I JustI Dont Think I Love You Anymore.

“I just—I don’t think I love you anymore.”

It hurt—like a thousand suns burning in his core, a million white lies, a rockslide in his gut.

He swallowed, and tears threatened to spring to his eyes.

“What do you mean, you don’t love me. I made myself for you. Is the witty humor not enough anymore? The undying devotion? The kindness, all of it, I did it for you.”

Lila bit her lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tell me, did I not change quick enough, or did you change too fast?”

His voice was bitter, a winters cold bite, even to his own ears.

“Matt—“

“It’s Matthew.”

Lila paused.

His scoffed, angrily.

“You don’t love me anymore. I became Matt for you—I created myself around you, built myself upon you. I became the picture you painted in your mind. You can’t say you don’t want it and have it the same.”

A flush rose to her cheeks.

“You’re being ridiculous—“

“You stopped loving me!” He shouted, and after a moment, softer, “how could you not love me?”

A tear slipped down Lila’s cheek.

“You’re perfect. I just—I’m sorry. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough. How could it ever be enough? He had taken classes to be with her because she didn’t like to be alone, had started the track to become a vet because she loved animals and wanted to work with the love of her life, hd cut his hair, and changed his posture, had gotten superpowers, had been sexy and cute and smart and kind and wholesome and dorky and funny and yet—

He was perfect. And still, she had stopped loving him.

Somewhere between Matt—Matthew—he had remade himself in the negative space around her, and somehow, as he changed himself, she had changed too.

“I still love you,” he offered weakly, and she turned her head, as if slapped. “I could change—“

“Stop.”

A tear dropped off the end of his chin.

“I’d do it well—“

“Matthew.”

His name, a plea. No more Matt.

Lila had killed him.

Lila sniffed, as if steeling herself, then drew herself up.

She looked him directly in the eye.

“You need to stop changing for others.”

“You liked it when I changed for you,” he murmured, voice raw.

She swallowed.

“That was different.”

“How, Lila. Different because it was you? Because me changing was romantic, not sad, when it was you? God.”

“Matthew—“

“You didn’t love me for me,” he threw an arm out. “You don’t love Matt, and you don’t love whoever I am now.”

Lila closed her eyes.

“I said I was sorry—“

“I became a new person for you, and you relished it, and now you’re sorry?”

She pursed her lips.

“It’s not like that.”

“You know it is.”

And whatever was left of his heart broke.

A match lit itself inside his chest.

Lila opened her mouth, and he cut her off.

“No. Just—stop. Stop apologizing when you aren’t sorry. I am going to go out, and I am going to find someone who loves me, not for Matt, not for Matthew, but for me. And when I do, I am going to love them harder than I have ever loved anyone else. Even you.”

Lila looked like she didn’t know what to say, as if she had expected the collapse but hadn’t expected him to bare his teeth.

“Go.”

When she left, she slammed the door behind her.

Eight months later, he met a girl named Kaylie in a coffee shop.

They ruled the world, together, five years later.

im sorry but writing enemies to lovers on ao3 is so fucking funny. one of them will go a whole paragraph saying how much they hate, absolutely despise, have genuine burning contempt for the other and we’re all here knowing damn well that enemies to lovers tag is just sat there. like we already know what’s coming bro you’re just embarrassing yourself

Trapped Hero

The hero slammed into the villain’s chest so hard their breath left their lungs.

The villain didn’t have the decency to look phased as the hero scrambled away.

“You can’t keep me here.”

The villain smiled, a gentle thing, like the hero was a wild animal and they were the valiant rescuer.

Trapped in this cage, the hero felt a little wild.

They were used to cages. This wasn’t the first time. And yet, with the look on the villain’s face, with the power dampeners twined around the hero’s wrists, they were more afraid than they had ever been.

“Of course I can,” the villain said simply. “How would you stop me?”

They cast a pointed look at the hero’s wrists, and they stumbled a step back.

Something twisted in their gut.

“You have no right,” the hero began, and something shuttered in the villain’s eyes.

“You’re so innocent.”

The hero paused.

Innocent? The hero had never associated themselves with that word. Not with their childhood, not with their power, not with their job.

Try to save a city, and spill blood in the process. The only who seemed to care about the spilling of criminal blood was the hero.

Good work, the agency called it.

The hero simply wore it as guilt.

“Innocent,” the villain murmured once more. When they stepped into the hero’s space, closed any distance the hero had managed to create, the hero froze.

“I’m not innocent,” the hero spat, and it felt like a confession.

“You wear the guilt beautifully, I must admit. But you shouldn’t have to.”

The villain ran a hand along the hero’s jaw, and they jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Impossibly, the villain’s eyes softened. The took a step back, watching as the hero relaxed minutely.

“I’m doing this for you.”

“If you’re doing this for me, let me out. Take these damned things off, and let me out.”

“No.”

The hero reeled, and the villain watched that, too.

The city needed them, their people needed them, and they couldn’t help if they were trapped in this tower.

Behind the villain, the door remained closed.

“Please.”

The villain blew out a slow breath.

“You’re too kind for this city.”

The hero took a step forward, hand stretching towards the window.

“That’s why it needs me,” they pleaded. “Don’t take me from it.”

The villain’s eyed them with reproach.

“Does it need you,” they said gently, “or do you need it?”

The hero scoffed.

“What difference does it make—“

“I read your file,” the villain said, and the hero stiffened.

Their childhood, the pain, the hurt, the curses and uttering of freakwrongburden that they kept oh so carefully buried was laid bare in front of them.

Of course the villain had. Of course the villain knew.

The hero swallowed, and it hurt.

“You had no right—“

“They had no right to hurt you.”

The hero stopped. Across from them, the villain was closest to anger as they had ever seen them.

