Hi! I love love LOVE your writing so much!!!❤️❤️(it’s the only thing sometimes that can help me reorient myself when life sucks)-
Idk if you’ve already written a work like this- but could you write about a villain who fakes being in a relationship with hero to get information. Hero absolutely loves them and thinks that they can finally be happy….but then Villain breaks their heart- while saying they never loved them and that it was all a lie.
and then later on Villain regrets it and realizes they are actually obsessed with hero and go full psycho?
The hero had spent their childhood watching as their parents fought viciously with one another. Slamming doors and breaking plates, and then sullen, withdrawn and nearly silent conversations illuminated only by the dying lamp in the corner of the living room. Whatever the hero’s parents had, it wasn’t love, and never would be. The hero had no way of knowing if it ever had been.
And then the hero had watched as time after time, their sister loved someone with her whole heart and was left shattered on the hero’s doorstep at the end of it. Fairytales that ended with no happy ending, ripped up love notes and a hundred playlists made for people their sister could no longer bear to name out loud.
The hero had watched their entire family reach for love and fall flat every time, and had resigned themself to a fate of the kind of heartbreak you cannot escape. The kind that hangs over heads like a cloud and fogs mirrors.
And then–
The villain. The hero had met the villain, and the villain had smiled, and they thought maybe, just maybe, they had beaten the curse. That they were meant for the soft kind of love they had only imagined when they were young, before the pain of it got too great.
The hero had let the villain intertwine themself into the hero’s life, and they had thought they were okay. They had thought they had made it.
Which was why, now, they couldn’t seem to make themself think anything sensical at all.
The villain settled the file in front of the hero gently, on the table they had picked out together with as much care as one was capable of. They almost, almost, looked like they regretted it, face soft and breakable.
The villain cleared their throat in the silence. “If you just read it–”
“What, can’t say it yourself?”
The villain stopped, swallowing. This was the first time in a very long time the hero had seen them look unsure.
The hero scoffed at them. “I know about Project Pegasus.”
The villain went very, very still. They looked down towards the folder.
“So then–”
“This?” the hero picked up the folder, waving it once. They tossed it onto the floor without looking. “I’ve already read it. Two weeks ago.” They stared at the villain, and did their best not to blink. “I just hoped it was fake.”
The hero wondered if maybe, this was what had happened to their parents. If they had spent all of that time fighting and hating one another and crying in darkened rooms just so they could spend the rest of it constantly reaching back towards one another. Pretending that the file wasn’t real. That the fights were nothing more than a blip in existence and not the roots of a rot so deep it would never be fully cut out of them.
They had wondered about a lot of things, curled on the bathroom floor around that wretched file, but mostly they had wondered if they had always been meant to end up here. If this was what being doomed felt like.
The villain blinked.
“You hoped it was fake.”
The hero felt a little like they couldn’t breathe. They sucked a shallow breath in through their nose anyways.
“If you–” their voice broke. “If you were me, would you want to believe it?”
The villain’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, are you?”
“Yes,” the villain said, but in the space where they should have explained themself, where they should have said it was fake, and that they loved the hero more than anything, and that this little apartment meant everything to them–they said nothing.
“So, what,” the hero snapped, voice wet with barely held back tears. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you? That this was an accident? That you’re sorry again? That you never meant to hurt me–”
“No,” the villain corrected gently. “You were always meant to fall in love with me.”
A tiny sob wormed its way out of the hero’s throat before they could stop themself, and they pressed their shaking fist to their mouth before anything else could follow, turning away.
“It was just about the information,” the villain said, and the hero shoved themself back from the table, just to get further away from the love of their life.
“You knew what you were doing,” the hero said bitterly. “You know me. You knew. You knew I would never be able to get over this, and you did it anyways–”
“It’s my job,” the villain protested, and it took the hero everything in them to remain standing. “It wasn’t personal.”
“You made yourself my world, you made yourself into my everything, you made me fall in love with you–”
“I never made you do anything.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. This was your goal, wasn’t it? Own up to your accomplishments. Go on. Tell me how proud you are. Do it.”
“Hero.”
“I loved you,” the hero was screaming, maybe.
