"Darling," Villain growled, baring their teeth in a predatorial fashion.
"Dear," Hero replied languidly, although their eyes were glued to the criminal's balled-up fists, to their arched body, ready to pounce.
They were far too reminiscent of an old, married couple, something everyone and their mother never ceased to point out, much to both the crime-fighter and the evil-doer's chagrin.
The villain rammed into them, the hero's body slamming into the wall with an audible thud, the force just shy away from breaking something.
"Well, this is intimate," the hero scoffed, swinging their leg and slamming it harshly into their adversary's ribs, letting the criminal fall to the ground, spitting blood and a flurry of filthy curses out of their mouth.
The dagger-sharp smirk on the hero's smug face was arguably a more painful blow than that merciless kick. Villain had always been told that their pride would be the end of them.
Well, now it would be the end of Hero too.
Wiping the blood from their mouth, their fingers clawed around Hero's neck, digging into their skin, leaving scratches and bruises in their wake, ripping out shallow breaths from the hero's lungs as their pale face slowly turned a sickly shade of blue.
"You're not laughing now, are you, sucker?" they seethed, loosening their death grip around their enemy's throat by a mere fraction.
Gasping and taking greedy breaths of air, the hero still had the audacity to flash a dirt-eating grin. "No, I s'ppose not."
It made the villain wish to squash the life right out of the crime-stopper's body, to beat them to a bloody pulp on the sidewalk, to empty a gun (that they unfortunately lacked right now) into the jerk's head.
But it also made them want to pull them up against their chest and kiss the hero's cheekbones and bring that oh so pretty blush to their face and neck, one that they'd only seen because Hero was exerting themselves and not because they were flustered.
The hero had dark circles under their eyes and dry skin. They'd lost weight, and not in any way that was healthy, dropping muscle from what was once a gorgeously lean figure. They were young, but their eyes were a hundred years older.
But they were struggling in the criminal's vice-like grip, still fighting for what most would deem a lost cause, still grinning in that stupidly carefree way they did when they were just starting out, barely in high school and nowhere near as broken. And it was beautiful.
The villain wanted to curse themselves, so they did.
"What? Are we just gonna keep cuddling here together for all eternity?" Hero supplied in a mostly sarcastic tone, but the strange edge it had could almost be read as flirtatious.
Villain released them from the bruising grip on their neck, their nemesis took in great breaths of air, their body shuddering as they almost fell to the ground, only for the evil-doer to catch them with a steadying arm wrapped around their waist.
They couldn't even tell when the hero's face went scarlet.
"So, where's the part where you commit homicide?" they asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll save that for later, dove. Right now, you're all I can think about," they admitted, almost guiltily.
Surprisingly, they weren't met with another infuriatingly attractive, lopsided smirk. The look on the crime-fighter's face was nothing, if not utterly dazed.
"M-me? But I'm a mess. Like that one article so eloquently put it, I'm a cocktail of problems in a spandex suit with a few witty catchphrases," they replied, laughing humourlessly.
Villain's grip around their waist tightened subtly. "You're just tired. Sure, you could find great use for a physiotherapist, a haircut, a whole, new diatery plan, some basic skin care an-"
"Yeah, a whole makeover. No need to rub it in, though," they attested, only mildly irritated.
The villain rolled their eyes. "My point is, even through all this, you still manage to shine like a diamond in the rough."
"Oh so personality over looks? Got it," they chuckled slyly.
The criminal paused in their walk and pulled their enemy forward by the collar, "Do I have to spell it out for you? You're so goddamn hot even when you're not supposed to be, so awfully dishevelled, and yet here I am," they whispered, their lips almost brushing the hero's ear.
A tense moment of awkward silence passed as the crime-fighter pulled away from them, their eyes wide and their lips parted, trying uselessly for a few false starts. "So, where to now?" they said, straightening their posture gracefully and attempting to regain their composure, like the flustered mess of emotions from just a moment ago had never been.
"My place. We'll fix you up a little, and then we can go get something to eat," the villain replied, failing to keep the smile out of their voice.
"What happened to me being all glowing?" the hero teased.
"You're very lucky you're pretty," Villain snarled through gritted teeth, their hand resting on the back of Hero's neck.
They quickly tensed up, until the villain started to rub their neck, as though apologising for the damage they'd previously caused. The dark scowl was quickly wiped off their face as they watched the tightness dissipate from the hero's form. How had they not taken that adorable, little idiot out before?
"You're still good-looking, Hero. But you owe it to yourself to at least take care of yourself. Live a little." There was no mocking or cruelty, no sharp edges to their smile and nothing but gentleness in the villain's golden, honey brown eyes, making the hero's own hazel ones go as wide as saucers.
No one's ever talked to Hero like that, cared about them this way, or looked at them like they were a treasure. So, they nodded, hooked their hand into the villain's, placed a quick kiss on their forehead and allowed themselves to be lead forward.
The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. Strong emotions often find themselves mixing together, melting into one another. The fine line between love and hatred defines itself by desire, a treacherous walk to make, but all the more worth it. And the heart can so strangely burn a different flame, beat for a whole new cause, adore what it used to despise, and admit what it so vigorously used to deny.
Happy (not very) secret Santa, to @creweemmaeec11! I hope you enjoy!
A Favour
This was honestly the last situation Hero wanted to be in at this moment. Or any moment, honestly.
Well, maybe that was a bit harsh. In a different context, the hero could get behind being on their knees in front of the villain.
But having to beg for their help?
It was humiliating.
“Mmmm… I liked the sound of that one, but be a bit whinier will you?” Villains eyes twinkled as they stared down at the hero at their feet. “I love it when you whimper, sweetheart.”
The blush that slapped the hero in the face was almost painful, they wanted to curl over themselves and rot in their embarrassment. The villain had a way of acting that drove them mad on one hand and absolutely head over heels on the other.
It was sickening how fast their heart was beating.
The villain leaned forwards, displeased with the hero’s lack of servicing, they grabbed them sternly by the chin, tilting their head up almost to the point of being uncomfortable as they looked them in the eyes. A grin lacing their features with an intensity that made Hero shiver.
“Hero. I’m not going to ask you twice. Don’t make me drag those pretty whines out of you with my hands instead…”
The crime-stopper yelped as the grasp on their jaw was released. Trying to pull themselves together after what they had just heard.
But they couldn’t waste any more time. They needed Villains help.
“Villain… please—“
“Ah, eyes on me, precious.” Villain tutted, smiling down at their captive.
If it was at all possible to perish, Hero truly wished for it in this moment.
They took a deep breath, “Villain, I-I need your help. Please, help me. I-I’ll do anything…” Holding eye contact with their overly amused nemesis was definitely the worst part.
The way their eyes drifted hungrily across the hero’s body and how they left shivers in their tracks. It was dangerous.
It was delectable.
The feeling was invasive and the hero welcomed it. The attention, the intensity… It was terribly flustering, but they craved it at the same time.
Villain hummed in contempt, nodding their head as they pretended to ponder the hero’s pleads. Tapping their chin, deep in thought and Hero secretly hoped for this to be over.
“It was… decent. I suppose good enough for the time being, but throw in a few more ‘please’s’ for a gold star later, hm?”
Hero nodded vigorously, too nervous to speak another word in fear that Villain would make them restart the whole begging process. The villain on the other hand seemed very pleased with the other’s obedience.
