Sabrina/bri | She/her Whipped for too many characters and deep in too many fandoms. Green Day | Marvel | Doctor Who | Star Trek Art/twitter @troubledcomet | Currently, lovin’ BBC Ghosts & The Muppets.
I love when either the hero or the villain is a complete and utter simp like soooooooo in love wow I really bagged a baddie type shi. Can you write smth like that?🥺
"I'll be honest." The villain was still kneeling in front of the hero. Their hand was still on the hero's knee. And the hero wondered what on earth the villain was trying to do here. "You drive me insane."
"Feeling's mutual." The hero put their elbow on the armrest of the chair and leaned their head against their hand. They took in a deep breath. "But you're aware that robbing a bank isn't a declaration of love?"
"I did it in your name, does that...?"
"It doesn't count, no," the hero said. They tilted their head and studied the features of the villain. Admittedly, the puppy eyes were always the most awful part. The hero didn't even dare to count how many times the villain had slipped through their fingers.
Or better, how many times the hero had let them.
They closed their eyes, desperate for some kind of break but the villain didn't seem to even grant them that.
The hero tore their eyes open again when the villain's fingers snaked up the hero's thigh. The hero grabbed their wrist before it entered dangerous territory.
"You have two options. Number one -" the hero took the villain's jaw into their hand and leaned forward "- I escort you to the next police station and you stay there for the rest of the night. Number two -" they pulled the villain close enough for their shoulders to end up between the hero's thighs "- I'll take you home with me."
The villain smirked. "Oh, no. What to choose...?"
"If you wanna come home with me, you gotta return the money you stole," the hero said. They leaned back against their office chair.
"Done."
"You also have to apologize publicly."
The villain's eyes widened as the hero let go of their jaw. "There's no need to be cruel, now."
"It's retribution, not cruelty," the hero reminded them. The villain leaned against the hero's thigh with their cheek and the hero's heart dropped into indefinable depths.
"Come on, this isn't fair." The villain started rubbing their cheek against the hero's leg. The hero could have cursed.
"It's more than fair, baby." Their voice was still steady.
"You wouldn't want me to give an insincere apology, would you?" Their fingers managed to sneak under the hero's pants, playing with the rim of the hero's socks, touching skin. The hero swallowed. They needed to concentrate if they wanted to win this argument.
"Police station it is." The hero tried to stand up but the villain was infuriatingly quicker. They pushed the hero back into the office chair and put both their hands on the armrests, caging the hero.
"I'm sorry," the villain blurted.
The hero could feel their ears turn red. They needed a moment to collect themselves. They didn't want to admit it but their heart was about to jump out of their chest. They stared.
"I'm sorry," the villain repeated, softer this time. They leaned over, their breath on the hero's cheek. "I am begging you to take me home with you."
"I asked for a public apology," the hero said. They felt the villain's nose nudge against their cheek. The villain took in a trembling breath.
The hero was impressed by that type of self-composure. It was completely pathetic at the same time.
"Fine with me. Just take me home with you, please."
"That doesn't mean I'll give you what you want," the hero whispered. "A good deed is its own reward."
The villain kissed the hero's cheek. They smiled softly, touched the hero's jawline.
➶ poly! ineffable husbands x angel! fem!reader ｡˚ °
-ˏ` ✎﹏ The Egyptians built one of the seven wonders of the world, the Greeks discovered philosophy, but make-up was invented by a desperate angel during the construction of the Tower of Babel, when people spoke the same language and wanted to settle in a city after the great flood. That angel was you. And you really needed the make-up when the first bite happened.
➴ genre: fluff, polyamory, falling in love
: ̗̀➛ warnings: references to christian religion & lore, fashion and make-up lore, love bites/hickeys, mentions of snake poison, corruption i think
⌨ :: 2.2K words ♡ ︵ . .
⁀➷ special thanks to @honeytwo for helping me translate this into english, correcting my grammar and other mistakes. thank you for everything! °♡̷•.
⁀➷ a/n: Hi, dears! I am happy that I took the time to publish this story here after Ao3. I wrote it in January when I watched Good Omens and was looking for comfort after bawling my eyes out. Alright, that's all I wanted to say. Go and enjoy your unique history with the ineffable husbands! <3
➳ good omens masterlist
A FAIRLY LONG TIME AGO
As much as possible, you wanted to blend in with the people. You were too attracted by their nature to spend the rest of your time until Armageddon up there, among snow-white washed columns, in empty halls where nothing really interesting happens. You can deliver the reports even if you’re living on Earth and watching the humans work, you reassured yourself.