And there it was. Past tense.
Loved.
The villain stepped back like the hero had slapped them.
“Hero,” their voice was barely a whisper.
The hero picked up the file. Rifled through it once more.
“Hero–”
The hero held out the file. The villain didn’t take it, hands remaining limp at their side.
“Take it.” They gestured with the file. “Take it, and get out.”
The villain sucked in a breath.
“Hero,” the villain said again, uselessly.
“Tell me you love me, then. Tell me you meant it.” They gestured to the file once more. “Tell me that this is the lie.”
“I can’t.”
“Tell me.”
The villain opened their mouth, and for a second, the hero hoped–
“I don’t love you.”
The hero wished the villain had just killed them.
“I never loved you. It was all a lie. A really, really pretty lie.”
The hero wanted to say something elegant to that. Something biting and vicious and jagged in the same way the inside of them felt right now. They wanted to say everything they had felt earlier, every thought that had cut them so that it could cut the villain too.
Instead, all they managed was a choked, “Get out.”
They threw the file at the villain.
The villain didn’t bother to catch it, letting it slam into their chest. It thudded against the floor, papers spilling out in a halo around the villain’s feet.
A part of them wanted the villain to argue further.
A part of them just wanted the villain dead.
“I’m sorry,” the villain said once more, and then they were gone.
The villain had known as soon as the hero had thrown that file that they wanted the villain dead.
That they were more likely to claw their own bones apart than willingly reach for the villain’s hand again, and the logical part of their brain was viciously pleased about it.
It made this whole thing easier. No lingering attachments to further butcher. Just a field, burned so badly nothing would ever grow in it again, and god, wasn’t that convenient for their mission.
A tiny, smothered part of their brain, however, wouldn’t stop screaming.
They drowned it.
But then the villain would catch themself glancing to their side in search of a smile. They would wait a beat too long after they said something, would wait for laughter, and then there would be none, and they would curse themself for it, and that little part of them would come gasping back to life and start screaming again.
Possibly it was that little part of them that had made them send a message to the hero, offering the apartment. It was the least they could do, right? Fuck up their life and then get the fuck out of it.
But the texts had said delivered, but never read, and three days later when the villain used their key to open the lock, they found themself stepping into a mausoleum and not a home.
They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Dust hanging in the air. Blank squares left on the walls where pictures had once hung. Empty cabinets, empty floors, empty rooms; no, whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.
For a reason they couldn’t name, they went from room to room, searching for something without quite understanding what. It wasn’t until they had come full circle back into the living room, fingers coated in dust and an aching chest, that the villain had realized. Ghosts. They were looking for ghosts.
Because there was nothing better to describe the way they felt right now other than haunted. And if there was something, anything, of the hero left in here to burn, to destroy, to exorcise, they could use it as an excuse–
There was nothing left of the hero. There were no ghosts. This place was just dead.
The villain made a shuddering little sound, and slammed the front door closed behind them when they managed to stumble into the hallway.
This was an easy mission, it was–
–two years and dates over ramen and houseplants–
–something even a new recruit could do–
–i love you’s in the dark and the scent of the hero on all of their clothes and–
–something the villain was trained for, countless hours spent–
–laughing and crying and rainy days and sunny ones–
–learning how to fake love, and somehow–
–the villain had forgotten it was fake.
The villain couldn’t breathe.
The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love, too.
The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love too, and they had just set their entire world ablaze around themself.
Fuck.
It really only made sense, then, that they found themself standing on the roof of their old apartment building as it burned. And when that didn’t work, they moved onto the next, until a third building went up in flames beneath their feet. They knew the kind of message it would send, and they knew exactly who that message would get sent to–
The hero landed on the other end of the rooftop, as far away from the villain as they could possibly get.
“Stop,” the hero hissed, teeth clenched. “Stop lighting things on fire to get my attention, just stop–”
“I’m in love with you,” the villain said, voice wrecked, and the hero reacted like the villain had shot them. They stepped away, feet bumping against the edge like the fall was a better option than the villain.
“No,” the hero said. They shook as they said it. “Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me.”