“Good hero… such a good hero for me, hm? You must be really desperate to do all this, huh?” The criminal chuckled, finally standing up off their seat and leaning over to ruffle the hero’s hair.
“Villain I—“ The hero stood from their kneeling position on the ground. Turning to face their sworn enemy with a pink dusting on their cheeks.
The villain smiled as they booped the hero on the nose gently. “Anything you want, sweetheart. You’ve earned yourself a favour.”
They took one more deep breath, trying to steady themselves for their final request. Hero’s face already burning before a single word could leave their mouth.
“Eating a sandwich,” I answer happily, to what seems to be a positive reception. I finish my lunch and leave the cafeteria. Halfway to class I realize that junior kid meant “what’s your major at this institute,” not “what brings you to the cafeteria” when he asked what I was doing here. He laughed at my dry humor, thinking my jape funny. Little does he know, I am but a witless fool. I will now stress binge an entire loaf of pretzel bread and sleep for twelve hours
hello, absolutely love your writing! could i request a snippet where the villain betrays the hero and they were lovers? it’s like the hero is visibly heartbroken and deflated seeming and the villain is TRYING to act all snarky and smug but they truly did love the hero? lots and lots of angst >:) thank you very much! have a lovely day :)
"I suppose betrayal is always a bit of a surprise, by definition," the villain purred. "But really. You should have seen this coming. Clever thing like you."
The hero glanced up.
The villain took a half step back at the expression on the hero's face. They could have coped with fury, bloody vengeance or disgust. The hero looked...
They weren't crying, but their eyes were wet with unshed tears, and just lost. The rigid anger of their shoulders wasn't anger back up at the world at all, so much as a desperate effort to keep themselves from crumbling entirely. The hero had always seemed so strong, not unshakeable, but shakeable in the way of an earthquake-proof building.
The villain gulped. Whatever they were about to say died in their throat, so they covered it with a cocky smirk.
They were not an earthquake-proof building. So it was safer, better, to be the earthquake.
"I suppose I'm flattered," they continued, to see if some anger - some spark of hope, of spirit, of life - might be found. "You really fell hard for me, huh? They do say love is blind."
"Yeah." It was croaky.
The villain wanted to snarl. To grab the hero by their stupid cosy jumper and shake them until their defences clicked into place again. Didn't they know it was suicide to show their bleeding, broken heart so obviously? To not even try and hide it? It was embarrassing.
The villain closed the half step between them, and - the hero simply looked at them. They didn't raise their hands to defend themselves. Nothing. The hero had tipped their head back, so sweetly, so vulnerable, as the villain pressed a line of kisses up their throat.
"Get everything you wanted?" the hero asked.
"Yeah." It was...not croaky. The villain pulled their smirk a little wider. Just in case. They dragged their fingertips along the hero's side, and it wasn't simply an excuse to touch the hero at least one last time, it wasn't. "You were great!"
The hero didn't even have the decency to flinch. Nothing. It was if the villain had killed them. They simply continued to stare.
The villain dropped their hand like they'd been burnt and for a second - just a second - the smirk faltered. Everything stuttered. The world beneath them split open.
The hero clearly clocked the fissure, because their head tilted. A fraction. The smallest thing.
"Great," the hero echoed, then. "I'm so happy for you. I'm sure it was all totally worth it."
The villain flinched. Then they laughed, like the hero had cracked a joke, real funny like, and ruffled the hero's hair. "Better than great." Because the hero had been perfect, brave and gorgeous and kind. and the villain was never going to be able to say that now. They were never going to have it again. "That thing you did with your tongue, man..."
The hero finally flinched back. One of the tears finally spilled over, heartbreak and humiliation cracking across their expression.
Hihihi hello! Can I ask for a snippet where Villain and Hero are fighting and Villain gets concerned about Hero getting more sluggish only to find out Superhero has been torturing him? Maybe some extra angst and hurt/comfort please 🙏🙏🙏
It was clear to both of them that there was something unbelievably wrong with the hero.
Although the hero didn’t realise why they were acting this way right away, the villain’s fighting changed. They got more defensive, stepped back and back into the corners of the alley, rather out of carefulness than actual fear. That only upset the hero more and their mindless lashing out got more violent, got more frustrated and tiring.
God, the hero was already crying out of anger. Their mind seemed to be screaming, nails scratching blackboards, people screeching, traffic echoing between their ears. As if their mind was playing tricks on them by being as loud as possible and the hero couldn’t take this anymore — the pain and the humiliation, it all mixed together and turned them into some unpleasant devil that was ready to kill the villain if they had to. Ready to act and defend themselves, ready to fight, ready to—
“I think that’s enough,” the villain said. They managed to catch the hero’s wrist and pin them against the wall closest to them. With their face pressed against the bricks, the hero tried to hide the tears in their eyes. “Deep breaths.”
Involuntarily, the hero obeyed and even though the villain’s hand was on their shoulder and lower back, they could breathe perfectly. They closed their eyes and concentrated but the frustration wouldn’t die that easily. Their mind was still restless, enslaving them.
“Good. Turn around.” The villain didn’t let go of them yet but their hands guided them, strong enough to prevent an escape. The hero couldn’t look them in the eyes. For a long time, they didn’t say anything.
The hero didn’t know what was worse: the pain or the fact that the villain had noticed. But they assumed this was their own fault. They had been mad, had been totally out of control.
“Are you eating enough?” the villain asked. Their stare was hard and despite their words, the hero couldn’t begin to imagine that they actually cared.
“…I guess?”
“Getting enough sleep?” The villain could be rough, they could be raw and sometimes the hero felt like it was more of a game to them. As if all of this was happening for the hero to let out their energy. The villain was fast, they were strong and the hero was sure they could attack them a million times and they wouldn’t even be injured.
“Kind of,” the hero said. The villain looked puzzled, curious even but there was also something in their stare which the hero couldn’t name. It wasn’t the lack of terms, it was the fear of what would be the answer.
The villain looked down at the hero’s body, studying every part of it but they didn’t touch the hero anywhere. In a way that was a relief but the absence of caring fingers left a hungry hole in the hero’s stomach.
“I don’t want to ask,” the villain said gently out of a sudden. “I think I know the answer but I don’t want to ask the question.”
“I am fine,” the hero hissed. “I am perfectly fine.”
“You’re not fine. You were basically tipping over.”
“I was kicking your ass,” the hero said.
“More like trying to gently tap it,” the villain answered. They were quick to catch the hero’s jaw. Their grip was soft and it was that exact touch that the hero craved. “Now, listen. I know of someone, a hero, who got killed because of this. I wasn’t close with them but I am close with you and I am telling you, dear, I will not watch you die.”
The hero took in a deep breath and their mind eased a little. They had someone on their side, thank god. Sometimes they felt like it was them against the whole world, even though they were a hero and even though they had the support they needed. Sometimes, the whole world was on their shoulders and someone had cut their calves open.
“It’s…not that big of a deal.”
“It’s you superior, right?” the villain asked. The grip on the hero softened. “They always go for the stomach. Arms or legs are too risky. After all, their heroes are still supposed to do their job.”
The hero stared at them, strangely impressed by the villain’s observations but pain started to rise in their throat.
