P3 Loving A Villain

(NOT A PR0MPT)

can u do a part 3 of loving a villain?❤️

hey love your writing! do you think you could do a part 3 to “loving a villain”?

Continuation of this piece (Part Two), as requested :) Thank you for writing the title in the request, anon; it’s super-duper helpful!!

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Two days passed, and Hero still hadn’t eaten the four plates of stale bread offered to her by Villain’s hand. Maybe if it were from Supervillain’s hand, someone she expected such deception from, she would eat it.

“You’ll starve yourself to death,” Villain said. He came in the morning, as he always did, with another useless plate.

“What else would I do?” Hero gestured to the rest of the room- the empty room with tarnished and yellowed white paint. There was a stool in one corner, though, with one leg broken, making it useless to sit on.

She wanted her voice to sound strong, defiant- anything other than broken as she was, broken as the stool. Alas, Hero was hurt. Her bulletproof vest meant nothing when it shielded her heart instead of her mind.

Logic told her she should hate Villain, and that there shouldn’t be a question of whether he could be forgiven or not; he was evil, a betrayer, a manipulator, someone who didn’t deserve her kindness or forgiveness.

Her heart said Hero was still in love, and it screamed of possibility. Maybe, Hero would think, Villain was being forced into this scheme, to pretend again that he didn’t love her, when in all reality, this was a better alternative to whatever else Supervillain proposed. His hand, Hero would think, was forced. Villain loved her. He loved her, okay?

“Are you hearing me?” She felt the smack before she heard the words. Slap was a kind word for a soft and flimsy piece of bread. Flimsy. Flimsy meant fresh. “I don’t want you to starve, I said.”

“You mean that?” It blurted out and she hadn’t meant to say it- not so hopeful anyways.

Regardless, Villain smiled softly at her, and for a moment, Hero’s heart fluttered, floated in her chest and into her throat. She was choking on a love she wished still existed. “You think lowly of me now.” Was it just Hero or did his voice crack?

With a quick defense, Hero said “I don’t.” How could she think lowly of him when he was the one to hold her in the middle of the night, waking her from dreams- nightmares- she couldn’t bare on her own? How could she think lowly of the man who kissed her cheeks and wiped the sweat from her brows amid anxiety attacks on the street? “I love you,” she admitted, as if this were the first time she muttered those words.

“So, you’ll believe me when I tell you I tried my best.”

But what did that mean? He tried his best to love her? To care for her? “What.” Tried your best to do what?

“Supervillain is- you know how he came out of nowhere. We killed him, Hero, and yet”- his voice dropped into a whisper as he glanced around the room, seemingly afraid the man whom he spoke of might appear out of thin air- “he found us, my love. He found me, and I only led him to you.”

This was familiar, Hero thought, the rambling and the hunched over panic that overtook Villain. “You don’t have to apologize,” she told him. “This isn’t your fault.” She was confused, so confused, and lost, and manipulated, and she had no clue about any of it- only because she didn’t want to believe it. Hero was strong in that sense, in her determination to remain naïve and continue in the love she thought she and Villain possessed.

“I’m sorry,” Villain said anyways, and he knelt beside Hero, holding her cheek as she closed her eyes, pushed closer to the show of intimacy. He hummed. “I’m sorry, Hero, that your life is so pathetic and you’re so blind to the ill intentions around you.”

Hero flinched away from Villain, but he gripped her chin, forced her to stare into eyes which should have been warm with endearment but were instead glinting with amusement. She blinked and whimpered involuntarily.

The mix of emotions, the- the hate, and then the love, and the confusion, and love, and hate, and- and- Hero busted out in tears, weeping, and sobbing so loudly it echoed back into her ears, telling her just how pathetic she was, just like Villain told her she was. Hero was a fool, and she was desperate, and she couldn’t understand why this was happening to her. Hero was good, so why was she being given such heartbreak?

“You’re a fun one to have around, you know that?”

******

Part 4 here

Feverish

NOT A PR0MPT

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“You need rest.” Hero laid the back of her hand against Villain’s forehead, cringing at the heat which it produced against her own skin. “You’re feverish.”

A grumble was returned, a denial. “I’m fine.”

No, he wasn’t. Maybe his fever was a low-grade one, but that didn’t mean anything, because, in the end, Villain was still sick. He needed medicine, needed water, needed rest. “At least let me get you some soup?”

Another grumble. “Not a fan of soup. Makes me too hot.”

“I think you’re hot without soup,” Hero tried to flirt, but Villain was too out of it to understand. His eyes were closed, and if he were to open them, he’d only be staring at a bare ceiling. “Alright, no soup. What if I got you 7-UP?”

“Do you have Sprite?”

Hero smiled. “Always the villain, aren’t you? Have to have the specifics.”

“I didn’t say I had to have it,” Villain said, out of breath. “Just a preference.”

She knew that- she was only teasing him. “You’re attractive like this,” Hero said.

Villain laughed and followed through with a cough. He asked, “Because I’m sick?”

“No,” she hummed, “helpless.”

Oh. Now, that woke Villain up. His eyes opened in less than a moment, finding Hero’s in an even less amount of time. His cheeks were red, and it wasn’t from the fever. He shuffled beneath his covers, clearing his throat, now looking anywhere that wasn’t Hero.

“I get why you’re a villain,” Hero told him. She slid onto the bed beside him, lifting the covers which Villain tried hiding in. “It’s fun,” she said, “teasing when the other is defenceless. I get it.”

“Give me the stupid blanket,” Villain demanded, voice stronger, yet quieter than it had been before.

“So that you can hide? I don’t think so.” She went as far as to pull the blanket off his cosily warm body.

Protesting, Villain exclaimed, “I’m sick! And cold, and…and…”

“And you’re running out of excuses for me to give the blanket back, when, in reality, I know it’s only because you’re flustering. You’re a villain. You don’t fluster, right?” The corners of Hero’s mouth lifted. This had come up in conversation many a time before when she’d tease him about the way his ears became red hot when she complimented him or sent him a scandalously amused look. “Am I wrong?”

He didn’t- well, actually, he did- like that lilt in her voice, the one that told him so clearly that she was fascinated with this change in demeanour. Once a strong man, now a powerless subject beneath her. She loved it, and Villain could see it dancing in her eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be sick, and weak, and helpless. Maybe it’s just what he needed to feel better.

Villain sat up, just barely, with eyes closed, lips parted.

A hand on his chest stopped him. “You’ll do anything I say right now, won’t you?”

Yes, he tried to say, but all that he could use to respond was a nod.

“Good,” she said, “then sleep.”