You've enjoyed watching the mortals ant-like, feverishly at work, creating wonders like the Tower of Babel.
“Upon my word, what a masterly job,” said Aziraphale, when the tower was already very high.
Aziraphale agreed with you about your intentions on earth, and you used to talk about the exciting things people can do and how exciting it will be to learn about their work and future generations.
When you were particularly engrossed in reciting your predictions, and explaining them to each other with sparkling eyes, Crowley would just roll his eyes and do it with relish, as if it was his natural reaction to your enthusiasm. He decided he'd rather be with the two of you instead of in the company of damned souls and stake-ridden demons when there was no one to tempt and lead into sin. It wasn't boring at all, especially with the fairs they held back then, the intoxicating people, the musical instruments, the delicious food.
His favorite events were the celebrations. When the men working on the tower would take a break from work and gather in town to drink and sing. They fanned his fire, his desire to do something underhanded. Not evil, just something genuinely bad. Like what he did to the apples and Eve at the tree.
He thought deeply about the ways in which he could make others sin. That's when he heard you laugh. You were amazed at what Aziraphale had said. You sipped flushedly into your alcohol jar. You weren't wearing your halo or spreading your wings, but you looked just like an angel. Beautiful, ethereal, uncorrupted, even when you were indulging in human pleasures and getting drunk at an easy pace.
Bingo.
Crowley smiled, his eyes gleaming under his black sunglasses. He headed towards you.
“Did you try everything?” he asked.
“The dates are heavenly ,” Aziraphale agreed, putting another piece in his mouth. “You must try one, Crowley.”
“I will,” the demon promised. “Later. But first, I'm going to taste something that's inviting to my imagination…”
His fingers brushed over your shoulder. His fingertips touched your sensitive skin, then...
“Ow !" you squeaked in surprise as he sank his canines into the exposed skin of your neck.
When an angel wants to fit in with humans, she can't walk around with a snake-bitten neck like she's fine. So you tried to use a miracle to make it disappear, but as it turns out, miracles don't work on demonic bites, which is kind of unfair, but part of the Incomprehensible Plan, so you had to resort to some other method, without blaming the Almighty for creating the demon bite the way it is.
You used paint to cover it up. It was the first make-up experiment in history. Cleopatra will use your method in dark red, but it will be a long time before then, your injury will heal and heal many times over.
In any case, Crowley grinned as he watched you walk around for weeks, neck covered in paint. He was very pleased with himself, and you often caught him looking at you with his yellow snake eyes, grinning like he was planning to do it again.
When God confused the tongues of men, you were grateful to Him.
Now, you could send the demon to Hell in countless languages.
IN THE 16TH CENTURY
Garbo.
Garbos everywhere.
Lace, frills, colours, fancy fabrics. You were very fond of the English Renaissance under Queen Elizabeth I. Mainly because of the full turtlenecks, which usually covered your neck magnificently. You could even forgive the low-cut dresses and corsets - although when silk scarves came along, looking back, the wide turtlenecks you once wore would have looked like clown costumes.
It was further satisfying to know that Crowley hated rules by default, let alone about fashion. He really despised the Sumptuary Laws, and cursed that he hadn't invented them, because they were truly demonic. In contrast, Aziraphale, who always put a lot of effort into his appearance, was fine with the expected attire, and always looked elegant with a pleasant smile.
Sometimes, though, his smile faltered when his turtleneck grazed the bite marks on his neck. You stroked his upper arm sympathetically at such times, and yet: neither of you told Crowley to stop what he was doing on your necks.
You had no problem with early medieval times. The tight, plain dresses were simple and, importantly, the neck was not visible, only the back of the hands and the face, and after marriage, the hair - not that you married, it was just the fashion among married women. On the other hand, the pale ideal of the early Middle Ages, when women had blood drained to make them white as doves, was disappointing. Then came arsenical powders, the cause of many women's deaths. At the time, you were ashamed of inventing make-up, and so women wanted to tamper with their natural beauty with all sorts of talc fads. You have to suffer to be beautiful, they said, and they didn't realize that there was no need for any suffering because they were beautiful from creation.