“…yes. But I don’t understand?” The hero’s eyes burnt again, burnt harder than hot asphalt in summer. “What did I do wrong, I…I don’t…I can’t understand…”
The villain didn’t answer and they were silent for a while. However, eventually they reached out to wipe the tears away.
“It has nothing to do with you. Power does strange things to people. Power eats people and spits them out. It changes them to reveal what they truly are and it never stops, it never changes. I wish I could tell you that your superior is a good person, that they didn’t mean to do this, deep down.” The villain looked at them pitifully. “But they’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I am sorry.”
The hero’s eyes were glued to the ground beneath them. They took the villain’s hand.
“I’m so stupid,” they whispered.
“No,” the villain answered. “You’re not. Can I take a look at your wounds?”
The hero nodded and the villain’s warm fingers on them were reassuring, speaking to them, almost loving them.
And, hell, the hero hoped the villain wasn’t another wolf.
every single hero | caretaker in any piece of media ever deserves to have a pretty villain, enemy-turned-lover significant other who looks them in the eyes and says, “I don’t care about the lives you save. I care about your life.”
Hi, amazing work! It’s addicting to read all your stuff. Would you care to do one where the good looking villain makes the join me offer and the hero actually takes it? Like I’m all for saving the day and stuff but maybe just maybe I’d say yes if a villain came and told me they’d love me as if I were their world and asked me to join them 😗 👉👈
"Join me," the villain murmured, "and I will give you my heart, the world, and everything in-between that you might possibly desire."
"Yeah, alright."
The villain paused.
"Is this the bit where you tell me that you actually say that to all your enemi-?"
The villain was on them in an instant, crowding them up against the wall, cupping their jaw, kissing their lips.
The hero moaned in surprise, then promptly dissolved. It was impossible to do anything else when faced with a kiss like that. It was a sun of a kiss - dragging everything else into orbit around it, forever, always, until the explosive end of everything.
"Alright?" the villain asked, with breathless reverence.
"Uhuh."
"You mean it?"
"You're a good kisser."
The villain flicked them on the ear. "I meant about joining me....though also the kiss. I'm glad you enjoyed the kiss. Sorry. Should have asked first."
The hero found themselves smiling back, irrepressibly. "It's rude to flick."
"Mm, I'll make it up to you."
"And I mean it."
The villain smiled back at them. Bright. Blinding almost with their joy. They examined the hero in their palms like they were an unparalleled, unexpected, nigh impossible delight.
"...You're welcome to kiss me again," the hero mumbled. "God, I don't know why you're surprised. You asked-"
The villain kissed them again. The universe felt a little theirs already, each breath and press of lips a new constellation dotted along the frantic beat of their heat.
The hero pulled them closer. They practiced surrender and victory all wrapped up in one.
"You didn't think I'd say yes?" they asked, dazed, when they next broke for air.
"No."
"But you asked."
"Well, I always ask."
"Oh my god."
"No! No." The villain's grip tightened on them, holding them in place. "I didn't mean like that."
"You offer your heart to everyone? And I thought I was special. I thought-"
The villain kissed them a third time, though that time it was definitely to shut the hero up, as they laughed against the villain's lips. They felt giddy.
"You're a menace," the villain growled.
"Five years of being your nemesis, and you decide that now? Wow."
"Oh my god."
The hero grinned. They reached out to cup the villain's jaw in turn, cradling them. The villain was something they were allowed to have. To hold. To never let go of. It still didn't seem quite real. They drew the villain closer, so they could initiate a gentle kiss of their own.
"You have my heart too," the hero said, "for what it's worth."
The villain swallowed. Their shoulders sagged. They leaned in to the hero and the two of them stayed like that for a while.
"I'm glad you said yes," the villain whispered.
"Yeah," the hero replied softly. "With me on your side, you might actually win."
"I'll bite you."
"Promises promises."
The villain rolled their eyes, but their gaze was soft with affection. "My utter menace."
"My favourite monstrosity."
The villain snorted, at that.
The hero dropped their hands, only to entwine their fingers with the villain's. "It's nearly sunset. Want to walk into it together?"
- “dead of night” by niknak22 (a character study of kevin day, with kerejean hints and so, so much angst. kevin is a really interesting character and i love what niknak22 did with him)
- “say something” by willowbird (genuinely that whole series is awesome. andrew pov of neil struggling with trauma, going non-verbal and injuries, angsty but mostly wholesome.)
- “i wanna see you (be brave)” by arkastadt (matt’s pov of andreil developing… so beautiful. also, has loads of funny moments with the upperclassmen & shows their friendship)
- “odd eye” by tdashshirts (best andrew character study ever. it’s amazing and has inspired me to try and write more on andrew for myself)
- “an abridged family medical guide” by 30degreesandsnowing (if you haven’t read this, what are you doing? i’m not usually one for sickfics but this one is just… chefs kiss. kandreil too!)
Please just domestic fluff between a married hero and villain? Hero reminds villain that thanks to them they learned to hug? Im so sorry if the request is straight ass weird i just want comfort and fluff.
For my girl @save-the-villainous-cat (Happy International Girlfriend (wife) day!!!!!!!!)
An Embrace
Long days were normal for the two of them, neither were really set on a schedule and for the most part when they did get time off, the other was busy working. Villain was more of their own boss, while the hero had their superior breathing down their neck every other second.
But both jobs were busy and risky. Both of them knew that.
Yet they had overlooked it when cupid’s arrow struck and love at first fight happened.
The hero was the first to cave, but the villain was often making the first moves. The criminal liked to think of their lover like a puppy, always needing guidance, attention and reassurance. However, the hero found the exact opposite analysis of their lover, concluding that the villain was like a cat; sly, introverted but still cuddly.
It was the perfect balance of opposites attract. Unfortunately, they couldn’t balance their work-life scale just as easily.
And the villain knew this, they knew the struggle and they knew it took a toll on their marriage as well, so when they had caught news that their spouse had taken a day off, Villain didn’t hesitate to wrap up early and head home. Greeting their partner with a skip in their step as they entered through the door way.
“Sweetie, are you up yet?”
There was only a groan in response from the other side of the bedroom door. Perfect.
The villain hummed as they made their way in, finding their hero wrapped halfheartedly in blankets, hair a mess, with their limbs bending in positions that could only be comfortable to someone completely limp. They smiled, heading over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I took the rest of today off so we could spend some time together, love. I know we haven’t had time to ourselves lately, and I want to change that.”
There was that winning smile, every time the criminal saw it it was like falling in love all over again. Even exhausted the hero still managed to express their excitement—something the villain loved about them.
“How does breakfast sound? Scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, just how you like it? Might be able to fry up some hash browns while I’m at it too~”
The hero hummed something unintelligible, eyes still sleepily shut before reaching out their arms and grasping onto their lover’s pants. Giving only a second of thought then pulling the villain in and on top of them in bed. Sinking into the warmth of their significant other with glee, if they could be greedy today they most definitely would.
Their first instinct was to pull away, but Villain blamed that on their criminal habits and trust issues. Once their brain registered no sign of threat they managed to relax, as much as they were crushing the other, they knew Hero loved it and they couldn’t will themselves to destroy the moment. So they laid patiently, rubbing one of the hero’s strewn calves as they chuckled softly into the blanket.
“Miss me much?”
“Mmmm…” The hero shifted and slowly maneuvered the villain and themselves into a more comfortable position, face to face, arms wrapped around one another. “D’you remember how to hug?”