“I love you,” the villain said again, and the hero pressed a hand over their own heart.
“Stay away from me,” the hero managed after a moment. Another deep breath, and their hand dropped back down to their side. “Go do whatever it is you need to do, go ruin anyone else’s life, and stay out of the wreckage of mine.”
“We have a life together,” the villain tried. If the hero could just see, could see that they could fix it– “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I was so, so stupid. But you can’t just leave, please, just let me fix it–”
“I told you to get out,” the hero said, and there was nothing soft in their eyes as they looked at the villain. “What about the way I said it made you think it was temporary?”
“Hero, please, let me fix–”
“Villain,” the hero said calmly, voice sharp. “Some things aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”
All of the air left the villain’s lungs in a pathetic sort of wheeze.
“You’re my everything,” the villain choked out. “My whole world, and I’m so sorry. I was–I made a mistake, but you can’t just throw us away–”
“No,” the hero spat, and the villain flinched. “You burned that world to the ground. You’re standing in the ashes of it. You don’t get to come to me begging for it back.”
The villain felt unmoored. Like the world had shifted one step to the left and they had no idea what to do with their limbs anymore, no idea how to keep existing.
“But I love you.”
“The only person who feels anything when you say that is you.”
This time, it was the villain who stepped back.
“Please,” the villain whispered, and the hero closed their eyes.
“What were you expecting to happen. That I would forgive you? Would fall back into your arms? You could tell me that you’re sorry in every language for the rest of your life and that wouldn’t make what you did hurt me any less. So why would you think you could light a building on fire, tell me you love me, and then make everything go back to the way it was?”
“I–I don’t–”
“There is no back,” the hero said firmly. “There is no undo.”
“I don’t know what to do,” the villain said. A tear dripped off the edge of their chin.
The hero appraised them.
“Learn to live with it.”
The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.
“I can’t live without you, okay, I can’t–”
“Then die.”
The villain froze. They waited for the hero to take it back, but the hero just stared at them, face stony and cold. An avenging angel on the edge of the rooftop, firelight flickering at their back and smoke rising into the air, not an ounce of sympathy left in their bones for the villain.
And before the villain could say anything, say that the hero couldn’t possibly mean that, the hero spoke again.
“I mean it. You are not my problem.”
The villain was choking. They were drowning on air and the hole they had left inside of themself when they ripped the hero out of their life and the hero was just watching them–
“Please,” they said pathetically, and even as they said it they knew it was futile.
The hero didn’t bother to give them another response.
They watched the hero leave without saying anything, smoke beginning to sting their eyes and nose as their hands shook.
It felt terminal. It felt world-ending. It felt deserved.
Chapter Summary:
Favorite Ship: Yelena and John are like siblings
The Watchtower is ready for residency. John and Lilu have joined the rest of the Thunderbolts. But Lilu is not ready for the Watchtower. She gets acquainted with some of the other residents and their antics, especially Yelena, who is her counterpart in giving John a hard time, all in good fun, but it seems like Lilu might be a little bit jealous. How many found girl-siblings can I guy have? Is there a favorite? And is Lilu sad because it might not be her? Because Yelena is cute even to her eyes.
The Watchtower was finally ready for residency and it was time to move in. John had gone back to his apartment a couple days prior to pack up the rest of his stuff, and I started gathering what I wanted to take with me, leaving just enough at both my Mami’s and my Dad’s respective places in case I needed to flee. And oh boy, did I have reason to flee. That reason had a name: Bucky Barnes.
Sam Wilson had been the first person overseeing my PTSD treatment after my rescue from captivity by insurgents in Syria, my rescue by John’s 75th Ranger Regiment. Then that thing with the Flag Smashers happened around the time John was called up for Captain America duty in the smallest of “small worlds.” Sam and Bucky did their thing, and we know what happened with John. But Bucky had one job in the interim when Sam headed off into the sunset after the “victory,” as it were, over the Flag-Smashers. It was to keep an eye on me until Dr. Raynor could maybe get me placed somewhere and continue my treatment. My PTSD was much more severe at that point, I was at least more verbal than I started out, but I was not the flippant, social butterfly you’ve been reading in these last few stories. I was a wreck. Jumpy, self-isolated, angry, grief-stricken, some of the scars from my “ordeal” still livid on my body. If anyone would understand, it would be Bucky.
He understood all too well. Maybe he had a thing for damsels in distress. He was very protective, very sweet, he really took care of me. I can’t complain about that. What I can complain about was it was too much for the mess I was, and of course because I was bereaved, I clung to him. And because we were alone a lot, you can guess how that went. I thought maybe it was serendipity. But then when Dr. Raynor came in and saw what had happened, she was furious; he knew he screwed up, and called it quits. Everyone was right, and I know now that they were right, but you can’t tell me it didn’t fucking hurt like my heart was put through a meat grinder. Again.
The funniest part about that was Bucky actually said to Dr. Raynor, “You told me I had nobody, now you’re upset I found someone?” But she told him two codependent people are not the answer to finding a healthy relationship. Looking back on this now, I thought briefly about John. Am I doing this again, or am I in a better place now? Even if I am, is he?
Never mind, there’s nothing else for it, moving in is the order of the day. There was a service that came by to pick up my boxes, the guy was a little annoyed when I told him I had two addresses but I told him Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was my aunt and that the second address we were going to was that of her brother, my father Robert McLovin, a Deputy Director of the CIA, and bro buttoned his pissy lip. I hate pulling the “Don’t you know who I am” card but come on, my Dad lives not that far from the Watchtower (lucky me), it’s not like I’m asking you to drive to Jersey or something.
When we pulled up to the Watchtower, I thanked him profusely and paid him a handsome tip even though it wasn’t that type of service and he seemed to think more highly of me for that. You never know when someone might come in handy for some hijinks in the future, stay on their good side, you know? Then I went inside, security had me use a retinal scanner, and I was through to the elevators, and all the way up. I’d already seen the layout so I knew if I hooked a quick right I could slink down beside the wall to the hallway and maybe have a chance to head towards the bedrooms without being seen.
I was halfway down the wall, looking back over my shoulder with no one in sight, and I turned my face forward right into a large man with salt and pepper hair and an enormous handlebar moustache. He peered at me for a moment, and then boomed out in a Russian accent, “Oh, you must be Liluana McLovin. I remember your father, tremendous adversary in the field, if you are anything like him, eh?” And then he switched to Russian: “So you are here to protect this merry little group of misfits, is that what Valentina has planned for you?” A test, to see if I understood? I could play dumb, or be honest. Best to be honest.
I answered back in Russian, “One never knows what Valentina really has in mind, but we play along until her real motives are made clear, so she won’t move against us.” Then the realization that I’d been made, and the rest of these Thunderbolts were closing in on us. Welp. So much for my stealthy entrance. Switching back to English, I said, “You must be Alexei Shostakov, it’s good to meet you,” and I shook his hand. “I don’t think you were here when I had that little meeting with you all when this place was in the planning stage.”
“Now we’ll all be one big happy family. I’m loving this! Yelena, come here and say hello to your new sister, but be careful, her Russian is very good.” Alexei was grinning ear to ear, I couldn’t say his enthusiasm wasn’t infectious, but it was hard to tell whether it was shared.
“Yes, yes,” Yelena laughed, “I had the pleasure once before. We’ve already been hearing about you all morning, Walker won’t shut up about his time at your mother’s house.” She hooked an arm through mine and started leading me away from the refuge of the bedrooms and down toward the public space of what looked like a lounge. “How did you put up with him for weeks, just the two of you? Was there any point you felt the urge to murder him in his sleep?”
“Oh, several. Especially when he caught a cold, but you know how men can be.” I wasn’t sure if I should be trash-talking John or not, even in fun, so I decided to broaden the jab a little bit. I wasn’t sure in general how this dynamic worked. I could see Yelena appreciated taking shots at John, too, and there was definitely room there for it to become an Olympic level event, but part of my taking shots at John was because... well, let’s be honest, I was having a hard time coming to grips with what I was actually feeling for John, and what I probably shouldn’t be feeling for John, and playground behavior was my coping mechanism. What was it for Yelena?