Your determination was only further strengthened when it was discovered that Elizabeth I died of blood poisoning from using white lead on her face. And you thought the sixteenth century would bring radical changes…
Actually, there has been a radical change, but not in make-up.
Crowley invented the suction mark, which didn't swell up like a snake venom-infused wound and came in a variety of colours depending on how much time Crowley put into creating them. They made him feel like an artist, so he liked to tinker with them. He'd been paying devoted attention to your necks for a very long time, so you're actually used to it, it's become a tradition.
In fact, you both kind of loved it.
IN THE 19TH CENTURY
The rice powder is made from natural ingredients. We're finally back here, you peacefully acknowledged at every social gathering. Usually you only powdered the back of your neck, but richly. The fashions of the 1800s called for ruffles, corsets, a relatively modest neckline, no turtlenecks or neck-covering. But a thorough, ornate make-up look was something every self-respecting woman had to create, and because you only covered your neck, you were often the victim of gossip.
When Aziraphale opened his bookshop and held a small gathering to celebrate with champagne, snacks and a ball, the ladies whispered a great deal about you, hiding behind their fans. They sized up your clothes, your make-up, yourself. They guessed how much of a goer you must be. It made them angry that even though you don't wear normal makeup, men still seek your company because you're witty and good, not jealous like them.
Crowley was annoyed by the women who belittled you, the men who complimented you, the fact that you had been hiding the fact that you were his for centuries. Just like Aziraphale, only he didn't seem as desperate as you to cover his marks. Although his top hat usually shaded them well, where it was appropriate to remove the headgear, nothing covered them.
Aziraphale looked at Crowley more and more often as if he knew perfectly well what the marks meant, just as he knew that Crowley was a cruel, unrelenting demon and would not say it.
When Crowley asked you to stop covering your neck, he was actually saying it. With his eyes shining mysteriously in the moonlight through the window, when Crowley took off his glasses and all the guests had gone, leaving only the three of you and the empty glasses and the crumbs.
Tenderness and love. This is what his words would have tasted like if you had eaten them.
It was the same way Aziraphale looked at you when you caught him gazing at you, silent and dreamy, or when you simply spoke to him enthusiastically about something that interested and excited you as people once did when the Tower of Babel was raised, and he listened patiently, as if he had nothing better to do.
When you said all right to Crowley with a smile, that meant you loved him, too.
Them, too.
NOWADAYS
“Um, are you–” Gabriel furrows his eyebrows and tries to decipher you with a polite smile. “What is this?”
You're wearing the purest white, as befits a visit to Heaven. Obviously Gabriel would not object to that. He wears mostly white, with a faint hint of blue. What he can't make out is the fluffy white scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, right up to your nose. You stand before him like a polar bear with a neck brace. Or an almost completely covered, ethereal mummy.
Or maybe a spool of toilet paper.
You pull the material slightly in front of your mouth to answer.
“I'm cold,” you report with a blush.
“It must be exciting.” Gabriel admits that you've probably spent too much time on Earth, among humans, and its somewhat dulled your angelic senses. He clears his throat. “Well, we can get down to business then, let's not waste each other's precious time.”
You nod. He is absolutely right.
In the empty, snow-white-plastered heavenly hall, a table, a folder and a pen with wings - not a bijou, strictly used for official signatures - appear. Sighing, you take a comfortable seat, and as you take the pen, you give thanks that now women can wear comfortable and practical pants too.
And, you add with even deeper satisfaction, great scarves.
...
Ignoring the closed sign, you rip open the door and burst into the bookshop.
“Sorry, but we’re closed– Oh, it's you.” Aziraphale smiles a greeting, then notices the upset on your face. “What happened, darling?”
“It was embarrassing to show myself like this in front of Gabriel,” you reply as you begin to unravel the fuzzy covering around your neck.
Aziraphale pats your upper arm piteously, presses a kiss to your temple and promises to bring you a mug of hot chocolate to help you relax.
Long time ago you promised Crowley you wouldn't cover his marks, but when you meet your angelic bosses, it's a different story. If they find out what's between you and him, they'll make hell in heaven. That doesn't impress Crowley, especially not today. Before you left, he had so covered your neck with his special love marks that a simple scarf wouldn't have been enough to cover it. Especially since he's recently returned to biting.
You'll find him on the sofa at the back of the shop. He's got a real proud smile that makes you want to throw a scarf at him. You throw the scarf at him. He catches it easily.
"You little..." you grit your teeth.