The villain smiled, pressing an innocent kiss atop of the hero’s lips. “Haven’t been able to forget since the day you became mine.”
That managed to coax a small giggle from the exhausted crime-stopped, as well as another soft kiss shared between the two. “‘S not what I meant…”
“Mmm, I know, honey.” Behind the hero’s back they intertwined their own fingers, pulling the other even closer—if at all possible. “Lock your fingers.”
Sleepily but surely the other repeated after them, slurring words as they messily tied their fingers together.
“Elbows in.”
Hero’s grin only stretched as the steps went on, the pair pushing their elbows into the other’s ribcage for maximized closeness. They loved hearing it, they knew it by heart, but it was the hero’s number one reassurance when it came to love; the steps of a hug.
“And pull tight.”
They squealed as the villain crunched them in their arms, noses brushing and hearts beating against one another’s. It was perfect.
Love was perfect.
And in their heart they knew it always would be as long as the villain was by their side.
“And kiss!!” That part was optional for anyone except the two of them. A kiss was almost mandatory at this point in their relationship, especially since moments like these were becoming rarer than usual with the overloads of work.
The villain sighed, rolling their eyes affectionally as they came in for another kiss, one more sensual and intimate this time. Mouths open and tongues twisting together, carefully, gently. Just how the hero liked it.
i just imagine benjy being a bit more financially stable because he was already working for a year when the marauders left hogwarts so his apartment became their go to place since the house was already opened to peter and where peter goes the others follow
i just imagine peter and benjy chilling at the living room and they hear the sound the floo and peter turns to look at benjy with this apologetic look and goes
peter: sorry i told them not to come here unannounced
benjy: nah its okay
benjy: i knew dating you comes with 3 other idiots
Crimson Rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back?
So, like a normal, sane reader, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little tiny brain filled with angst and smut, I was thinking that it was maybe a chapter being updated, or maybe someone I love replying to a comment I left about how their writing is so fantastic and giving them vivid descriptions of how I wish to burn it into my brain because how good it is. Turns out, that was not the case.
It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.
I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.
And Best Friend’s Brother.
And Just Lovers.
And all of those fics I was dying to read were back. All the fics that had me frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and oh my god-
They were back.
All of them.
Every single one of their fics was back up and I was fucking psyched because I have an AO3 account and I have access to it again. Me, along with many other fans of his works and readers in this fandom, texted friends and loved ones. We smiled and downloaded the files, swearing that we will never lose those works again.
___
So, like a normal, sane author, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little pea brain filled with ways to torture my readers and ways to get them off through my words, I was thinking that maybe someone had kindly left a kudos on my work, or maybe even comment on it. All my works are ongoing and to be honest, I was a little scared to open my email because what if it’s a negative comment? What if it’s someone telling me that they hate me because I’m sick and twisted, writing the filth I do. What if it’s someone telling me that they hate how I made a certain character bisexual because in their mind, bisexual women can’t also be attracted to women? What if it’s someone telling me that the trauma I write about is misrepresented and that I am an awful person for romanticizing it when I swear I’m not, when I know that I’m drawing from experience. What if it’s someone saying the aforementioned trauma is too dramatized, and that the way that I write it as something to be worked through, doesn’t fit their “one kiss and all the bad memories go away” narrative they have in their head. What if it’s someone telling me I should be ashamed, telling me that I am disgusting, telling me that I shouldn’t write what I write even though I have hyperlinks embedded in my fics and even though I have additional warnings per chapter and even though I have so many tags the plot is given away. Turns out, that is not the case.
It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.
I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.
And Best Friend’s Brother.
And Just Lovers.
And all of those fics people were dying to read were back. All the fics that had people online frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and
oh my god-
They were back.
All of them.
Every single one of their fics was back up and I was filled with fucking dread, because all I could focus on is how there’s a shiny new prongsfoot fic right there on the top of their page, the first thing people will see. All I could think about is how they talked about people not respecting their wishes with their fics and how people on the internet are fucking relentless. All I could think about are the videos I will see with people complaining that they can’t read it because they don’t have an AO3 account and people attacking them for the two chapter prongsfoot fic right there, and how people fucking idolized the guy, putting him on a pedestal and hailing him as the “best fanfic writer ever, right there along with misskingbean (who may or may not be Taylor swift (I swear, Taylor is NOT misskingbean))”All I could think about is the exit he, and MANY OTHER authors made because people got ahold of their work and were fucking rude about it. All I could think of is someone who was practically pushed off the internet for doing what he loves so well that people started hating when he wrote what he wanted to write, and how now, he’s back and honestly, it scares me a little bit because he didn’t deserve the hell people put him through.
___
Crimson rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back? Short answer, yes, yes, and yes. Long answer, yes but only if you have an AO3 account and ONLY IF people can be fucking nice this time around and maybe remember that zar is a fucking person with fucking feelings and something called a fucking mental health to take care of. Authors have feelings too, we aren’t some mindless fic generator. If you want that, go to chat gtp or some shit. We put our hearts and souls into our work and share it because we want to put it out there, not because we want to get bullied.
Now, I know what you’re going to say, “oh, but I just really loved the guy, he was like the second coming of christ with his words like I just really wanted to read more because I loved him so much, like I forgot he was a human because I just loved him and a little love never hurt anyone.”
But like, that’s also really fucking problematic and actually obsessive. Just think about it. Like this guy is a person and like, maybe you shouldn’t treat him like he is anything more OR ANYTHING LESS. Like honestly, he probably didn’t start posting his work to gain fame, like this was probably really unexpected for him. AND EVEN IF HE DID, IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET TO TREAT HIM LIKE A FUCKING PRODUCT GOD DAMN. Like, this is a PERSON. Imagine if your best friend or little sibling came to you and was talking about people putting enormous pressure on them and being obsessed with everything they do and how they feel like they have to be perfect and please everyone because if they don’t, they’ll get harassed online and like, it’s genuinely damaging their mental health. Like, imagine if that happened to you. What would you tell them? Well, hopefully, you would tell them that those people are fucking obsessed and that they need to take a break and maybe, just maybe remove the works so they could put their mind to rest, because that’s better than this. Like come on everyone, can’t you fucking see the problem with that? Idolization and bullying go hand in hand and the poor guy has been though enough.
Also, remember, be kind to the guy and like, idk, treat him with fucking human decency? Don’t deadname him maybe? Don’t like, idolize him? Don’t get mad when he writes what he wants to fucking write because you don’t like it? And maybe like, respect his wishes? It should be pretty fucking simple tbh, but apparently it’s a difficult task for some of you. He isn’t a fucking god and maybe like, before you comment, actually sit there and reflect on what you are going to say to him.
SO MAYBE, BEFORE YOU COMMENT SHIT, REMEMBER THAT ZAR’S, (and, for the record, every other author’s) MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A 800K WORD STORY ABOUT DEAD WIZARDS. LIKE PLEASE, YOU CAN FUCKING LIVE WITHOUT ONE SPECIFIC FIC WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER FICS OUT THERE, AND SO MAYBE LIKE, REMEMBER TO RESPECT THE AUTHORS WHO WRITE YOUR STORIES.
MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, BEFORE YOU SAY SHIT, THINK ABOUT WHY HE FUCKING LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, DEAR GOD.
On her first night in her new home, after a lavish dessert of strawberry cheesecake and cream, her new husband handed her a clinking set of keys across the dining room table.
“You can go anywhere in the house,” her husband told her, “except the basement.”
He showed her the key to the basement. It was midnight blue.
“Why? Is the basement where you keep the bodies?” she asked, with half a smile.
He didn’t smile back. “Do you promise me?”
She studied him carefully, feeling the weight of the basement key in her hand.
There were many keys to the house - hefty ornate keys for their front and back doors, a pretty gold one for their bedroom, a dozen little silver and brass ones for any other lock in the house that she might come across. Windows and cabinets and the like.
The basement key was almost insubstantial against her palm. Negligible. The sort of key that was easily lost, that looked like it might belong to a doll house more than a proper estate.
She couldn’t read his expression.
“You can’t tell me what’s in there?”
“I will know if you open the door,” he said, “and everything that we are will end.”
She laughed again, uncertainly, because the words were surely absurd and certainly not like him. He could have simply told her it was dangerous and so best avoided, or not given her the key to the basement in the first place. She doubted she would have given it all that much thought among all the other rooms.
Yet, his words instead piqued curiosity.
Once again, he did not smile. He stared at her solemnly, with a hint of something haunted that she had only caught flickers of during their courtship.
The laughter died in her throat.
He had been like something from a fairy tale from the moment they met; Prince Charming to pluck her out of the ashes of her drab life, even if she knew he had been married before. Everyone knew. Just as none of them had expected him to pick her. She had no experience in the running of manor houses, and no especially outstanding beauty nor fortune of her own to make up for that fault. In short, she was nothing like his first wife.
But, she had made him laugh, and she had liked him. God, how she had liked him – and liked him still – with such blushing ferocity that it almost made her dizzy.
Her new home was enormous, and beautiful, and filled with the kind of impossible luxuries that she had never even dared to dream of having. It was filled with him. She was nothing, and nobody, and he had given her the keys to be something and somebody else. Someone better. What was one small forbidden key against all that?
She knew the preciousness of privacy. Sometimes a secret could be the only thing that was really yours.
“Okay.” She bit her lip, and started to unhook the key from the ring. “Would you like it back, then? Just to be sure.”
He recoiled as if she’d drawn a knife on him and shook his head.
“Keep it,” he rasped. “Keep it safe. Keep it locked. Let it be forgotten.”
But from that moment on, though, she never really forgot about the blue key for a moment.
***
The library was probably her favourite room in her new home. It was astonishing to be able to have an actual personal library, stocked from soft-carpet and gleaming hardwood floor to cavernous ceiling with walls upon walls of books of every kind. The orphanage had maybe three books, worn and ancient, each crumbling a little more with every reading.
There were lots of stories in her husband’s books about girls with keys, girls with curiosity, heroes with something they were not supposed to look at under the pain of death or something worse.
Psyche with Eros, who was told without explanation not to look upon her perfect and mysterious host, for there could be no love without trust.
Orpheus, forbidden to glance back at his love, lest he lose her for good.
Pandora, with her strange once unopened box of evils and hope, told it was hers.
Eve, with her curiosity, with her knowledge, lured into plucking that shining forbidden fruit.
Bluebeard too, of course, with his many murdered wives, all told not to seek out their bloody predecessors behind his secret door, because – why?
Because it was a game of female obedience? Because it gave a predator an excuse to do what he did best, when he knew from the first instance that his victims would have to know? He chose them, after all. And why did they look, those wives, against all warning?
Because the uncertainty was unbearable? Because it was their home too? Because they loved the man they married and wanted to know everything there was to know of him? Maybe they wanted to save him. It was never cruelty.
The two of them were happy, her husband and her, as blissful as newlyweds were want to be.
In the evenings they would cuddle before the roaring fires, night caressing the windows, and he would read aloud from his favourite passages or play music. In the days he would work, or leave on some business or other, and she would wander the labyrinthian corridors alone and explore the many treasures tucked away behind his many locked doors.
The library could have lasted her years, but she found a room with a ceiling made of magnifying glass by which to observe the stars, a swimming pool built into the rock beneath the entrance hall, a lush garden bursting with colour that she could tend to in the sunshine.
There were servants to take care of the day-to-day running of the building, and so he did not seem to desire any particular purpose of her except to be his wife. Except for her to live in his home, in their home, and enjoy his easy company and the gifts he gave her. She found ways to keep busy. To contribute.
Thus, it took her many months to walk down towards the basement, to first look upon the door that she was not allowed to open. Spring had turned to the first icy breaths of winter.
The door was painted the same midnight blue as the key, and immaculate in condition. The lock was tiny. A dark slither, a crack, in something otherwise quite lovely.
She pressed her hand against the door and the wood was warm compared to the cool, slightly stale, underground air that filled her chest.
She dropped a hand into her pocket, fingers closing unerringly around the blue key. She tried not to touch it, not to think about it, but she had come to know it instantly by shape and feel alone. It was simply so odd to have a key so small. She had half expected the door would be in miniature too.
How could he possibly know, if she opened it? In some tales it was magic. The key would betray her. He would know by seeing it. But her husband did not want to look upon the key, he had never even mentioned it once after their first dinner.
What then was in the basement? Something so terrible that she could no longer love him? Or perhaps it was empty. Perhaps it was structurally unsound. Perhaps it was simply a test on if she would allow him that one thing that was his and his only.
She leaned down, and pressed her eye to the keyhole with a hammering heart. She didn’t know what she expected to see inside, exactly – a skeleton, or some ghoul staring back at her, or some hidden vault even. There was only darkness. Nothing to see. She straightened again, unsure if the painful feeling in her lungs was breathless relief or airless disappointment.
She walked back up the stairs.
She turned over the pages of stories in the library, and turned the key over and over in her palm, and wondered which of those many tales she was in.
***
“I think,” she said one night, as they lay in bed. “That it bothers me more that you will not tell me, than anything that could possibly be in the basement.”
He stiffened on the mattress next to her.
“Is there something I could do,” she rolled onto her side to face him, “so that you would know you could trust me with the truth?”
His expression was half-hidden in the dim light, his body made unfamiliar by slashes of moonshine slicing through the curtains. His blue eyes were open, staring up, away from her.
“You promised me that you would not dwell on the door.”
“No.” She reached out, tracing her fingers gently along the curve of his jaw, coaxing him to meet her searching gaze. “I promised I wouldn’t open it. There’s a difference.”
He snorted, but tipped his head towards her hand, planting a kiss to her knuckles.
“Can you at least narrow down the possibilities?” She pressed into the silence, because kisses were sweet but they were not an answer. “Is it something I shouldn’t see? That you don’t want me to see? Something that – I don’t know – can’t be let out? Are you the secret guardian of a nightmare world?” She attempted another smile, but it wobbled shaky. “Just give me something, and I’ll leave it alone. I just want to know. I need to know. Whatever it is – whatever it could possibly be – you don’t have to carry it alone. We’re supposed to be a team. That’s what marriage is.”
“Is my word not enough for you?” He sounded tired. “Is everything I have given you not enough?”
She scrunched up her nose at him. “You’d be happily blind, if it were you?”
“Ignorance can be bliss.”
“If you wanted me ignorant, why tell me about the key in the first place? You know me.”
They’d met on account of her curiosity, of her straying to places that she wasn’t supposed to be. He’d been visiting the library of one of the great colleges, reserved for great men like him, and she’d snuck in aching for a glimpse of the world.
Her husband said nothing.
“When you first gave me the key…” She swallowed. “You looked scared.” Her fingers, which had often brushed his in the library stacks once upon a time, grazed his pulse. It was racing. “I would fight monsters for you. Even if you’re the monster.”
As the silence stretched, she thought he might say nothing again, until the silence had grown so large that they might never reach each other across the abyss of it.
“I love you,” he said. His voice cracked. He caught her hand, entwining their fingers together, and squeezed. “Goodnight.”
The seconds ticked by into minutes, into she didn’t know how long.
“Is it a curse?” she whispered, into the dark. “If you’re not allowed or able to tell me, squeeze my hand twice.”
“Oh my god.” His voice was muffled, then, as he pulled a pillow over his face and wrenched free of her. “It’s two in the morning, darling. Go to sleep.”
***
She watched the door diligently for about a month. She didn’t think her husband had some poor creature locked up in the basement, but if he did then one would assume that either he would have to visit, or have the servants visit, in order to provide his victim some form of sustenance.
Nobody visited the basement door except her. There could not be anything living on the other side.
At least, not unless there was some other second secret door and tunnel system, hidden somewhere on the grounds. She didn’t see anyone vanish to one of those either, though. Would she, if it wasn’t on the grounds? How large a conspiracy could a little blue key possibly hold?
Would it count as ‘opening the door’ if she made a hole in the wall next to the door?
She remembered her husband, in the college library the first time they met, spying the collection of ghost stories she’d been straining to reach. He’d grabbed it off the top shelf for her, easily, a glimmer of amusement curling his lips.
“I never really got these stories,” he’d mused. “If it were me, I would simply not have gone into the haunted house in the first place. Or, one look at a ghost and – no, no thank you. Goodbye! Have a nice life.”
She’d gaped at him.
He’d shrugged at her, and handed her the book. “But I can see that you’re a braver soul than me,” he said. “Sneaking into a place like this uninvited.”
She’d accepted the volume, clutching it protectively to her chest.
“Well,” she’d managed. “People like you are already invited everywhere, aren’t they? So you don’t have to be brave.”
He’d startled into a laugh.
She’d wondered if he would expose her to security, wondered if she should have denied it, wondered how he’d seen through her so swiftly and –
“Don’t worry.” He’d already been turning away, with a last lingering glance at her. “I can keep a secret.”
She’d only learned later who he was, and that it had been a month since his wife had died.
How, exactly, had his first wife died? The papers had said ‘tragic accident’, but there had been no witnesses. He didn’t talk about it, or about her.
No. She was being ridiculous. Maybe she had only imagined the flicker of terror on her husband’s face, the way he had flinched from the key, the rough urgency in his voice. Whatever it was, whatever it could possibly be, was not worth sacrificing what they had. There were other rooms; a dozen of them!
She buried the damn key in the garden. Out of sight, out of mind. Better that than completely losing her mind over something that probably had a completely rational explanation. Love was a leap of faith.
She woke up the next morning to find the blue key back on the key ring, still covered with a fine sprinkling of dirt.
***
Her least favourite stories in the library were the ones about fate.
Maybe some people found such notions encouraging, comforting even in their reassurance that all of the suffering in the world was for a reason and that people could have some incredible purpose laid out for them. She’d always found the idea to be like quicksand beneath her feet, sucking her down down down trapped.
For, if it was fate, there could be no real escape. No chance. No hope.
She kept returning to the story of Bluebeard, tracing variations and retelling with the blue teeth of her blue key.
Maybe, if she was Bluebeard’s final wife, she would open the door and ultimately inherit a grand fortune, and recover from the trauma of falling in love with someone who wasn’t what they said they were.
What if she was only the second wife though, or the metaphorical third? What if her fate was to be some dead thing written only to add background colour to someone else’s happy ending?
It was all well and good of her husband to claim he would never go into a haunted house, but such declarations only really worked if one knew they were in a horror story instead of something else.
“Do you think, maybe,” she asked her husband as winter turned back to spring, “that we could go away somewhere?”
They strolled through the gardens, his arm wrapped protectively around her frail shoulders. Ever since the key incident she had found it difficult to sleep, to eat, to not find herself worrying about the door like worrying a hangnail until she tore off bloodied scraps of her own skin.
The house, which had once seemed so large to her, had turned into something suffocating. She had no friends in the area, and however far she went along the grounds in the lonely hours of her husband’s working, the door would always be there for her and the key would always be in her pocket. The questions, the creeping doubts, would buzz in her brain like flies swarming a corpse.
“Go away?” He seemed surprised. “Is there something else that you need?”
She had tried simply hiding the key, then stayed up all night staring at the key ring laying on her bedside to try and catch the culprit who’d dug it up from beneath the roses. One of the servants must have brought the damn thing back, right? Perhaps, the housekeeper? She got the impression that the severe woman had never really approved of her, never liked her. She was not as impressive and perfect a candidate as his first wife had been.
She had seen nothing, but when she fell finally into an exhausted slumber, the key had been waiting for her.
“I just thought it might be nice for us both to get away for a while,” she said. “A holiday. You’ve been so busy with your work.”
She had tried burning the key. It did not burn.
“There is a lot to do,” he said. “This is a large estate. It takes – management, a lot of care.”
“Perhaps I could help you?”
“It is not your burden, darling.”
“But it’s yours? A burden?”
The key, whatever it was, had to be of some supernatural origin. Of that she was increasingly certain. Well, the ghosts were in the house, so to speak, and he wasn’t leaving! He wouldn’t look at her, his attention fastened on the first snowdrops shoving their heads from beneath the hard earth.
“Tell me,” she said. “Or come away with me, please.”
He glanced at her, then.
She reached into her pocket and held up the blue key.
He turned away, quickening his pace as if he couldn’t wait to get away from it too.
“Where,” he said the next morning, “would you like to go, love?”
At the sea side, she tossed the key into the water when he wasn’t looking. If it was the servants, if there was any chance that something in the house was messing with her, with them, then even its evil reach could surely not reach beyond the borders of the property?
It was better for a while, after that. They were both lighter on holiday, away from his family home, with all of its history and responsibility.
The house on their return, waiting for them as it always was and would be, felt new and full of possibility again. They kept laughing over their first dinner back and fell asleep still high on love and freedom and everything they were supposed to be.
The next morning, impossibly, the blue key was on the key ring again.
She started to cry.
“I’m sorry,” her husband said. The colour had leached, stricken, from his handsome face. He looked older. Exhausted, too. His eyes were dark. “I wish—” He fell silent. He reached out to her, and she recoiled. “I’m sorry.”
“You wish what?” It came out whip sharp.
He said nothing.
She shook her head, the laugh on her breath not really a laugh at all. Of course, he would still not tell her.
“If you don’t tell me,” she said, “everything that we are will end. You understand that, don’t you?” She fumbled the key off the ring and hurled it onto the sheets between them. It sat there, so disgustingly innocuous looking, a glint of blue among the white. “This isn’t fair. This is – sick. Take it back.”
“I know.” He folded his arms, less great man, more frightened child hugging himself. He stared down the key like an old enemy. “I know.”
“Or,” she said. A plea edged into her tone. “We could leave. For good. Let this house, let that door, be forgotten. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
He shook his head, less ‘no’ and more ‘I can’t’ and more ‘I’m sorry’.
She squared her shoulders, even as his slumped. “Tell me, at least, if I should go. You love me, right? If there was something rotten in that basement, you would want to protect me from it, wouldn’t you?”
“You can go,” he said. “If that’s what you want. That’s always been your choice.”
She stared at him.
He looked haunted, hunted, and he had known all along that the key would always end up back on the ring, hadn’t he? That was why he hadn’t simply taken it off when he first gave them to her. She would have thought he didn’t trust her if he’d never given her the keys to her own home at all too, wouldn’t she?
She debated leaving him. She debated walking out the house and – what?
He looked so broken.
She sighed, the defiant fury sluicing off her shoulders too. She rounded the bed and craned up on her toes to kiss the lost furrow of his forehead.
“Just ignore it,” he said, clutching her hands. “Just ignore the door, and we can be happy.”
“Darling,” she said. “You don’t seem happy here.”
She kissed his lips, like packing up a suitcase, and snatched the blue key back up off the sheets.
Then she went down to the basement and opened the door.
hi, i love your writing!! could i request a stoic, oblivious Right Hand x a flirty, frustrated Villain/Supervillain? thank you! <3
Request #28
This one was fun, hehe...
"Looks like you and me are going on a little trip together, Right Hand," the villain purred, one hand trailing across their subordinate's shoulders as the other finished typing up their notes. "A nice vacation - just you, and me..."
"A mission," the right hand corrected.
The villain's left eye twitched. "Well, yes," they conceded. "But that doesn't mean you and I can't do a little sightseeing now, does it?"
They sat down upon the table their henchman was working at, delighting when the other's gaze turned up to look at them. For all of about one second.
"What would you like to see? If you tell me now I can book it all in advance."
Always so work orientated...It drove the villain mad beyond belief: how - how? - could a person possibly be so oblivious? They'd been hitting on the right hand for months and all the other ever did was warp their teasing words into a literal work task. The villain was going to do something rash soon. They could feel it; feel the itching need to just take matters into their own hands bubbling up within them by the second. The villain wasn't sure whether they'd kiss them or punch them but those were certainly the highest probabilities right now.
"Well, what would you like to see?" the villain questioned back. "We are going together after all."
The henchman paused, opening up a new tab on their laptop. "Are you asking for recommendations?"
The villain squinted down at them. "Sure. I guess..."
"The top result seems to be the Sagrada Familia which, of course, is pretty obvious. There's also--"
"No, I didn't ask what some stupid guide said to see: what do you want to see?"
The right hand shrugged. "It isn't my concern. My main focus will be the mission."
"This will happen after the mission," the villain said. "I want us to spend some time alone. Together."
They didn't think they could lay it on any thicker. Still, the henchman had the audacity to raise a brow at them.
"Like a team building exercise--?"
"NO!" the villain cried in an outburst. "Not like a team building exercise!"
The other blinked up at them at that, mildly startled. "Then what--?"
"Together, Right Hand," the villain repeated. "You and me, together."
Surely they'd understand now.
The right hand studied them for a long while, expression scrunching up slightly as they contemplated it. "If you're trying to repay me for the London fiasco, it isn't necessary. I was simply doing my job--"
"WHAT ABOUT THIS WORD DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?" The villain had reached their breaking point. They were practically seeing red, hands curling into fists at their side. "TOGETHER, HENCHMAN. TOGETHER, TOGETHER, TOGETHER. LIKE - LIKE A...LIKE A...GAHH!"
They threw the other's laptop across the room and pulled them in by the collar of their shirt - the chair the other had been sat upon wheeling them forward with the force until they were situated perfectly between the villain's legs. The right hand blinked at the motion, staring up at them with wide eyes whilst the villain glared down, pinning their subordinate in place with a single look before finally yanking them up higher to smash their lips together.
It was the most satisfying action the villain had ever taken.
The henchman made a sound they'd never heard before: a small, startled thing in a far higher pitch than the villain knew them capable of. Their mouth opened in surprise and the villain took immediate advantage of it, sliding their tongue in passed the right hand's lips with a fierce determination and delighting in the way the other fumbled for a moment before holding onto their waist. The villain smiled and pulled them closer still, their one hand tangling into the henchman's hair whilst the other captured their chin, moving them until they got the exact angle that they wanted and keeping them that way.
Once they were satisfied, the villain pulled back with a smirk. Their right hand panted beneath them, face flushed a bright red as they turned to look up at them - the villain tightening the grip on their hair and adoring the shudder it invoked.
"Do you understand now?" they asked.
The henchman nodded.
"Good." Their thumb brushed over the other's lips, breath ghosting across their blushing cheeks. "Answer my question then: what would you like to see?"
For a second there was silence, the right hand swallowing before they made their response.
"P-Park Güell looks nice," they suggested. "A-And I know it's th-the, um, obvious choice b-but the Sagrada Familia really is beautiful - I-I like art so..."
From stoic to a stuttering mess. The villain liked this sudden change of tune.
"Sounds nice," they said. They leaned in to give the henchman one final kiss, nipping at their lower lip before pulling away entirely. "Book it. I want the itinerary on my desk by the end of the day, is that clear?"
"Y-Yes, Villain."
They dropped down from the table and moved away, turning back just before they left through the door. "Oh, and Right Hand?"
"Yes?"
The henchman seemed practically rooted to the spot, the shock of the moment still holding them captive.
"If I catch you being that oblivious again, you can expect far worse than a kiss," they warned. And then they waited. Waited the ten whole seconds it took the right hand to realise exactly what they meant, their blush turning an even darker shade of red once they did.
The villain was looking forward to this trip greatly...
Could I request a hero and villain couple flirting with a detective that managed to prove villain was innocent of a crime that supervillain framed them for? Adore your writing btw so thank you so much for taking requests!
I got a little carried away with this one...
cw: suggestive themes
“Hell of a job, Detective. Gotta say, I’m impressed.” Hero mused, boxing the other into a vacant corner of the courthouse hall as the crowd passed by.
“I was simply doing my job. What are you doing here, though? Hoping to watch Villain get put away or do you often come to watch trials?” The sleuth inquired, noting the Hero’s body language that indicated they weren’t going to be done talking with them for a while.
“Not exactly, I’m here for personal purposes, dear. But I’d like to speak to you somewhere more private, if I may?” Hero’s spoke low, dangerously so, uncharacteristic for a hero. Even more dangerous was how close the crime stopper had gotten, if it weren’t for the multiple layers of clothes they probably could have felt the heat emanating from the other. These two incredibly dangerous components struck a chord in the investigator’s gut, tightening a wire deep within. They swallowed hard.
“Do I have a choice in the matter?” The detective chuckled dryly.
“Why a’course you do, gumshoes! There’s a coffeehouse about 3 blocks down the left when you leave out the front door a’here. I’ll be there at 4 pm if you’d care to join me.” Hero smirked, their sultry tone clearly stating that they didn’t need an RSVP, it was more like a command. They nodded at the Hero, the crime fighter taking that as their cue to go and vanished into the crowd.
If the detective’s interest wasn’t piqued before, it certainly was now.