Their power lashed out, and the cuffs shoved it down with all the grace of a falling building.

“Your parents,” the villain began. “Your siblings. They were awful people. If they weren’t already dead, I’d kill them for you.”

The hero shuddered. That night, those deaths, the gravestones that haunted them, tattooed on their mind in ways they knew that they could never erase.

They had been too slow then. They hadn’t been that slow ever again. They made sure of it.

“I don’t need you to—“

“You will not protect yourself, so I am doing it for you.”

The hero jerked their head.

“You call this protecting?”

The tower sat silent around them.

The villain’s jaw clenched.

“This city, your precious people,” the villain grit out. “They would destroy you, if you let them. If I let them.”

The hero took another step forward, and their power hummed, furious within their veins.

Too slow, their body whispered. Danger.

The villain smiled, and this time, it wasn’t gentle, but vicious. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck rose.

“But for you, darling? I’m going to destroy it first.”

They were out the door faster than the hero could grab them.

Even when they screamed their throat raw, scratched their nails bloody on the edges of the door, the villain did not come.

Too slow.

The city burned.

They do, but only as they invariably die in some strange and unsettling fashion

Sometimes I lay on my couch and make hamster sounds. Is 30 too old to make hamster sounds?

I didn't even know hamsters made noise

“You’d be nothing without me,” she snapped. Hailey stopped in the middle of slicking on her trademark red lipstick.

In the mirror, she raised one prom, perfect, brow.

“I’m sorry, have I not been giving you enough attention?” Her tone dripped with condescension.

“I’m not a dog,” Leah said, and Hailey pursed her lips.

“Then don’t act like one.”

Leah scoffed.

“For someone loved by millions, you certainly are hard to be around.”

Hailey stood, pulling herself to a stop in front of Leah. She hooked two fingers into Leah’s waistband, and tugged her flush against her front.

Leah’s face went red.

“Oh, darling, I know. They love me because I sing about being hopelessly in love. And who writes those songs.”

“I do,” Leah said, indignation warm in her chest.

Hailey hummed.

“Mmm. And who are you in love with? I certainly haven’t seen anyone holding your hand. No, your life revolves around me,” she grinned, teasingly. “Like a planet to a star.”

Leah spluttered, face going even warmer.

“I am not in love with you—“

Hailey tipped her head so their lips almost brushed, and Leah froze, chest caught between a breath.

Hailey smiled, and Leah swore she felt it against her mouth.

“Thought so.” Hailey stepped away, slinging her jacket off the back of a chair and onto her shoulder. She strode for the door, and stopped halfway across the room.

“Oh, and love? Write me another love song, and next time, maybe I’ll bring you out onstage. Introduce you as my pretty little girlfriend, my wonderful mastermind.”

Leah choked.

“I am not your girlfriend—“

Hailey simply smiled that red lipstick smile, and sauntered out the door into the middle of her screaming fans.

Leah touched her still hot cheek with one finger, absently.

Girlfriend.

She smiled, slightly.

She kind of liked it.

“Do you really think that she would want this? Lu—“

The villain cut them off with a sharp hand to their chest.

They heaved a breathe, eyes gleaming and shoulders just on the edge of shaking.

“Don’t say her name. You don’t get to say her name.”

The hero’s mouth went dry.

“She was my sister too, you know,” they said quietly.

It was the wrong thing to say.

The villain grabbed the front of their jacket and hauled them against the wall, gritting their teeth as angry tears flushed their eyes.

“And yet you killed her anyways.”

The hero spluttered.

“I would never have hurt her, you know that—“

“You let her die.”

The hero fell silent.

The villain dropped them as if they could no longer bear to touch the hero, could no longer bear to touch their youngest sibling.

“You drew her into all your chosen one bullshit, and then when she needed you, you weren’t there.”

Anger, hot and heavy like a summers day,

sprung to life in the hero’s gut.

The villain regarded them, then shook their head in disgust. “Selfish.”

“I was taking care of your henchman,” the hero spat, and the villain stopped dead.

It took them three tries, in all their elegance and poise, to get the word out.

“What.”

The hero took a shuddering step, hand outreached, so angry and so lonely.

“I was taking care of the henchman you set loose in the lower quadrant. She said she could handle it—I thought it was you. I thought she would find you at the other end of the SOS call, and you would be gentle.”

The villain’s face went oh so pale.

“You thought—“

“I thought it was you,” the hero confirmed, voice shaking. “If I had known it was Nightshade—if I had known, I never would have let her go.”

The villain opened their mouth, but had nothing to say. Car alarms blared in the distance.

The villain gestured with their head.

“Aren’t you supposed to get that.”

The hero shrugged.

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved.

“We ruined this family, didn’t we?” The villain looked like they were trying very hard not to cry. “Always trying to one up each other, always trying to be the prettiest star. Burned so bright we burned everyone around us.”

“Until there was no one left to burn for,” the hero said softly.

Somehow, they had sunk onto the ground of the damp alley.

The hero wasn’t sure who reached first, but then they were tangled in each others arms, sobbing violently, snot dripping onto each others shirts.

“I’m sorry,” the hero retched. “I didn’t mean it.”

The villain loosed a shuddering breath.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

The hero only clutched them tighter, because this was their family, the last of their bloodline besides themself.

The villain pressed an apology into their back with trembling hands.

I’m sorry, they murmured together, until it was no longer two words but something akin to a keen.

Lucy, I’m sorry.

When their tears had dried along with the pavement, and the emergency vehicles had once more begun to sing, they had stood there awkwardly, for one moment, as if memorizing each others faces, before they hurtled into the city, opposite directions.

They never spoke of it again.

But the villain stopped trying to kill them.

So there was that.