“Idiot? Shit? Asshole? The lowest of demons? Bitter of your eternal life?” He's playing with the scarf. He doesn't look up, doesn't admire the colorful patchwork he's created on your neck. Even better. If he would do it, throwing a scarf at him would not be enough.
"Lovely sweet creature," you say in a voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Bleh.” Crowley scowls. “That's a thousand times worse than you swearing.”
“I know. That's why I do it.” You sit down in the armchair furthest away from him and continue to stare at him harshly.
He sighs.
“My love, you're too beautiful with my marks on your neck. I cannot help it. And every man should know those are mine. Even the angels up there.”
Except Aziraphale. He already knows full well that if the blobs on your skin were to be exhibited as paintings, the artist's name would clearly be Crowley.
And you know what these marks are called these days, and that makes you happy. You ask, a little more lightly, if he knows. Crowley shakes his head.
“Love bites,” you tell him.
“It's only natural that they call it that. I invented it, and for thousands of years you and Aziraphale have been the only ones to get it. What else could it be?” Crowley gets up, comes over to you and squats down in front of you, taking your hand in his. He’s not wearing his sunglasses. His eyes are vivid, the sky glowing yellow behind the black sliver of the moon. "It's not something I give as punishment or temptation. It is exactly what it is called. Humans are smart enough to give it such a good name.”
“Well, well, you're praising the humans.” Aziraphale arrives balancing a tray on the low coffee table next to his open book and a stack of newspapers.
“Have you heard what my creations are called?”
“I don’t think so.”
The demon tells him. The angel blushes and starts passing out mugs. Crowley admires him, then turns to you.
“Will you sit with me?”
Luckily for him, you're not overly resentful. You nod, and you’d be lying if you said you weren't warmed by the sight of his smile and his hand reaching out for yours. You end up on the soft couch, his arm around your shoulders, your hot chocolate in your hand.
Just got back from supergirl and just one of the many things I loved about it was the way Kara said this man needs to die so he can’t hurt anyone else but I can’t let you do it out of revenge. I can’t let that weigh on your heart for the rest of your life when it’s already so heavy. Idk I’m just insane for the idea of that being how she’s a hero—telling someone you don’t have to carry this weight on your shoulders you don’t have to have this blood on your hands I will do it for you. I will live with knowing I’ve done something terrible as long as it means you don’t have to.
Ale Hinders His Thinking - Peregrin ‘Pippin’ Took *
Requested by: @kahlstop
Could I possibly request a pippin x reader lemon?? It could be maybe like a jealous lemon?? I’m not sure, you decide :) take as long as you need! I always come on to your page and see so many imagines that get better and better :) keep it up
I mean, I have no clue what I was doing with this honestly but, I tried to make it work and here we are lmao
Also, I would’ve definitely gotten this out so much sooner for you but I’ve been so exhausted or busy, I’m so sorry. But anywho, thank you so much for that last little bit of your message, it means a lot, even if I personally feel I’m not that great at writing and that what I have been writing recently has been at a lower quality than I wish it would be.
Warnings: SMUT. A little angst. Jealous!Pippin. Fluff. Mentions of alcohol. I mean, there ain’t much to it.
Words: 4,715
Pairings: Peregrin ‘Pippin’ Took x reader (female reader) (Hobbit reader). Merry, Frodo and Sam (Platonic)
(A/N: I wrote how I feel he would have reacted if jealous. Like, I feel Pippin would be moody/grumpy just from how he had acted within the movies.)
Oh george harrison.........paul kinda fumbled-YEAH YEAH im back on my mcharrison bullshit so what what are yall gonna do huh exactly nothing shut up (id let him fuck me with a chainsaw ngl)
Ok,ok so- I love my boy Pippin sm like he’s literally bby kitten. So I had a request for Pippin x gn!human!reader where R is also part of the fellowship and one night when R is supposed to be on guard watch they see Pippin is having trouble sleeping, so R suggests a way that will tier him out AND make him feel good. He doesn’t know what R is talking about until they hover over him and starts palming him through his pants leading to a hj while R starts kissing/sucking/biting him all over. They have to stay quiet because the rest of the fellowship is asleep but R just wants to see Pippin become a complete out of it mess because he’s so cute with the little voice cracks and noises he makes. (Projecting because I want devour this innocent little man😔)
"Shh you'll wake the others up." the Lady whispered, and Pip just whined in return. Her hand rubbing his cock through his pants. He gripped her arm and did his best to stay quiet.