-
Surprisingly, the cafe was fairly empty, making the hero easy to spot in a corner booth. As the detective approached they noticed another a head of hair peeking over the side of the seat, but Hero had already noticed them coming and waved. Hesitantly the investigator pressed forward, addressing the crime fighter before they sat down next to whoever the hell decided to crash their date.
Oh.
Villain glanced over and smiled, one that looked alarmingly genuine, and patted the vinyl next to them, inviting the detective to sit. Warily they complied.
“Uh-” Detective began.
“So glad you decided to join us, Detective. Do you know what you would like to drink?” Hero inquired innocently.
They cleared their throat, still off put by the criminal lounging next to them, because while the villain may not have committed this particular crime, Detective knew they were no saint.
“Plain black should be fine. No sugar.” Their tone was firm despite their anxieties.
“Cliche.” Villain murmured with a grin.
“Be right back, gumshoes.”
The detective immediately turned to Villain, “What are you doing here?” they hissed.
“I can’t enjoy a date with my significant other?” Villain defended.
Detective was confused, their face spelled that emotion out perfectly. “But Hero flirted with me?”
Villain laughed, it was a warm sound, one you wouldn’t expect from someone like them, it made the investigator’s heart flip for just a moment.
“Honey, did you know you were making heart eyes at me during the entire trial?” The detective froze, a blush quickly plastering their face, clearly answering the question. The criminal crowded around the other’s body, their breath fanning Detective’s cheek as they whispered in their ear. “You were absolutely eye-fucking me and it took so much willpower not to jump your bones and ruin that wonderfully tailored suit.”
Detective was no doctor but they swore their heart literally stopped for a tick but then immediately began pumping as much blood as possible to their face and… well. It was that moment that Hero delivered their drinks, sitting back down across from the two. The bright red of Detective’s cheeks was instantly noticed, making Hero stuck out their lower lip in a pout before speaking.
“Awww, you got started without me. Here’s your mocha, baby. And your black, gumshoes.” Their lips tugging into a smile as they took a sip, watching the mini crisis Detective was expressing with their eyes. They looked at Villain, ridiculously smug, and they shot back a mirroring smile.
“So, Detective. I’m sure you’ve deduced that we’re a couple.” Hero began, the investigator nodded. “And that we’re interested in you.” Detective averted their eyes. “And you’re interested in us?” They nodded again, cheeks burning just a little brighter. “Wonderful! Now, gumshoes, would you like to come home with us, or take this slow?”
“We’re okay with either, but I think I know your answer.” Villain added.
“Um-” Their voice came out unfathomably dry and raspy, making them cough to clear their throat. “I would very much like to take your offer and see your home.” Detective said eloquently, unable to find the least crude way of agreeing.
“Oh, I think you’ll just love the master bedroom.” Villain whispered, their puffs of hot air still caressing the investigator’s cheek, forcing chills through their body.
Detective let a nervous giggle slip through, they were in way over their head, but gods was this going to be fun.
I'm not sure what month @tsarinatorment 's "Eclipse" take place but I think it would be funny if Persephone came back home at some point and stepped right into all of this chaos
alternatively:
Anyway go read "Eclipse" if you haven't yet, 10/10, peak fanfiction
Hi! I love your work! do you think you could do one where the shy hero needs a place to stay and finds themselves asking the villain if they can stay at his place?
They used to be friends. The hero wouldn't have considered it if they didn't use to be friends.
It still felt like an exceptionally dumb thing to consider.
They were not friends anymore.
"You're staring," the villain said.
The hero immediately dropped their gaze, and wished they had their mask to cover the rush of heat flooding their face. A minute or so later, their attention had fixed on the villain again - sitting opposite them in the train carriage, because fate hated them both.
(And because the train home was a tiny little local thing that had yet to catch up fully with the modern age.)
The villain watched the scenery blurring in the train window; trees to replace the concrete forests of the capital, scrubby grass. Soon, soon, they would turn a corner and there would be sea.
The hero caught the villain studying them in the reflection of the glass, clearly having noted they were being observed again. The villain raised a brow but didn't bother to turn their head.
The hero swallowed.
It wasn't safe, or it didn't feel safe, to watch the villain even through the distance of a reflection. The villain was not Medusa. Their threat did not diminish simply because it wasn't tackled head-on.
"So you're staying at your family house?" the hero asked.
"As I've done every year since we've known each other." The villain's voice was as dry as cracking skin, and the hero winced.
They fidgeted on their chair. They toyed with the zip on their rucksack. Obviously, obviously, the villain was staying at their home.
The villain's eyes narrowed. They turned their head to examine the hero more closely, and the hero once again hurled their attention elsewhere. It hit the train window like a tragedy of a bird, with one big impact, before it dropped.
"What is it."
The hero bit their lip. "Can I stay with you?"
"Excuse me?" The dryness vanished.
"Your place is huge! I won't be any trouble. I'll like, hide in the loft or something. You won't even see me. I know you probably have guests or-"
"Why aren't you going home?"
"Is that a no?"
"It's a question. I suggest you answer it."
There - the corner, and the sea. It stretched endless, wine-dark in the fading light. The hero set their rucksack on their lap again, squeezing it against their chest.
"[Hero]." The villain's voice softened, just a fraction. "You can stay if you tell me."
Maybe they could find a hotel. There was no way they were finding a hotel room so close to the festival. If they could find and afford a hotel...
"I can't go home."
"Yes, I gathered that by the fact that you're asking me for a favour."
The hero grimaced, shoulders tensing. Their arms tightened around their bag. They jolted when the villain's hand landed, gently, on their knee. Just one light touch.
Their eyes met.
The villain's eyes were not warm, but they weren't hostile either. There was no unkindness. It was a careful neutrality, as much of a shield as the hero's bag, but..
"Theyfoundoutmyjobanddon'twantmetocomehome."
The villain blinked. It took them a second to translate, to replay the words back slowly for themselves, before they went rigid.
"Your job? You mean -" The villain gestured at the hero's face, where the mask would normally sit.
"That thing. Yeah."
"And they don't want you to come home? They...they do realise you're not me, right?"
The hero laughed, catching themselves by surprise as much as the villain. They shook their head. "They actually agree more with you, you'll be delighted to know. Obviously, I haven't told them it's you, but..." They were getting off track. "So I can stay with you?"
The villain stared.
The hero's stomach twisted. Maybe - they didn't want to believe it, but maybe, the deal had just been a ploy for information. They should have lied. They should have come up with some other reason they couldn't go home. Anything but the truth.
"Please," the hero forced out, barely above a rasp. Embarrassment flared up their face again, like an outbreak, or a plague symptom.
The villain seemed to snap back to themselves. They nodded, before they spoke, gaze returning to the window. They continued to sit in that rigid way, expression utterly fixed and....
Angry. They were angry.
"Sorry," the hero said. "I know it's-"
"-You have absolutely nothing to apologise for."
"Oh, yeah. You love my path in life." It blurted out, as dry as the villain's voice had been.
It was the villain's turn to laugh. They shook their head, studying the hero through the train window again.
"I wouldn't kick you out of my house for that. Just kill you. Far more reasonable."
That time, as absurd as it was, they laughed together. And it felt...not like old times, but something new. Something other than heroes and villains and an endless fight.
The train pulled up at the station as the last of the sun sunk beneath the waves. The evening air was crisp, and smelled like salt and home.
The hero's chest ached.
That night, the villain gave them the best guest room in the house.
