Would You Be Willing To Do Some Sapphic Dialogue Between Hero And Villain?

Would you be willing to do some sapphic dialogue between hero and Villain? ❤️

“I understand now,” the villain murmured, chin resting in her hand. The hero turned, swiping a bit of blood out of her eyes.

“Understand what?”

She was golden, her villain, standing there like that. Amongst rubble and ash as it drifted from the sky, light illuminating her like a halo. Like she was some sort of god.

“Why they all went mad. Why they started wars and spilt blood.”

The hero’s brow wrinkled as the villain stepped closer, but she held still as the villain tucked a bloodied piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Have you gone mad, then?” It was half teasing.

The villain laughed, smoothing the hero’s brow with her thumb. “I think loving you has always been a sort of madness.”

The hero shoved at the villain’s shoulder playfully, ducking her head to hide her blush. “Are you calling me an illness, then?”

“One I never hope to cure.”

“That seems a little self sabotaging if you ask me,” the hero remarked. She shifted a piece of rubble with her foot, dust pluming out around it. “But, if we’re in the vein of self sabotage, maybe no more mass apocalypse attempts?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“No, you won’t.”

The villain tipped her head. “Would you truly want me to?”

“No,” the hero said after a moment, voice hesitant. “I cannot imagine you any other way.”

The hero froze, blushing, ducking her head to hide the red on her cheeks. The villain took it as an opportunity to grab her chin, guiding the hero’s eyes to meet hers. Her fingers were the kind of soft that made violence seem a myth.

The villain hummed. “I’d burn the world for you, if you asked.” She raised a playful eyebrow at the hero. “Is that how you imagine me?”

Being this close to the villain was doing something funny to the hero’s heart. She felt like she needed to sit down. Or possibly find out what the villain’s lips felt like on hers–

“Yes,” she whispered. Something flickered in the villain’s eyes.

“What a hero,” the villain’s mouth twitched in amusement, that damn mouth.

“You’re pronouncing ‘hopeless romantic’ wrong.”

A slow grin crept across the villain’s face.

“Oh, am I now?”

There were words to respond to that, but the hero had forgotten them. This close, the villain smelled like blood and dust and something uniquely her, something the hero had been missing all of her life and couldn’t get enough of now.

“Mmmmhm.”

The villain’s grin widened.

“Have I driven you to madness?”

The hero couldn’t look away from her eyes. “The kind that makes people start wars.”

The villain pulled her close, tucking the hero into her neck.

“That’s called love.”

The hero sucked in a breath, heart pounding in her ribs, but didn’t pull away.

“I know,” she breathed in the scent of the villain, “I was destined for failure.”

The villain rested her head against the hero’s. Her arms slid neatly around her waist.

“I don’t think you could fail at anything.”

“I failed at not loving you,” the hero pulled back. “Though really, how could they put heaven in front of me and expect me not to love her–”

The villain was kissing her.

The villain, her villain, was kissing her.

The hero melted.

The villain smiled against her mouth.

“They’ll tell stories about us, you know.”

“They always do, when people go mad with love.”

“The Story of When Heaven and Hell Fell In Love,” the villain murmured fondly.

“Mmm. Which one are you?”

“Hell.”

“That’s the most untrue thing you’ve ever said.”

The villain laughed. 

“Only you would think so.”

“Well,” the hero tipped her head. “I am in love.” She wrapped her arms around the back of the villain's neck. “Now, if we’re going to tell a story,” she leaned in to whisper against the villain’s lips. “Let’s make it a good one.”

The villain smiled.

And kissed her again.

I really adored your take on the villain ark, especially the ask about the lines like Tom riddle and all. I do have a question. I have a character who is very much like Tom riddle, she’s very charming and clever. That’s how she gets what she wants. Can you do a situation, or dialogue that conveys that?? (Keep in mind this is sort of the first step that leads her to becoming a evil person.) ❤️

Thank you so much for the ask!

