of it with aching patience. "you know how corrupt your people are." the villain took in a quivering breath. "you can't. we can be so great. please."

the hero's brow twitched. their gaze faltered. the villain went straight for it.

"you're so beautiful it hurts." i love you so much it hurts. "i want us so badly. please. listen to me."

"i'm listening." of course they were. the coward wouldn't even look them in the eye. "we can't go on."

the villain took in a short, shuddering breath like they'd been stabbed. then there was silence, and the hero's painful apology was echoing. but they didn't voice it. of course they didn't fucking voice it.

"you know how the stories go."

"this isn't a story," the villain said through teeth.

"i have to leave."

"you can stay!" it came out weaker than intended. the villain squeezed their eyes shut and felt weak tears roll down their face. everything spun around like a carousel going too fast.

everything burned. their heart ached with it. the hero had been so sweet just a couple hours back, what had changed? something the villain said? their hero's stupid brain said something?

the villain took in another quivering breath. they thought of holding on to the hero's jeans pathetically. as if that would do anything.

they always left. always. they'd been foolish enough to think that the hero would be different, but still. this one couldn't leave. they just couldn't. the two had gone through so much.

"i almost died for you," whispered the villain. "why are you leaving? i almost died for you! i would've died for you happily. i would've given myself away freely if it meant you could live on." but the hero had saved them. they'd taken care of them through their convalescence and handled their horrible parts with burning affection. "i'd kill for you--"

the hero snapped their gaze up. "i can't love you."

the villain stopped dead.

"i can't." the hero shook their head. "not someone like you. i--" their voice turned choking, then they swallowed hard. "you're relentless. your foundations are so... wrong. i can't love that."

the villain was dying. "you can't say that. you're lying. that's not true."

"it is."

"you can't say that," the villain repeated. "you kissed me." the hero kissed them as they fell asleep, god damn it. they heard them say it. they heard their whispered confession before they fell asleep. they heard it with their own ears. "you--were you always planning to leave me? is that why the soup tasted weird? you don't want me to get up and chase you relentlessly?"

the hero winced. the villain wanted to yell. to hit something. to punch some sense into the hero, but the one person they'd given themselves away to so freely had drugged them because they were too relentless. too determined.

"stay," said the villain. "please. just stay for a bit."

the hero shut their eyes. there was pain writ large on their features. it drove them mad. if it hurt so much, why leave? if they couldn't look them in the eye, why talk? why try to talk? why not just fucking leave and ignore the villain's calls begging them to come back?

the villain wanted to stand up. to hold the hero's face and make them look. for all their courage they looked so small and vulnerable. the villain felt young and insignificant, like they could do anything and it still wouldn't change the hero's mind one bit.

"please," they whispered.

the hero sat beside them. it didn't make them feel any better, it just made them realise they'd tired out the hero ridiculously quick. that they'd leave anyway. the villain stared into oblivion and felt as cold as though there really was no one with them.

the fire died slowly like the villain's dying heart, their dying world. freezing over like water.

"i know you so well," whispered the villain. "i know how you cry. how you laugh. i know how dearly you like plums."

the hero made no noise. in the wake of the villain's words, the silence paraphrased them, saying this: i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.

their almost-lover waited till the drugs weakened them further. they put out the fire and wrapped the blanket around them tighter. they kissed the crown of their head and left with no apology. just a burning mark in the shape of their lips over the villain's mouth.

the villain didn't die, actually die. they were just left alone in a living body, dying in a different way.

#hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #angst #kyles.writing #heroxvillain #villainxhero #hxv #haha hi #i don't like this v much idk #been a while since i've written on tumblr oops #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing