The villain had used soft, padded restraints this time.
Villain had also brought them to a spacious room with a bed, curtains, soft blankets and a bed. The chair hero was tied to was cushioned and comfortable. Hero would take it, atleast it was a huge improvement from the metal cuffs and the dingy basement room.
Hero and Villaid had a routine. A game of cat and mouse- so to speak. Hero would often find themselves tied up in villain's lair, villain would monologue and hero would argue back. Eventually, they'd find a way to escape and bring an end to villain's nefarious plan. It was their usual- it was normal.
However, nothing about this was normal.
"This doesn't look half bad," Hero said. "I was honestly getting tired of that dirty old basement."
Silence.
Villain was seated across from Hero, in a chair similar to theirs. They hadn't said a word since Hero had woken up, absent-mindedly fiddling with the hem of their tie.
"Well, this is awkward," Hero said quietly. "Aren't you going to monologue about your newest doomsday device or some-"
"Who were you with last night?"
Now it was Hero’s turn to go quiet.
"At the movies. He was wearing a tacky blue shirt, glasses- in fact, you two looked like you were quite close. Who is he to you?"
Villain's face was impassive, but their eyes shone with an emotion Hero couldn't put their finger on.
"I-I- what- Villain?"
Villain got up, slow and deliberate, like they had all the time in the world- and maybe they did. They walked up to Hero and crouched down, until their face was level with Hero’s. "I thought you hated the movies," villain said quietly. "You preferred watching them from the comfort of your home, didn't you? You said you hated the hassle, " Their face darkened. "Or did you make an exception for him?"
"How do you know all of this?!"
Their face softened. "I know everything about you, Hero. That's what you do for the one you love."
Love?
"Truly, Hero, I knew you weren't the sharpest tool in the shed, but to think you were this dense?" They laughed, almost sounding amused. "But that's okay, I find it quite adorable.''
Villain was standing, now, their arms on two of the armrests of the chair Hero was tied to, making them feel more trapped than they already were. "I saw all those times you stared at me, Hero, when you thought I wasn't looking," Villain grimaced. "I thought you felt the same way as me, but I suppose I was wrong."
"If I truly wanted you gone, you would be. So many times I could've hurt you, killed you, but I never did. Why do you think that is, Hero?" Villain tightened their grip. "Anyone who spoke ill of you, anyone who even looked at you wrong, I made them dissappear. I did it for you,"
"I wanted to give you a chance, I wanted you to come to me, but you chose him. You chose someone who isn't worthy, someone who can never love you, care for you and treasure you as much as I do. So I won't give you a choice anymore, Hero."
They sighed, and stepped back.
"That being said, you still haven't answered me, so I'll ask you this one more time. Who is he to you?"
Somehow, Hero managed to find their voice. "He-- is just-- a friend," Hero choked out. "N-nothing between us."
"Lies," Villain said calmly. "But that's okay, Hero. You're confused. You don't know what's good for you,"
No.
"But don't you worry, baby. I'll show you who you belong to, and I promise, Hero, one day you'll want me as badly as I want you. I'll make sure of it."
been following your work for years !!
if you wouldn't mind, might i humbly request some kidnapped and scared hero x exasperated "i'm not gonna hurt you stop struggling" carewhumper villian?
xx sending love xx
"I'm not going to hurt you. Stop struggling."
The hero did not stop struggling. They thrashed harder, twisting their wrists raw in their bindings, throwing their weight this way and that no matter the long drop from the villain's shoulder to the floor. They felt as graceless as a sack of potatoes.
"Mmph! Fhnn!"
The villain sighed. "Even if someone does hear you screaming, it will just get them killed if they try and get involved. I know that's not what you want. You'd feel terrible once you stopped panicking."
The hero cursed them out even louder. They would have sank their teeth into the villain's back if they could. The sound echoed across the underground parking lot, cold damp creeping in through their clothes.
It felt as sure thing that, if they were going to escape, it had to be then. Before they were in the car. Before they were....
They smashed their head against the side of the villain's. The villain grunted in pain and then they were slamming down the hero down on the hood of a glossy black car. The breath knocked out of the hero's lungs.
"I can knock you out if you're going to keep being difficult," the villain said. "You'll simply wake up in front of the boss. No time to process. Is that what you want?"
Fear seized the hero's heart. They stilled on the car, panting through the gag, chest heaving. They glared up at the villain as the villain carefully brushed the hair from their face, one hand casually splayed between the hero's shoulders to keep them pinned.
The villain raised their brows.
A door opened, conversation drifting through. Idle. Happy. The hero froze.
"Come back in ten minutes," the villain simply called out, cheerfully. They kept their eyes fixed on the hero. "I have faith in your intelligence, random stranger."
The hero screamed.
They heard someone swear, quietly, heard mutters of "is that-?"
"-Oh god-"
They struggled, head whipping around frantically, body bucking. They tried begging for help again because surely, surely-
Then, they heard the sound of retreating footsteps and the car park door slamming closed.
The villain caught a fistful of their hair to hold them in place. They subdued even the attempt at thrashing, until the hero was exhausted and spent.
"You're going to brain yourself," the villain said, softly. "I'm not being blamed because you turn up bruised and bloody. Take a few deep breaths. They're fine. You're not going anywhere. I'm not going to hurt you. So, you may as well relax, and make this as pleasant for yourself as it's going to get. We've all got a job to do here, yeah?"
The strangers were fine. The strangers had just walked away. It shouldn't have felt so much like betrayal, but it did. Frustrated tears sprang to their eyes.
The villain sighed again. "Breathe. You're alright. You claustrophobic?"
"Mhn."
"There you go," the villain said. "That's better, isn't it?"
It wasn't better, but the hero was breathing. In, out. In, out.
"Good," the villain said. "Now. Back seat, boot, or unconscious? Tap the car once for the first option, twice for the second option, etc..."
The hero stared up at the villain, shocked and reeling and overwhelming. The villain petted their hair.
"Not everyone is as altruistic as you," the villain said, more gently. "If it makes you feel better, even if they'd tried, they couldn't have done anything for you. It would have just got worse. So, are we done? Are you good?"
The hero wasn't good. They were the opposite of good. But exhaustion was a heavy thing, almost as crippling as hopelessness, and they didn't want to wake up in front of them. Unprepared.
The villain might be the last painless hours they'd get. The last chance to steel themselves.
The hero tapped the car hood once. They sagged.
"That's what I thought," the villain said. They hauled the hero up again, as if it were easy, and opened the car door. "Come on, kid. Let's roll. We've got a long drive ahead of us."
At least, for a moment, the hero let themselves stop struggling.
"Shush, you're okay," Villain soothed, a warm hand running through Hero's hair, mask long ago discarded on the floor, filthy with blood and dirt.
Hero disagreed, grunting as a half-thought response, still navigating on the frontier of consciousness. Trying, and failing, to slap the other’s hand away.
“They did quite a number on you, no one would believe they’re supposed to be your friends.” Villain whispered the last part, a hand reaching for Hero’s belt, taking their weapons out, and throwing them to the side. Hero’s hand could only twitch “One can only wonder what would have happened to you if I hadn’t asked for you unharmed.”
Carefully, Villain brushed a single tear going down Hero’s cheek. They hadn’t noticed they shed it.
Villain stood at the edge of the Temple’s main court, hands loosely clasped behind their back, gazing out over the valley below. Moonlight illuminated the sea of dark treetops growing down the mountainside, painting the world in silver and shadow. It was almost peaceful.
Almost.
Behind them came the sound of a struggle, quickly followed by the dull sound of a body hitting the ground.
Villain turned.
Their old Mentor knelt there, held in place by armored hands, robes dirtied, gray hair disheveled but eyes as sharp as ever. Still defiant.
A slow smile spread across the Villain’s face.
“Long time no see.”
Mentor said nothing. Even in the dim light, that glare hadn’t dulled. The kind that meant to wound.
Once, perhaps, it might have.
Villain didn’t mind. They stepped forward, spreading their arms as though welcoming an old friend back into their home.
“Well?” they asked lightly, tilting their head in curiosity. “Where are they? Where is the chosen one destined to destroy me? From the way your people talked, it sounded like they’d be ready to face me soon. So?”
Mentor’s lip curled. “The chosen one is long gone. You’ll never find them.” His voice, though aged, carried iron certainty. “And once they complete their training—”
Villain scoffed. “Please.” Their tone sharpened just slightly. “Your temple guards were no match for my people. This place fell faster than I expected. It’s only a matter of time.”
As if summoned by the words, movement stirred in Villain’s periphery. From behind one of the tall stone pillars, Right Hand emerged, silent as ever.
She spared Mentor a brief glance before turning her attention to Villain.
“We’ve got them.”
Villain’s smile widened, slow and satisfied. They cast a sideways glance at Mentor. “See?”
But something in Right Hand’s expression caught their attention. Villain looked her over more carefully now, eyes tracing the lines of her stance, the set of her shoulders.
There were specks of blood across her sleeve, and by the looks of it, it wasn’t hers. She wasn’t hurt.
So what was wrong?
She nodded once, then said quietly, “Just be…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. Her jaw set. “Just be moderate about this.”
Villain raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
She waved her hand somewhere into the darkness. Two henchmen emerged, dragging a struggling figure between them. It was kicking and twisting, heels scraping desperately against the stone floor. All useless effort. The henchmen barely slowed.
Villain blinked, their gaze fixed on the captive.
Small.
Too small.
Hero – if that was what this was – couldn’t have been older than twelve.
They wore a white nightgown, the fabric smeared with uneven red smudges. Thinking back to Right Hand, the blood must’ve come from the temple guards; most likely from those tasked with getting Hero away to safety. Hero’s arms were quite thin for their age, slim but not frail.
Villain’s eyes narrowed.
Either Mentor had taken Hero from some poorer than poor village just recently, or… or they had already begun the Trials.
The realization hit sharp.
Villain’s surprise curdled into something colder, a flicker of anger breaking through the amusement.
Of course they had.
Now the look on Right Hand’s face made perfect sense.
Villain’s gaze slid from the child to Mentor. The old man wasn’t even looking at them anymore. His eyes were fixed on Hero. All that defiance, all that stubborn pride had shifted into concern.
Hero, trembling, met his gaze.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that silent exchange of fear and reassurance passing between them.
Something in Villain snapped.
They scoffed, the sound cutting clean through the stillness. “Seriously?” they asked, humorless smile appearing on their face. “A child? You thought a mere child could face me?”
Truth be told, they shouldn’t have been surprised. This was exactly the sort of thing Mentor would do.
Mentor tore his gaze away from Hero. “The prophecy—”
“Oh, spare me.” Villain cut him off with a flick of their hand and turned away, turning back toward the valley. A quiet world slept beneath them, oblivious. They wondered, not for the first time, if the people down there had any idea what kind of fools they placed their trust in.
Of course they didn’t.
“You always go on about that prophecy,” Villain said, facing Mentor once again—
—and realized, too late, their mistake.
They caught a single, subtle nod toward Hero. The child stiffened, then braced.
Mentor surged to his feet with startling speed and precision his age had no right to possess. Fire bloomed in his hands, arcing outward in a sweeping flare that forced the guards back.
Then Right Hand was there.
She moved like she always did. Fast, efficient, merciless. She caught the opening in the fire the instant it came into existence, stepping in and striking Mentor hard with the hilt of her sword.
The fire was gone in an instant.
Mentor hit the ground hard, and she followed him down, driving her knee into his back, pinning him there. Her bloodied blade was still in her hand, waiting if needed.
The sharp thud of bodies hitting stone snapped Villain’s attention away. They turned to find the henchmen sprawled where they had fallen.
Hero was already scrambling upright, slipping free and running. Small feet slapped against the stone as they bolted across the courtyard, past the broken threshold, toward the dark line of trees beyond.
For a moment, Villain simply watched. They lifted their hand, stopping a few of their people who moved to give chase.
Silence fell again, thinner now.
Villain turned back to Mentor, expression settling into something almost amused again. “That,” they said, “was stupid.” Then their gaze shifted to Right Hand. An unspoken understanding passed between them. “Have fun,” Villain added. “But don’t kill him.”
Not yet.
They both knew better than to waste this.
Mentor deserved to see everything he had built come undone.
“Set this place on fire.”
And before the words had fully faded, Villain turned and moved, crossing the courtyard and slipping into the treeline where Hero had vanished.
Running through the woods was almost nostalgic.
Villain moved easily between the trees, barely breaking stride as branches brushed past them and roots twisted underfoot. They knew this forest. Every winding path, every dip in the earth, every hollow tucked between old roots and stone. They and Right Hand had spent hours here as children, hiding, chasing, learning the terrain long before they ever learned how to fight.
They were fairly certain they could navigate it blindfolded.
Just another advantage.
Ahead, the forest betrayed Hero with every step.
Branches snapped. Leaves rustled too loudly. Breath came sharp and uneven, dragging in the cold night air in panicked bursts.
Closer
Closer.
Villain didn’t need to see them to picture the frantic glances over a shoulder, the desperate hope that no one was there. In that scattered, panicking mind, there was no room for awareness.
No room for the slope that lay ahead.
So inexperienced. Still so… untouched. Innocent.
Better to end this now, before Mentor had the chance to twist that into something dangerous.
A startled shout tore through the night.
Branches snapped in quick succession, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body rolling and striking earth again and again. The air rushed out of small lungs in pained, broken grunts.
Villain reached the edge of the slope just as Hero struggled to their feet, favoring one leg, limping forward with stubborn, uneven steps.
They almost smiled.
Didn’t know when to quit, did they?
Villain slid down after them, controlled and effortless, boots finding purchase where the ground gave way. The soft scrape of their descent was enough to cause Hero’s panic to spike.
They pushed forward harder, choking on breath, forcing their injured leg to move faster than it should. It wouldn’t help.
It never did.
Villain followed at an unhurried pace, almost casual, closing the distance step by step without needing to rush.
Then Hero’s good foot caught on a root, falling face-first into the dirt.
Still, they tried to crawl.
Villain sighed and closed the last stretch between them. They crouched, placing a firm hand between Hero’s shoulder blades and pushed them back into the ground.
“You’re done?” they asked.
Hero’s response was immediate. A hand grabbed a fistful of dirt and flung it backward.
At least they tried.
From the angle, most of it scattered uselessly, some of it falling right back onto Hero’s own back.
Villain wiped at their cheek with mild annoyance. “Look,” they said evenly, “we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.”
Hero’s breathing broke completely, collapsing into sharp, uneven gasps. They started to thrash around.
Villain sighed under their breath. He wished Right Hand was here. She was better at this.
“Hard way it is,” they muttered.
They struck the back of Hero’s head in one precise, controlled, and hard enough strike.
The small body went slack instantly.
Silence returned to the forest, save for the whisper of leaves overhead.
Villain shifted their hand from Hero’s back to their neck, fingers resting against the pulse point.
Fast.
Then slowing.
Steady.
Good.
They hadn’t overdone it.
Satisfied, Villain slipped an arm beneath Hero and lifted them with ease. Up close, the damage was clearer. The nightgown, once white, was now dulled to brown with dirt and streaked with drying blood. Their skin was marked with shallow cuts. Bruises would appear by morning.
That, however, was a problem for later.
Villain adjusted their grip and turned back the way they came.
Through the trees, faint at first, thin trails of smoke curled upward into the night sky, catching the moonlight in pale, shifting ribbons.
Read Part One // Master-list // continued from here
***
A snap of fingers and Kit jolted forward. He blinked, head pounding as if it was filled with an expandable wool that pushed against the edges of his skull every time he took a breath. He blinked again, his brain screaming at him to go back asleep, to stop his consciousness from taking over, to lull him back into the nothingness of before. His cracked his eyelids open despite himself, thankful for the shadowy room with its dim lighting… his memory hazy as he tried to remember how he got here. Wherever here was.
He was standing up, he realised, his arms above his head which was a strange way to sleep and wake up he thought, his thoughts heavy like lead. When he tried to pull his arms down, he heard the snap of chains. Warning bells sounded clear in his mind, setting the expandable wool on fire in his brain, setting all his nerves alight with panic as he tugged them down again with a clink, but they didn’t budge. Tingles that came before pins and needles skittered down his arms like a hundred angry insects. He groaned as he tilted his neck back to look up at his hands, squinting at the dim white light that was somehow too bright for his eyes. Heavy duty metal cuffs encased his wrists, attached to a chain that went all the way to the ceiling.
“Good. Very good, Atlas. So responsive. So suggestible,” a silvery voice purred behind him.
Kit froze for a split second before his reflexes kicked in. He snapped his fingers on instinct reaching for the electricity in the air. The faint light dimmed as familiar blue lightning sparked to life and Kit screamed as his entire body jerked in the chains. His body seized, winding tight as his own electricity turned on him, the bolts of his making attacking the nerves in his body, weaponised against him. Kit clenched his teeth, his jaw snapping up as his body was forced to endure. The chains holding him up rattled as Kit fell like dead weight on his wrists once the currents ran its course through his body.
A couple aftershocks jerked Kit’s muscles. He gasped as he sucked in a second cry of pain at the strain on his shoulders, trying to alleviate it through haggard breaths.
A cool hand rested on the back of his neck. Kit froze, his muscles in his legs riding out random spasms from the aftershock as Kit forced his legs to stand up straight. His feet slipped as he tried to get his balance, accompanied by a sloshing sound. Kit glanced down to see his feet in a basin of water. His boots and socks taken off and his trousers rolled up to the knees. Kit sucked in a breath, panic overwhelming him as he lifted his dead shoulder to his cheek to ensure his mask was still on his face. He almost wanted to cry when he realised it was.
“You’re not as bright as I heard you were, Atlas,” said that horrible voice behind him. Kit’s heart thundered against his chest, as the hand slinked around Kit’s neck to come and stand in front of him.
It was Omen.
It was… it was Omen.
Kit knew it was Omen, obviously, he just didn’t really want to believe it.
That meant that Omen had actually taken Kit against his will. Taken him and made him forget the way to Omen’s fucking dungeon, and Tempest was still at the fairground. And nobody knew where Kit was, least of all himself and fuck!
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
“Hey, Atlas. Calm down,” Omen said, his voice so far away. Kit’s head dipped, gasping on air, choking on it, trying to breathe, but his body wouldn’t let him. Instead, he was panting, chest rising too quickly and falling too shallow for him to take in any oxygen. The wool burning in his brain pressed against his skull as if it was trying to explode out his ears, nose and mouth and he couldn’t breathe.
Fuck.
Not in front of Omen.
He was trapped with Omen.
Tears streamed down his face as the realisation settled loud into Kit’s mind.
No one knew where he was.
No one was coming to find him.
He was chained in front of Omen, his… the—
Two cold hands on his cheeks brought Kit back into the present and he gasped. Wide, cyan eyes went to the villain, recoiling as much as his chains would let him which was barely an inch. Omen’s fingers tightened on Kit’s face.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
Kit gasped, looking into two abyssal eyes, drawn down and down and down into the lightless depths. He wanted to cry as Omen spoke again: “Atlas. Oi, Atlas, Relax.”
Kit’s body obeyed the command. His lungs inflated and forcefully deflated in an even rhythm, forcing Kit to breathe, his muscles unwound from tightness like nuts being loosened from bolts against his will, his mind still screaming at him that this was wrong as his body flooded with the ice coldness that followed Omen’s commands. Kit’s breath didn’t shake, though he felt it should, as he stared at the villain in front of him, another icy sensation flooding his body that Kit knew wasn’t the effects of Omen’s power, but the aftereffects of being in the villain’s presence, fear.
“There we go,” said Omen, grinning, as his thumbs rubbed the tears from Kit’s cheeks. When did he cry? “I knew you were scared of me little hero, but having a panic attack over me? I’m honoured.”
“G-go fuck yourself,” Kit ground out with a shiver. Omen tsked stepping back from Kit, his grin spreading into a horrible smile on his pale red lips. Kit yanked at the chains holding him up and tried to steel his expression into a (hopefully) threatening one. At least when he could breathe properly, he was in a better position to resist, to fight Omen’s will and not to take this lying down.
A panic attack, really Kit? At least that wasn’t the first impression he made on the villain, at least Omen saw Kit’s fight and defiance before he saw him have a minor breakdown. It was a small panic attack, he told himself, just a little one. He ignored the voice in his head that told him it would have been bigger if Omen hadn’t intervened. Nope, Kit avoided that thought, jutting his chin up a little in defiance of his own thoughts that betrayed him.
Omen hummed, a terrible, amused sound that curled Kit’s stomach, tilting his head as he slipped his hands into tailored trouser pockets.
“Hmm, I think you should be nicer to me, Atlas,” Omen said, his smile and happy tone contrasting his words: “If you piss me off, I might just forget to come down here and give you food and water, let you use the bathroom. Keep disrespecting me and I’ll leave you to die in a pool of your own faeces. Understand?”
Kit didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to agree. He didn’t want to do anything other than not be here. Not be standing in front of Omen, the man who ruined his life. Fucking Omen of all people! Forcing his body into a synthetic calm.
Kit licked his lips, asking: “What do you want with me?” He cursed his voice for coming out quiet. Quieter than he’d like to have it be in front of this monster.
Omen’s smile seemed to grow if that was even possible.
“I want to know why you fear me so much,” Omen said, that horrible amusement lacing his curiosity. He didn’t get closer, he gave Kit space, but his eyes. His stare. It felt so invasive.
Too invasive.
“You can just look, can’t you?” Kit snapped, pulling at his chains just to do something. He hated this, standing here and being observed like a prized pig to be slaughtered. Every place Omen’s stare roamed left a trail of invisible cockroaches crawling over Kit’s skin. Omen’s eyes flashed at the emotion, flicking lazily up at the chains then back at Kit.
“You know, Atlas. Taking you was a spur of the moment thing, so I had to prepare all this for you,” Omen said, gesturing to the chains and the water. “To keep you. To hold you. I know Archangel, know how hard he tried to keep you secret from me.”
Kit yanked at his restraints again, a snarl curling his lip back over his teeth. “A secret from you? You think so high of yourself, don’t you Omen? After your last battle everyone thought you retired, so don’t give me this bullshit of you lying in wait to attack the heroes again.”
Kit surprised himself with how angry and threatening he sounded during his little speech, a well of pride bloomed in his chest. Then Omen stepped forward and Kit flinched. He cursed himself for it as Omen let out a dark chuckle.
“I don’t think I’ll get used to that. That raw, primal fear— like I’m the most repulsive person to ever live.”
“You’re a villain,” is all Kit said in reply, cursing the croak in his voice.
Omen cocked an eyebrow. “You flinch at every villain? Then you don’t have the stomach for the job, heroling. Sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Kit’s hands balled into fists above his head as Omen took another step closer. Kit forced himself to stay still.
“What’s with this stupid game of cat and mouse, huh?!” Kit demanded, leaning forward slightly. If Omen wanted to close the gap to intimidate Kit, why shouldn’t he do the same? “You can read minds. Just take all the information you want and leave me alone!”
Omen grinned. His eyes drilling into Kit’s. Kit suddenly became very aware of his body, his blood drumming a death knell in his ears as the villain said nothing. He just stared. That penetrating, skin-crawling stare. Kit felt himself drawn to the depths beneath onyx eyes that seemed bright even in the dimness of the room. His gut twisted with dread as he seemed to be locked into the villain’s eyes, wanting desperately to escape, to look away, but his body wouldn’t obey him.
“Here’s the thing, Atlas. I know you’re new on the hero/villain scene so I’m willing to go easy on you,” said Omen casually, finally breaking the thrall of his stare. He shrugged a shoulder as he walked around Kit’s left, past his line of sight. Kit tried to turn, but his body wouldn’t move far enough, no matter how hard he tried. He let out a huff as he was forced to stare ahead as Omen continued.
“I’ll tell you why I won’t take your source of fear from your beautiful, terrified mind. It’s because—” A hand went to the back of Kit’s neck, fingers lacing through his hair and yanking his head back. He cried out as he found Omen’s cold eyes staring down at him. “—you protest too much. Clearly, that’s part of why I’m so terrifying to you, isn’t it? You want it to be easy like it was with Noble. You want me to twist your mind until you can barely see straight.”
Kit tried to yank his head free but hissed as Omen wrenched him back further. His shoulders screaming at him to stop struggling.
“I’m not going to do that, Atlas. You’re going to tell me why you’re afraid, and I’m going to be there. Watching every micro expression on your face as you do. Maybe there’ll even be some more of your delicious tears…maybe not.”
Omen wrapped a hand around Kit’s throat, grinning as he felt the hero swallow under his palm. He tightened his fingers ever so slightly.
Kit loosed a breath, going impossibly still in his chains. Playing dead. Playing possum, hoping Omen wouldn’t kill him. Not like this. Not like this. And as if on cue, Omen’s fingers tightened until Kit’s common sense was replaced with a wave of sudden, blinding fear. Logic left him in a flood of panic, incapacitating as Omen cut off his air.
He couldn’t breathe.
Oh god… he couldn’t breathe.
No! No, he had to remain calm, the villain didn’t want him dead. He was testing him, but… fuck, Kit couldn’t breathe! No, stay calm.
Omen stared down above him drinking in every pathetic struggle. Kit’s arms flailing in the chains, his feet slipping in the water below, every effort in his body to try and get a sliver of air into his lungs. Darkness encroached on Kit’s vision as he struggled, a vignette of consciousness threatening to take him blissfully into oblivion of sleep.
No! He had to stay awake; he had to remain calm… he had to… he had to breathe!
“Listen to those sounds you make, Atlas,” Omen said, his silvery voice the only solid thing Kit could hold as he desperately thrashed in Omen’s grip. Omen watched, basked, waited until he saw the electric blue flash through Kit’s eyes. He waited a beat longer before seeing Kit’s resolve settle.
Omen let go at the last second.
The exact moment that Kit’s power took over in his panic and his body erupted in crackles of cobalt lightning that coursed through his veins, and he screamed. Every fibre of his being erupted in flames as electricity burned through his nerves, tearing them to shreds and leaving only pain in its wake. His jaw clenched so hard Kit thought his teeth would break from the force; his neck stretched at an awkward angle as he twitched unable to correct it. His muscles riding out the body-locking shocks of his own power, his ability that betrayed his body, his mind going white with static as he spasmed. Black encroached further on his vision as his body seized against his restraints.
A normal person in Kit’s circumstance would be dead by now. In a basin of water, his wrists trapped in metal above him… it turned his body into a perfect conductor. Omen may as well have put Kit in an electric chair.
He should be dead, but his ability, stemmed from a sensitivity to electric currents rippling through the air, gave him a robustness to electricity. He thought that meant he could withstand electric currents passing through his body easily.
That was until now.
Until Omen used Tempest against him.
Until he nearly burnt himself unconscious not a few seconds ago.
He should be dead. That’s the first thought that cut through the fog following his currents leaving him limp.
Now, he just hung lifeless in his chains. His feet slipped and so his toes were the only part of him on the floor; his knees bent from exhaustion. His entire body weight rested heavily on his toes and wrists. He didn’t have the strength to pull himself up. Omen walked around Kit at some point during his second taste of his own power and dipped his head, so he was eye level with the hero.
Kit didn’t have the energy to move his head as Omen took his chin in his cold grip, tilting Kit’s head to meet Omen’s black eyes.
“See? All this effort to try and escape me out of your delicious fear. Why in the world would I just take what I want when you’ll destroy yourself not to give it to me?”
Kit wanted to reply. He wanted to tell Omen to fuck off, but his body refused, finally allowing Kit a respite as the darkness around his edges flooded his vision, and he was dragged blissfully into unconsciousness.
***
Continued here
I learned today that ceased and seized are not interchangeable words, don’t worry guys, I love english, mmhm… it’s fine okay?! english is hard
ANYWAYS CONSISTENCY?! ON THIS BLOG?! TWO PARTS IN TWO WEEKS?!?! DO NOT GET USED TO IT, OH MY GOD I AM BEYOND SHOCKED TOO, let’s all enjoy this for what it is and not make any expectations for the future, alright?! Great B) hope you enjoyed it :)
Tag-list {lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts
You write Hero x Villain so well and I was wondering if you'd be willing to write about a Hero that was kidnapped by the Villain, and Hero is expecting harsh treatment, but they instead wake up in a lavish bedroom, restrained to the bed of course but it's a very nice bed. It turns out Hero had been overworking themselves and Villain was worried about them and had had enough. Maybe Hero tries to argue that they haven't been overworking and Villain goes ballistic.
It was a joke.
It had to be.
The hero looked at the handcuffs (which were their own) and then back at the villain.
"You're kidding." The hero was seldom in the mood for jokes. Most of the time, they didn't understand the references their friends made or ended up explaining jokes which people - apparently - did not like. It was quite hard for them to find anything funny. A cat was funny. A sound could be funny.
But a practical joke? Not so much.
"Honestly, I wish I was. Do you know how heavy you are? I would have never dragged you up here for a joke," the villain said. They were sitting on a luxuriant chair across the room, one thigh on the other. Their foot was dangling in the air happily and they looked well rested as they drank from a coffee cup.
"What time is it?"
"It's ten in the morning." The villain smiled to themselves. "On a Monday."
"What? No. Shit. Shit. Fuck-" The hero was already late to work. They were always 30 minutes early. They couldn't be late. They started struggling against the restraints, tossed and turned, tried to pull and free themselves. But it didn't work, no matter how much forced they conjured.
In the end, their wrists were sore, nothing more.
"Relax," the villain purred. "For some strange reason - which I am not associated with - your workplace has been shut down. Water damage."
"What did you-?"
"Purely coincidental," the villain lied. They shrugged and finished their coffee, setting the cup down on the tiny table next to them. They stood up and once they were in front of the hero, they leaned over them. "You look very good in my bed, by the way."
"Am I your hostage? Is that it?" the hero asked.
"Hostage? My god, do you know how much planning and energy that requires? Too much work, really." The villain tapped the tip of the hero's nose with their index finger. "My love, do you remember when I broke your leg a while ago?"
"Still hurts like hell when I work out."
"Hm." The villain almost looked like they were sorry. "Well...that was a rather harsh method, I have to admit. But a very effective one. Until you started working again, harder this time. I didn't see that coming."
The hero stared at the villain. Initially, they had thought the villain would understand what it was like to sacrifice themselves for their beliefs. The hero was, in many forms, very dedicated to both their jobs. The one in the office and the one outside of it as a hero. No task was too much, no overtime was too long.
Of course, the hero heard the whispers about themselves, they heard how their family made fun of them for working long hours and how they judged them for never finding time to meet up. After a while, the hero had stopped getting into arguments with their parents. You wanted me to have a steady job or my work is important to me were not good enough explanations for them. So, the hero had given up on that.
But they had genuinely thought the villain would know what that felt like. To be invested, to be motivated.
"Is being determined such a crime?"
"Determination and obsession are two different things, my love," the villain said.
"What do you care anyway?" the hero hissed. They were sick of people getting into their business and telling them how to live their life. It was more than exhausting.
The villain was quiet. They studied the hero's face and eventually sat down on the edge of the bed. Their lower back was touching the hero's side.
The hero did not pull away.
"Your hand has been shaking for two weeks now," the villain said. "Do you think I am willing to fight a weak enemy? That is below me. My equal is supposed to match me in combat. Not only attractiveness."
The hero didn't say anything to that right away. They knew they had had...struggled with fighting these past few weeks. But they had not wanted it to be due to their work. It was clearly a coincidence. Some harmless infection or illness.
"Listen...I am fine. I have a good job and I have a duty to fulfill."
"When you go home after work, do you feel like you have accomplished anything?" the villain asked and the hero, despite how sure they were of themselves and their work ethic, knew that the villain was digging into a wound with dirty fingers here.
Because, no, the hero did not feel satisfied, they barely felt relieved.
"Do you feel happy?" The villain's eyes were boring into the hero's. Curious, brilliant eyes.
The villain was quite provocative but this was right out a punch to the gut.
"You are asking unfair questions."
"You don't like them because the answer hurts. You are miserable. What you are doing right now is devouring you. And once that is done, what am I left with? Another one of those broken heroes who dies in their twenties because it's all too much?"
The hero looked at them, tears burning in their eyes. It was their job. It was their chance to prove themselves.
The hero was worth something. They were useful, they were smart. They were good at work. What would be left for them if that was being taken away?
What was the hero without it, anyway?
"Right now," they said, "I dislike you very much."
"Our relationship goes beyond simple fights," the villain explained. They let their fingertips dance over the hero's throat, even let their hand cup it carefully. Goosebumps spread all over the hero's back. The villain could have choked them anytime. But they didn't. "It's a vicious cycle. You and I. We cannot escape. And that is your duty. That is your priority. The objective which demands all your attention. Stopping me is a lot of work and you need to focus on that. If I get too powerful, you know what happens. I want power. I want power over you, over the city."
"So instead of working the usual way, you want me to work because of you?" The hero was quick to blink the tears out of their eyes.
This was simply ludicrous. The villain was wrong. They were lying, manipulating.
"No. I want your attention, I want your dedication. The healthy amount." The villain leaned over them, their lips brushing the hero's ear. "I can be nastier if I want. Right now I could break any bone of yours to force you to rest."
Their fingers glided up the hero's forearm until they found the hero's hand. The villain took it.
"But I saw how much pain that caused. And how disappointing the results were. So. Last chance, my love. Tune it down. Or all of us will suffer."
They pressed a kiss to the hero's temple.
However, the villain had to kidnap the hero three more times until the hero decided to start taking care of themselves.
Read part one // Master-post // continued from here
Morgan woke up buried under extremely heavy sheets. It felt like a net of blankets weighing down on her, like a giant warm hug of safety. The first thing she did when she woke up was nestle deeper into the warmth, letting out a light hum as she did. She was entirely too comfortable, her mind rosey and hazy, exactly how she liked it.
A heart beat steadily under her ear, warmth radiating off her mattress. The fog in her mind turned thick, impenetrable and suddenly she wanted to be sick. The warmth around her clawed at her desperately, trying to lull her into a false sense of security.
She bolted from the bed, backing up until she hit the wall behind her, before she properly opened her eyes. Her chest heaving with heavy breaths as she glared at the man in her bed.
Flynn peered at her with one eye open, casually throwing an arm under his head to prop himself up. “Mornin’,” he said, his voice low from sleep.
“You fucker,” Morgan hissed, her mind flashing back to last night when Supervillain fixed her nose. Flynn had settled her mind for her, leaving her in his artificial weightless-haze. “You said you wouldn’t use your powers on me.”
Flynn shrugged. “I didn’t want you to suffer.”
“No, you didn’t want to see me suffer, and there’s a chasm of a difference between them,” Morgan huffed, crossing her arms over the shirt she was wearing. “Then sleeping with me?”
“You never complained before,” Flynn said with a lazy, cocky grin.
“That was before I knew you were a fucking scheming bastard, who,” Morgan continued, walking towards her door and opening it. “Coincidentally, has his own room in this hell house. So please, get out.”
Flynn stared at her through half-lidded eyes, two hands behind his head now. Morgan hated when he did that. She hated how it exposed his muscles and somehow made him hotter. He knew it too. He knew that she liked it when he reclined like that, because she told him once after a long night.
“I’m comfortable.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I’m a comfortable liar.”
“I hate you,” Morgan snapped. The cocky smile dimmed on his face, and she took a little bit of satisfaction at it. Ignoring how it pulled a little on her heartstrings too.
“I know,” he replied softly.
Morgan swallowed, lingering by the door, arms folded across her chest. “Were you here all night?”
“Yes,” he said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he sat up.
“Why?”
“Because you said you didn’t want to be alone,” he answered honestly.
Morgan scoffed. “No doubt from your loopy induced haze in my head.”
“Despite what you may like to believe,” Flynn said, getting to his feet and stretching. Morgan noted he was still fully dressed in the shirt and tracksuit he was wearing last night. Decent and gentlemanly. Infuriatingly. “I can’t sway your ideas in your head. If you want me to, I can find a telepath for you to put all your blame on.”
“Oh yeah? And will you kidnap them too?” She snapped, eyes blazing.
Flynn scoffed. He grabbed his socks and shoes before walking towards Morgan by the door. Morgan’s heart beat double-time the closer Flynn got to her, but she maintained her resolve.
That was, until Flynn stopped in the doorway beside her. She shifted her feet under his gaze, feeling his eyes travel over every pore, lingering on every feature, tracing a line down the curve of her neck.
Her breath hitched when he reached forward, a hand cupping her cheek, the heel of his palm tilted her head up. So gentle. Filled with too much everything— Flynn knew her better than anyone, knew what made her tick, what made her nervous, her fears. His touch lit a fire under her skin, but his eyes laid her naked before him, and sent shivers down her spine.
“We could make this so nice,” he whispered like the snake tempting eve in the garden, his thumb running over her bottom lip. “We could go back to the way things were. We were happy.”
How Morgan ached for that to be true. How she wanted to abandon her defences, to forget the heartache at his betrayal, and run into his awaiting arms. He could make her forget everything, what he did to Sidekick, what he was doing to her. Hell, he could make her forget that she was ever a Hero, and it would be so easy.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she swallowed a sob and covered his hand with hers. “That was before you betrayed me, and everything I thought you were.”
“Morgan…”
“How can I believe anything you say? How do I know that you weren’t seducing me as some plan you concocted with your father?” She asked, breathlessly. He dropped his shoes and socks with a clatter to the floor and stepped closer to her, caging her in against the wall beside the door.
His eyes implored her to trust him, to love him, to believe him. She couldn’t look at the desire in them, so she looked at his lips instead. His soft lips.
“You know what we had was real,” he murmured, his hot breath fanning her face. “Believe in us. Believe in what your heart knows to be true. I love you, Morgan.”
Morgan’s bottom lip trembled against his touch. She swallowed and turned her head away, pressing her hand against his chest with more restraint than she thought herself capable of.
“Please, Flynn,” she said, her voice soft like the static in the air before a thunderstorm. “Just leave me alone.”
Flynn paused, his touch faltering and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her anyways. Something heartbroken inside her that still loved him told her that he would never do something like that. That there were lines of decency even a traitor wouldn’t cross.
“Fine,” he said, dropping his hand from her face and stepping back, his warmth left a coldness as he scooped up his discarded shoes and socks. Morgan did the right thing. She knows she did the right thing, so why does it feel like something just tore a hole through her chest? “Look, I know we were friends once, maybe more than that, maybe not, but right now Morgan? I’m your only friend here. Your only refuge.”
Morgan felt as if she had just been slapped. “Is that a threat? Be nice to me or else?”
Flynn had the audacity to look hurt. “No, that’s not—”
“Goodbye, Flynn,” she ground out through clenched teeth, stepping away from the door and grabbing it in her hand, ready to slam it in his face.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “See you later.”
The moment he stepped out of door frame she closed the door and leaned her back against it, sliding down and hugging her knees to her chest. She let the tears fall when she was alone, unaware that on the other side of the door, Flynn was listening to her, a pained expression pulling at his features.
*~*~*~*~*
Hours later a knock sounded on her door. Morgan ignored it. She watched the door handle open from her bed, her back propped against the headboard, legs stretched out, crossed over at the ankles a book with its spine broken between her fingers. She inclined her head when the door opened, expecting it to be Flynn but froze when she saw a mess of black hair.
Villain wore his stupid red leather jacket, contrasting against his sharp pale features and dark hair, making him seem other worldly. He smirked when he noticed Morgan’s tension, he kicked the door open with his foot, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.
“I’ve been told to call you for dinner.”
“Like the good dog you are.”
“Woof,” Villain replied, a grin that made her skin crawl spreading across his features. “Of course, you hurt Flynn’s feelings so he’s licking his wounds in his room. You get me instead. The better brother.”
“Yeah, well, I lost my appetite looking at your face.”
Shadow hands sprung from the backboard of the bed and grabbed Morgan’s wrists before she realised what was happening. They squeezed, hard, until she dropped the book, shackling her in a ring of icy coldness. They yanked her arms back sharply and pressed them against the headboard. Morgan didn’t even struggle and suppressed her whimpers of pain, but it must have shown on her face because Villain’s grin got wider as he stepped into her room.
“I would be nicer to me, Morgan.” Villain cautioned, his fingers curling slowly into a fist in his hand, the shadows tightening more until Morgan couldn’t keep her cries locked behind her teeth anymore. “We could be friends, like you and Flynn, hmm?”
“Friends don’t hurt each other,” Morgan ground out, pulling against the shadows keeping her pinned. With all the force she put behind it, it only resulted in her muscles trembling from the effort.
“Well, we’re not friends yet. And besides, it’s not hurting each other. I’m just hurting you.”
Morgan looked away from Villain, staring pointedly at the wall to her right just to piss him off. Who did he think he was? Another cold hand stroked a finger along her jaw. Morgan shivered at the touch, but refused to look at Villain. That’s when she heard footsteps round her bed until she was staring at worn, red leather in front of her.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Villain said, crouching down so he was eye-level with the stubborn Morgan. Isn’t that what Flynn said too? He tilted his head with a smile. “Hmm? You’re stuck here, y’know. Unless you grow a spine and want to kill your friend, in which case, well, you’d belong here.”
“Let me go,” Morgan snapped, pulling against the shadows. Villain let out a dark, breathy laugh, standing again as he shook his head. His hand shot out, as cold as his shadows and pinched her chin between his fingers tilting her head up sharply.
“The sooner you learn your place here the better, I mean,” Villain said, sucking in a breath as if it hurt. “Upsetting Flynn? The only person here on your side? Not a smart move, not one I would make. Or Supervillain if he were in your shoes. I mean, aren’t you supposed to be smart? Isn’t that your whole thing? Cause god knows you’re not strong.”
Morgan’s lips curled back into a snarl and she shot her leg out. Shadows caught her ankle before it made contact and yanked her down the bed, but the hold on her wrists didn’t budge and so her body was stretched taut, pulled in two directions.
Villain released his grip on her chin when his shadows caught her foot and now he just stood back as she cried out and tried to gain purchase on the bed with her other leg for support.
“You know, it’s not nice to kick people.”
“Get off of me!”
“I’m not on you, Morgan. Why? Do you want me to be?” Morgan’s breath caught in her throat at the very thinly layered threat in Villain’s voice, and the sick fuck seemed to feed off her panic. “Relax hero, I’m not that kind of Villain. I won’t touch you until you beg for it.”
His words sent shivers down her spine. When the shadow on her ankle dissolved Morgan quickly pulled it into her chest, retreating up her bed back to where her hands were pinned, not taking her eyes off him for a second.
Villain hummed, then turned and walked towards the door. He lifted his hand and clicked his fingers without looking at her. The shadows dissipated, leaving her wrists red raw but otherwise unharmed. “Come along, Morgan. Like I said. Dinner’s ready.”
On the way downstairs, Villain rapped on Flynn’s door and yelled: “grubs up.” Morgan didn’t take her glare off of Villain’s back the whole way down her U-shaped stairs to the second floor. It wouldn’t matter either way considering all the shadows he could utilise to torture her, and there was no way she could keep eyes everywhere.
Though when Flynn’s door opened, she paused on the last step of her stairs, watching him as he walked out of his room and shut the door. He didn’t look at her as he followed Villain down the stairs. He may as well have slapped her in the face. Actually, she’d rather he would have slapped her, or looked at her, or even paused when he saw her in the corner of his eye. But he continued through the landing and to the stairs like she wasn’t even there, and Morgan swore her heart broke inside her chest all over again.
She followed the brothers down to the dining room in silence. Flynn and Villain were already sitting down at Supervillain’s side of the table, both on either side of where Supervillain sat. Morgan stared at the chair beside Flynn, something urging her to sit beside him, but instead she sat at other opposite head of the table. Yanking her chair out and sitting down.
Why should she be the one who’s suffering or feeling guilty? Flynn should be the one feeling guilty. It was his fault she was here. His fault that she was on Supervillain’s radar in the first place. His fault that Sidekick is in the hospital.
Villain’s cunning eyes went between the pair. “Trouble in paradise, lovebirds?”
“Oh shut up, Vil,” Flynn snapped.
Morgan leaned forward, clasping her hands in front of her as if she was about to conduct a meeting. She smiled sweetly at Villain, sickeningly sweet. “Yes. No trouble at all, Vil. I wouldn’t touch a villain with a ten foot pole if I could help it, but considering I’m on house arrest with a family of villains, I’ve had to make some concessions.”
Flynn shot her a scathing look, his cocky smirk sliding onto his face. “That’s not what you said when you were cuddling me this morning.”
Villain’s entire face lit up, eyes going between the pair, enjoying the two of them silently fuming at each other. “Damn. You could cut the tension with a knife. Get a room, guys.”
Supervillain stepped through the doors that joined the kitchen to the dining room with two steaming plates. “Dinner’s ready!” He exclaimed happily. Noticing the atmosphere, he raised his brows. “What’s wrong?”
“A lover’s tiff,” Villain answered at the same time that Morgan and Flynn bit out: “nothing.”
Supervillain hummed, walking down to Morgan and sliding a plate in front of her. It smelled divine, like last time, and Morgan’s stomach grumbled at the sight. Two steaks of salmon and green beans and cauliflower. “For your strength,” Supervillain beamed at her, then walked to Villain and served him next.
He disappeared through the doors again. Villain smiled at Flynn. “I got mine first. I’m the favourite.”
“You wish,” Flynn said, folding his arms across his chest. “He serves me last because hr wants to make sure my dinner is still hot.”
Supervillain appeared again and sat at the table beside Flynn, handing him his plate too. “Ah. Bon Appétit.”
They ate in relative silence, Villain or Flynn would say something and they’d start a conversation that would ebb and flow while Morgan ate quietly, trying her best not to scoff the whole plate down in seconds, but she didn’t have breakfast or lunch today, so she was starving.
“How’s the nose, Morgan?” Supervillain asked.
“It’s fine,” Morgan replied coldly, then stiffened, thinking better of disrespecting him and added a quiet, “thank you.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. I actually got you some papers today.”
Morgan raised her brows. “Oh.”
“To keep you up on the news,” Supervillain told her, his smile reminiscent of his son’s, though maybe a bit more civil, but no less shark-like and menacing. “Don’t want you completely disconnected from the world.”
Morgan pushed at the remains of her dinner with her fork, tightening her grip on the utensil. “You just want to torture me as much as possible, is that it?”
“Torture you? What would be the point? I have you immobilised and incapacitated. I don’t need to torture you any further. I just thought you’d like to know—”
“How the world’s doing outside my fucking prison?” She demanded, raising her gaze to meet Supervillain’s. Supervillain’s smile remained on his face and she wanted nothing more than to climb over the table and slap it off. “No thanks.”
“Things can be pleasant for you here, Morgan.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
Supervillain tilted his head to the side, steepled his fingers in front of his face. “You didn’t let me finish, Morgan. Things can be pleasant for you here, Morgan, or—”
Morgan felt the cold hands of Villain’s power grab her wrists again and yank them behind the back of her chair, her fork clattering along the floor of the dining room. “We can make it very, very difficult for you if you’d prefer. Which would you rather, now that you’ve tasted the cell and the room?”
“I’d rather you let me go, you fucking dick!” She hissed, trying to yank her hands free, but each time she got an inch her hands were clamped down tighter, almost dragging her over the chair, but she planted her feet on the ground, resolute, and glared at the man. “Stop threatening my friends and give yourself up to the proper authorities while you’re at it! That’s what I’d prefer over this playing house bullshit!”
“Morgan,” Flynn cautioned. Morgan scoffed. She would have threw her arms up if she could, bordering on hysterical.
“Now you deign to talk to me?” She cried. “Save it!”
She turned her gaze, crueller now, back to Supervillain, adopting a false sense of innocence. “I mean, this isn’t really a proper family, is it? Where’s the mother figure after all?”
Morgan only got the briefest of seconds to enjoy Supervillain’s easy, smiling expression dipping, turning to cold fury before a shadowed hand grabbed her throat, followed by Villain who grabbed her where the shadow hand did, and slammed her back against the wall.
“You fucking bitch,” he seethed. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
Morgan spit at him in reply, cracking a smile despite her face that was steadily changing from red to purple at her oxygen being cut off. It wasn’t a proper glob, more like a spray of saliva, even her fucking spit was limp at her circumstances.
“Villain,” Supervillain said as Morgan gasped on air that she wasn’t getting. Morgan could barely hear him when he spoke again, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she clung desperately to air. She fell to the ground deadweight, head smacking off the floor but she barely noticed it as she gasped in oxygen like a fish being thrown back into a river.
Her throat screamed at the abuse, screamed at her to stop fucking tempting fate and cruelty of the family of villains but she couldn’t bring herself to care if they killed her or not. It would be preferable, honestly.
But then who would help Sidekick? Her stupid, logical voice chimed in as she pushed herself up by her hands. A pair of tailored trousers met her gaze as she righted herself. She began to tilt her head up, her mind cloudy when she felt a hand lock around her upper arm and drag her to her feet.
She stumbled up, her leg faltering behind and falling again but the grip didn’t loosen and the legs didn’t slow down and Morgan was forced to make her legs work after depriving them of oxygen for the last twenty seconds.
“Dad.” Flynn’s voice. “Dad!”
“Enough, Flynn.” They were in the kitchen Morgan realised, the wood of the dining room floor replaced with the black tiles. Supervillain was holding her, dragging her to the far side of the kitchen and she had the sense to start digging her heels in when they reached a door she wasn’t familiar with. “We tried it your way, Flynn. Now, we’ll try it Villain’s way and compare notes.”
“Dad, no. Wait!” Flynn cried. Morgan turned her head over her shoulder to see Villain’s sharp grin, arms around Flynn to stop him from following Morgan and Supervillain wherever they were going. “Dad!”
“Ladies first,” Supervillain said after he opened the door and with a pause, he pressed his hand to Morgan’s back and shoved her down the stairs.
(Morally grey pt 3 wasn't ready, so you have this.)
(I've like 3 unfinished works. Why do I do this to myself)
Trapped
"Let me out!" Villain shook the bars of the cell. "I'm serious, let me out of here!"
From the cell across from them, Hero glared. "Shut up." They snapped. "Do you really think that Supervillain will release us just because you asked them too?"
"Well, it's worth a shot." Villain defended themselves. "Unless you have a better plan?"
Before Hero could respond, the hatch above them opened, and Supervillain dropped down. "Aww, are you two bonding?" They teased. "How adorable."
"Ah, if it isn't the motherfucker themselves." Villain taunted. "Why don't you go do something productive for once in your life and go get some-"
Supervillain wrapped a hand around their throat before they could finish, slamming Villain against the bars. "You want to repeat that?" They growled in Villain's ear.
"Leave them alone!" Hero shouts. Supervillain turned to face the crime fighter, but kept their grip on Villain's throat.
"Really?" Supervillain dropped Villain, who fell to the ground, gasping for breath, to walk over to Hero. "And what will you do if I decide to break them?"
"You won't get that far." Hero snarled. "Because I'll stop you."
And Hero ripped the cell door off it's hinges and smacked Supervillain with it, sending them into the wall. Villain gaped as the hero stepped out of their sell and rifled through the unconscious criminals pockets.
"Uh, Hero?" The crime stopper turned to face their nemesis. "Can I ask you something - what the actual fuck?"
Hero cocked their head. "I don't see a problem?" They said.
"I do!" Villain gestured to the door. "Why the hell didn't you do that earlier?"
"...Because I can only do it when I feel strong emotions like anger." Hero said, shrugging as they dragged Supervillain into another empty cell, closing the door after they left.
Villain could only gape. "So how did you do it this time?" They asked.
In response, Hero's gaze darkened. and they strode over. "Because of this." They traced the spot where Supervillain's fingers had left bruises on Villain's neck. "They hurt you. And the only one who can hurt you is me."
"I..." Villain's jaw was slack. "I... uh..."
Hero chucked, before walking away, heading for the trapdoor.
"Wha- wait!" Villain called. "Where are you going? Let me out!"
Hero turned. "I don't think it'll kill you to wait a little longer, will it?"
They left, leaving Villain with their thoughts and an unconscious supervillain.