She smirked down at the hobbit, reveling in how easily he came undone for her. Her fingers worked at the buttons of his pants, and she pulled them down to his thighs. His cock was hard and leaking, just from being rubbed up on. How cute.
Pip stared up at her, eyes wide and excited. The Lady smiled at how adorable and eager he was. Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock and she began to pump. Pip let out a strangled whine, he tried so hard to be quiet. The Lady shushed him again as she leaned forward. He was expecting a kiss and lifted his head expectantly, using her other hand to tilt his jaw up she began an assault on his neck. Pip jumped in surprise by her quick action and moaned as she sucked a bruise into his sensitive skin.
She squeezed his cock as a warning to keep quiet. Her hand was coated in precum, his little cock throbbed in her hand. The Lady trailed her kisses up Pip's neck, along his jaw, and finally to his lips. Perhaps that will keep him quiet, she hoped so at least.
Her pace picked up, the wet sound of his cock being jerked made her feral. Whimpers filled Pippin's throat, but were met with a bite on his lip. The Lady forced her tongue into his mouth, and he let her lap at him. Pip's hips rolled in time with jerks, she could tell he was getting close.
The poor hobbit was a mess, his curls stuck to his forehead, his clothes were a mess, and he had several bruises on his neck. Fuck he looked delectable. His face twisted in pleasure as the knot in his stomach finally snapped. Hot ropes of cum spurted from his cock, coating the Lady's hand. His voice cracked as he tried to keep his whimpers in.
When he finally came down from his high, his Lady was looking at him adoringly. She then lifted her soaked hand to his lips. She didn't have to say a word, Pip knew what she was trying to tell him.
Are the hobbits good at sex? AKA hobbit whore hours
Features both x Reader and x canon headcanons. Special thanks to bestie @supremeleaderoofpoof for discussing all of this with me and listening to me talk about hobbits literally nonstop lol
Frodo:
No, he’s not. He will absolutely learn though.
I think he’d find it really difficult to be in the moment. He’d need a partner who’s very patient and willing to take the lead most times.
He would be very good about aftercare, though. He loves cuddling up after and reading a book together.
He’d like to take things slow, both in a relationship in general and with sex. I headcanon him as demisexual personally. Like I genuinely don’t think sex is on his mind most of the time until he has that super deep connection with someone.
He’d be a super good kisser though I think. He loves kissing.
With Samwise, he’d be a pillow princess lmao. As I will talk about later, Sam is a PRO so Frodo would not have to worry about a thing. Sam has no problem taking the lead and focusing on Frodo’s pleasure over his own.
Samwise:
I don’t think I have to explain anything but I will anyway. Sam is INSANELY good at sex. Like, he canonically had 13 children, okay? All I’m saying is Rosie was getting treated GOOD
LOVES oral. Mostly giving but also receiving. He’s so good with his mouth it’s unreal
He’d be so nervous at first, whether it’s his first time ever or just with a new partner, but once he gets the hang of it he’s so confident and passionate
Aftercare legend as well. Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he’ll wind down with you and make a nice meal and bath before falling asleep, although once he’s older and there’s a bunch of kids he might pass out but he doesn’t mean to lol
Merry:
I don’t know why but I get the vibe from Merry that he thinks he’s very good at flirting and sex but he is absolutely not. It’s not because he’s disrespectful or selfish or anything like that, he just lacks some social awareness and always embarrasses himself when he tries to flirt.
So no, he’s not good at it, but he could be taught. You’d have to guide him a lot and tell him exactly what you want him to do. He’s very good at following directions, he just doesn’t have the innate instinct of how to move or where to put his hands etc.
Once he gets better at it though, I think he could be a switch. In canon I feel like Estella Bolger probably pegs him and he loves it lol
He’s the type to fall asleep right after sex. He feels bad about not staying up for aftercare but he always tires himself out. He prefers morning and day sex for this reason, he’d love doing it as the sunshine streams in through the windows and he’d even be down to do it outside by the river.
Pippin:
I’m definitely biased because he’s my hobbit husband but I genuinely think he would be good. He’s a golden retriever lover boy at heart and would do everything he can to make his partner feel amazing.
Also really good at eating out. You’re his seventh meal of the day, okay? He lovesss oral.