John was down on the sofas with some of the people I remembered meeting. Bob, who was very sweet; and Ava, who was nice but indifferent... maybe it took her a minute to get to know people, that’s cool as long as she’s not hostile. But John got up when he saw me and gave me a hug.
“Finally, I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost,” he almost bubbled, and I stifled the urge to say something along the line that I almost wished I had.
“Yeah, they finally cornered me,” I half-joked, feeling more uncomfortable than ever.
“Well, sit down, get comfortable...” he started, but I interrupted him.
“I was going to go unpack...” I started, but Yelena interrupted ME.
“Nonsense, unpacking can wait, let’s all hang out, we’re finally all together!” And she dragged John down on the sofa to one side of her and pulled me down on the other. Well, this was awkward.
“Yelena,” John teased, “Why are you such a control freak?”
“Because you don’t know how to behave in social situations.”
“What do you mean, and how are you better, Yelena? It’s not like you get out much unless it’s to murder someone.”
“Ohhhh, ouch, Walker, I think the last time I saw you out, you didn’t even do that much, you missed.”
“Yeah, but that would have been you that I shot.”
“You should be so lucky, Walker.”
And on and on they went. They really had the buddy banter on lock. That was my banter with John. Well, where did that leave me?
But then matters went from bad to worse. Alexei’s voice once again boomed out, “Bucky! Just in time! Have you met Liluana McLovin?”
Fuuuuuuck, here we go.
“We’re acquainted,” Bucky said to Alexei. And then to me, “Hey Lilu, how’s it going?”
I couldn’t even look at him. I just sat there, already miserable next to Yelena, my jaw clenched, and all that came out was, “Barnes.” I could tell all conversation, all witty banter, everything had stopped and everyone was looking at me. The vacuum was forming in my lungs, and I had to get out of there. I stood up, maybe a little too quickly, but whatever.
“I’ll leave you all to it, I’m going to go unpack.” Heh, yeah, I was going to need to do some unpacking on a lot of layers.
“Do you need any help?” John called out as I was walking away.
“Nope.”
I was down that hallway as fast as I could walk because running seemed like more drama than I already caused. I found the room with my name on it, put my finger on the scanner, let myself in, and hurled myself across the bed.
First off, why were Yelena and John so cute? Were he and I ever that cute when we hung out together? I’d like to think so, but I don’t know. She’s just cute in general, she’s funny and petite and her adorable accent. Her white skin and blonde hair and I am not particularly funny. I’m a complete moose at 5’9” and although my weight is listed at 160lbs with the Army, I feel like I’m pushing 180. I don’t have an adorable accent. My skin is brown. I’m loud, I laugh loud, and I snore loud.
Then the fact that they had, at the very least, that whole sibling vibe going on big time. I don’t know how much room there is for two of us to do the same act. I can fully admit to myself that I never had the self esteem for something like this, but now, after everything that’s happened to me, the trauma... I’m cooked. I can’t compete with this. Even though it’s not supposed to be a competition. The only reason it was working before was because it was just me and him, and it looked like Olivia was receding into the distance. Probably all indicators I was not in a place for a healthy relationship and I should stand firm on that.
And then the ugliness with Bucky? But how could I get out of here when Val has shot me down twice when I raised concerns? I felt tears wanting to spring forth out of my eyes, and I fought them back. I didn’t want to break down here. I needed to find someone to get my shit out of here and then I could break down.
Of course, though, I should have known... the knock came at the door. I ignored it. It came again. I ignored it again. It came a third time with a “Liluana, I know you’re in there. Open the door.” It was John.
“No I’m not. I’m dead. I’ve died. RIP me. They’re sending my body home. Please say something nice at my funeral.”
“Come on, Lilu, what’s wrong? Open the door.”
“What’s wrong? This place is a living hell, that’s what’s wrong. I’m going to go home, and I’m going to ask Val to reassign me.”
“Why is it a living hell? Yelena thought she did something wrong, she was just trying to be friendly. And what was all that about with Barnes?” John persisted.
“Oh god, just go away!” Oh god, oh god, oh god, why doesn’t he see? He’s just making it worse.
“Goddamnit, Liluana, let me in!”
I scrambled to find my noise cancelling earbuds and turned on music. I could still feel the concussive pounding on the door, and then finally it stopped. And later, Val texted me.
Aunt Val: “Hey there, you’re not crashing out on me already?”
Lilu: “I can’t stay here, Auntie Val.”
Aunt Val: “You can and you will. I kept your ass out of prison, you need to do this for me. No more questions, no more prevaricating. This or time, those fraternization charges can always be reopened.”
Lilu: “Wow. We’re family.”
Aunt Val: “I need you there. As family.”
Lilu: “Fine”
Aunt Val: “Let Walker in when he comes back.”
Lilu: “Fine. Wait, did he text you?”
Aunt Val: “Love you.”
Lilu: “Love you too Auntie Val”
A minute later, there was the knock on the door. I got up and opened it, and there was John, frowning. I stood back to let him in, and closed it behind him.
“What’s going on with you right now?” he demanded.
“A whole hell of a lot, that’s what. I’m entitled to have my moments, too, John, it’s not always about you. You didn’t have to text Val.”
“I was worried when it went silent in here, and I knew you wouldn’t answer me. What started it?” His tone still didn’t settle out.
“Yelena, to start. Bucky to finish.”
“Let’s start with Bucky, how do you know him?” John asked, still demanding.
“It’s a long story, Sam left me in his care for a bit before I transitioned to Dr. Raynor, things got involved when he knew better, it didn’t help my mental state, I’d have preferred never to see him again for the rest of my life. Next question.” I made sure I made eye contact throughout that entire answer because I wasn’t evasive, I was hurt and pissed off, big difference.
“And Yelena?” he asked, drilling down on this mercilessly.
“Yelena is a doll, she’s perfectly charming. I don’t have a problem with her.”
“There’s obviously a problem,” he retorted.
“The problem is there’s no room for me in this. You all had your tight-knit group, your found family, and the only reason there was room for me was because you had to split up while you waited for your headquarters to be finished. Now you’re back to normal. You and Yelena have the same thing that you and I have. I think now, looking back, that I must have been a substitute Yelena while you two were apart. That’s fine, I wish I’d known though.” Oh ouch, now that I said it I realize it’s true and it hurt.
John paused, I could see his wheels turning. “I don’t think you were a substitute. I mean, okay, fine, I like that kind of interaction. But you and her are completely different in my mind.”
“It doesn’t feel different, it doesn’t look different, and it doesn’t sound any different, John, and I’m not going to compete with that. There’s no room for me here. I just wanted to go back, but Val has insisted I stay, so I’ll figure out a way to make the best of it. Just let me figure that out on my own, okay?”
“You don’t even want to know how you’re different?” he asked, again trying to push to the heart of the matter, but I found felt my airway constricted.
“Is it going to make things better or worse?” I finally looked at him. “Because all of this right now really sucks.”
He walked over to me, cupped my face in his hands, and said, “Liluana, I...” But then yet another knock on the door and Yelena’s voice.
“Walker, are you in there with Lilu? Walker, I need you for something very important.”
John hesitated, but I was already pulling back. “Go ahead,” I told him. “I’m obviously not going anywhere. I’ll be unpacking.” And I turned my back on him. I couldn’t see his face, but the long pause before he finally left my room said it all. Let him be conflicted, he was enjoying his girl-friends before his divorce was even final. I was stupid to think I was the only one, this was karma reminding me that it was still a living force in the universe. That Yelena, why did she have to be so damned cute? What is it they say on the internet? “Would.” Yeah, totally would. I wonder if John would, too. *sigh*
Steve being petty after Eddie dumps him to pursue his music career ~ make it Gives you hell by The All American Rejects but instead of the white picket fence life, it's all about the rockstar life Eddie dreams of and Steve screams all the lyrics at the top of his lungs any times he sees a Corroded Coffin flyer or spots someone wearing their merch or catches theirs songs on the radio.
I'm sorry I'm just obsessed with the idea of Steve seriously getting into (and possibly playing) punk/hardcore/poppunk thanks to and or because of Eddie.