Has crazy stamina. He’ll go for as many rounds as you’ll let him.
His dick is bigger than average for a hobbit. Not to the point of it being painful, but still. I think in general the Tooks are bigger than average because they have an ancestor who was super tall and there’s theories of them having elf ancestry as well.
He’s a complete cuddle bug, so aftercare is very cozy and lovey dovey. He likes skin to skin contact and singing you to sleep. He also canonically loves baths and will definitely splash you.
Bilbo (Hobbit Trilogy Version):
He’s not, but he does have a lot of knowledge about it. He loves his books, and I’m sure there’s at least some books in The Shire about how sex works. So he knows how to do everything in theory but not in practice, basically.
He’s a fast learner, though. He would get the hang of it pretty quickly and get better with time.
Doesn’t have much stamina though. One round and he’s satisfied usually. And then he just wants to hold you by the fire with some tea.
With Thorin, he’d be in for quite the adventure lol. I headcanon dwarves as the freakiest of all the Middle Earth races so Thorin would introduce him to things that were definitely not in his books.
That said, I think Bilbo would be open to some kinky stuff.
General hobbit headcanons about marriage and sex:
Sex is not a taboo topic whatsoever among hobbits. It’s considered a natural and normal part of life and it’s not censored in conversation. Hobbits value love, marriage, and children greatly, and there’s really no reason for it to be a big deal.
Hobbits do tend to be fairly traditional though in their relationships. They usually go through a courting stage when they’re interested in marriage, and usually don’t have sex until their wedding night. Nobody would be shunned or judged if they didn’t wait, it’s just not the norm.
Divorce is unheard of in the Shire mainly due to everyone taking their time to choose their partners and being super loyal and devoted. Absolutely no “I hate my wife/husband” jokes, couples are genuinely in love with each other, and any mistreatment of one’s partner would be detrimental to your reputation.
Nobody’s going to the marriage bed knowing nothing. Young hobbits coming of age are educated by their parents and older siblings generally, and it’s not considered weird to ask questions about it. Hobbits aren’t super medically advanced, but they’re at least familiar with the anatomy and how stuff works.
Hobbits love going down on their partners. It’s weird if one doesn’t, honestly.
Everyone has full bushes. Hobbits are very hairy and they’ve probably never even heard of a razor. Body hair is so normal for them. And yes it’s curly lol.
Their dicks are generally more girthy than long. Dick size isn’t really a topic of concern though, hobbits don’t really care about it.
Hobbits aren’t usually freaky or kinky. There’s some that are, but it’s not the norm. They are very very passionate though.
They are very affectionate and silly during sex, they don’t get super serious during it. It’s supposed to be fun and full of love. Lots of smiles and laughter more than screaming lol. It’s not a performance.
There’s no birth control in The Shire, so if you’re one of the rare hobbits that doesn’t want children you’re going to have to get real good at pulling out or tracking your cycle lmao
Prompt: They accidentally confess their love to you.
There was a rare moment of calmness between the two of you as you sat down on a bench together. You let out a sigh of relief as you could finally let your feet rest for a moment. Pippin chuckled when he heard, before reaching to grab his pipe from wherever he kept that thing hidden. Just when he was about to light the weed for his first draw, he realised he was out of supply. He groaned, and now it was your turn to look amused.
"You're just like my old man." He gave you a weird look when you spoke. "He also smokes too much," You chuckled. "Luckily for you, it means I always carry some around. Here," You told him, handing him a pouch with his favourite long-bottom leaf.
"Oh, I love you," The words left Pippin's mouth before he could think. He froze, and so did you.
"Could you repeat that, what you just said to me?" You looked at him with so much anticipation, needing to hear the words again, needing to know you weren't going mad and starting to hear things.
He hesitated before looking at you with confidence, smiling softly. "I love you."
Hero and Villain had no need for loyalty in their arrangement. They were bound by a common purpose and joined forces with the understanding that their relationship was a brutal mutualism—they would take from the other until they had nothing left to give.
////
Hero and Villain have no official contract, but they’ve collaborated over the years. Their longest conversations have been through comm lines, with Villain leading Hero through twisted hallways and traps, his voice warped and scratched by the radio feed.
It’s odd to hear Villain’s natural voice now, fuller, resonant, yet still instructional.
“Don’t sit up.”
Hero groans. His eyelids tack together as he tries to open them.
“Why’d you…how’d you?” The words roll like marbles in his mouth. His jaw spasms after each syllable.
“I was in the area.”
It’s a lie and they both know it. Villain should’ve been working on a temperamental, time intensive project in a far off city. He had sent Hero a short text informing him he’d be unavailable the next half year.
Light slashes into his vision as Hero’s eyes finally open; his surroundings come rendered in a whitewashed blur. After a few seconds, the brightness fades into a stained ceiling barred with fluorescent lights.
“What d’ya need?” Hero asks.
“Do you really think you can do anything for me right now?”
“Later,” Hero slurs, “I’ll do it.”
Villain’s chair squeaks as he rises from it. Hero turns toward the sound. Villain shuffles forward, his steps plunking in a lopsided rhythm, and his hand lands heavily on the side of Hero’s sickbed, an anchor. He leans over Hero and rests his hand on his collarbone. As he follows the bandage toward Hero’s shoulder, his gaze crawls over Hero’s face, and Hero wonders if he looks as bad as he feels.
“Would you like me to keep count of everything you owe me?” He asks.
Though Villain’s touch is light, Hero’s shoulder aches, throbbing in time with his breath. He tries to gauge Villain’s expression, but the bright light behind his head burns the edges of his silhouette and washes away the finer details of his face. His eyes remain the only dark and readable point about him, and they narrow slightly as Hero meets his gaze.
“I took a plane here.” Villain continues in lieu of Hero’s answer. “You’ll pay for that. You’ll pay for the bandages, the medication, everything I used to keep you alive.”
Hero swallows. His throat is dry to the point of cracking, splintering apart like baked sand. Wordlessly, Villain grabs the back of Hero’s head to tilt it up. A cup materializes in his other hand and he tips it to Hero’s lips.
Hero wants to spit the water out as soon as it trickles in.
He’d never wanted Villain to see him like this. He knows how Villain works. He lets weakness ripen. He waits until it’s rotten and bruised. When the flesh is soft enough, he strikes and everything gives way, dripping into his hand.
That same hand cradles him now, softly bringing his head back down to his pillow.
“You owe me for my time as well.” Villain hovers his hand over Hero’s head before dropping it back to the sheets. “Few people are skilled enough to drag you out from Supervillain’s hold. Fewer still would be able to keep you breathing afterwards. How much is that worth to you?”
“Just put down a number,” Hero says, “I’ll pay it.”
“I have no need for your money.”
At Villain’s flat tone, Hero holds his breath.
“Then what do you want from me?” He asks.
He doesn’t understand. All those months ago, they’d ended their partnership because Villain no longer needed Hero. His connections and wealth had expanded beyond the need for Hero’s powers. Their separation had been clean and painless, a well placed cut; Hero had been stunned by how efficiently Villain had packed up his things before spiriting away.
“I risked my life to free you.” Villain proclaims. “I abandoned my work and my associates the moment I heard of what they did to you. Don’t you understand what that means?”
Hero’s heartbeat crawls into his throat.
“I don’t—I don’t get it.” He swallows. “I can be useful, if that’s what you need. I’ll make it all up to you.”
Hero squeezes his eyes shut as Villain grabs the side of his face. He wonders if this is the point where Villain will dig in, curling his fingers into the soft, bruised space behind his jaw. He wonders if Villain will find what he needs there, in the tender give of skin.
“I should’ve taken you with me.” Villain whispers, thumb heavy upon Hero’s cheekbone.
Shuddering, Hero cracks an eye open.
“I thought I could free myself from you, that the distance would be enough.” Villain sighs. “But it appears that the old adage is true. I had no need to worry when you were near. I had you right where I wanted you, where I could see, where I could make sure no one got too close.”
Hero’s ears ring as Villain’s calloused palm scrapes over his cheek.
“I don’t want to think about you anymore.” Villain intones. “I don’t want to concern myself with your whereabouts, to wonder about your wellbeing when I cannot reach you. I will not have you haunt me from miles away.”
“What are you even trying to say here?” Hero mutters.
Villain sighs and shifts his hand, brushing his thumb down the side of Villain’s face.
“If I asked you to give yourself to me, would you allow it?”
“I—what?”
“I saved your life.” Villain smiles softly. “It is only fair that you let me keep some part of it.”
“Is that like figurative?” Hero licks his lips, caught between fear and something else entirely.
A burn rises up his neck, ignited by the turn of Villain’s lip.