However, I’m truly sorry, but I don’t think I can complete this scene for you. I don’t know much about this character, the surrounding story, or the intention of the scene within the plot, and me writing this when I don’t know the full circumstances would be a disservice.

Again, I truly do appreciate the ask, and I’m sorry I can’t be of help.

I love your blog so so much, everything you write is amazing, idk if reqs are open, if they arent, im sorry and feel free to ignore, but could i request a second part of that prompt you wrote where the villain poisons their little sibling hero w/o knowing its them, i just loved that prompt and how you wrote it SO SO much, i think i must have read it about 20 times just these last few days, you can make the second part however you want, sad ending, happy ending, its up to you!!! thank you a lot

Part One (Thank you so much Anon!)

The villain hated hospitals. There was always the threat of exposure—the promise of a fixed wound never meant just stitches. Inevitably, it meant the police.

But really, the villain hated hospitals because they had almost watched their sibling die in one, three years old and a stomach full of cleaning products. They had sworn their sibling would never, ever get hurt again.

Now here they were. Watching the painful rise and fall of their sibling’s chest, oxygen mask hissing alongside the beeping of a heart monitor.

The villain scrubbed a hand over their face, covering their mouth.

Their sibling—the hero—was so small. So pale. And it was their fault.

The villain was going to vomit.

The heart monitor stuttered, and the villain snapped their eyes to the bed. The hero blinked back at them, clammy and bleary eyed.

The hero blinked at them once, before clumsily dragging their oxygen mask off their face.

“You need that,” the villain said gently. The hero eyed the mask with distaste, before dropping it beside them.

“Okay.” But they didn’t pick it up. Their eyes dragged around the room, not quite conscious yet—before landing back on the villain. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

The hero’s brow wrinkled, then eased.

“I don’t feel bad?”

The villain laughed slightly. Their chest panged. “Yeah, that’s the morphine. They have you on the good stuff.”

The hero frowned.

Absently, one of their hands reached for their IV, and the villain caught it, settling it back by their side before they could rip it out.

“You’re an obstinate little thing, aren’t you,” but it was fond.

Their sibling grinned at them, and god, how had the villain not known? The hero had smiled at them, that exact smile, hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. And somehow, they hadn’t stopped to think it looked familiar. They hadn’t questioned that they had the same power.

They hadn’t bothered to wonder if the hero they were fighting was their younger sibling.

How many times had they hurt their sibling and not known?

“You love me anyways.”

The villain’s throat tightened.

“Yeah,” They choked a bit. “Yeah, I do.”

The hero frowned at them again.

“Are you okay?”

The villain cleared their throat. “Of course. It’s you who isn’t.”

The TV on the wall switched to a news segment, and they both watched with detachment as the reporter discussed the political climate surrounding powered people. The hero fidgeted slightly as they aired clips of the two of them fighting.

If their sibling didn’t remember anything about last night—

“The hero always loses,” the villain said slowly. They waited for the hero to look at them. “Why do you think that is?”

The hero bit their lip, anxiety creeping around the fog of pain medication.

“Because they’re weaker, I would think.”

The villain tipped their head a bit. “I don’t know about that. They always hold their own.”

Their sibling shrugged one shoulder, trying for casuality and failing. “Heroics and all that. Busy. Maybe the agency has orders…?” They trailed off, and oh, wasn’t that a terrible thought? Their sibling being ground into dust in the machine of the government.

“They never catch the villain, either,” the villain pressed. One of the hero’s hands squeezed into their blanket.

They stared at each other. The heart monitor beeped. Someone called for a code blue.

“You never catch me.” It was little more than a whisper, but the villain knew their sibling caught it. The hero went still, a deer in headlights.

It was almost like the villain could see them remembering the night before—the gala, the poison. Their big sibling, hurting them.

But they didn’t look at the villain with fear.

“No,” the hero said, and it was the firmest the villain had ever heard their sibling. “I don’t.”

Something began to burn in their gut.

“What were you thinking?” The villain hissed. The hero stared, stony eyed. Their lip quivered, just slightly.

“I was thinking that I love you too much to watch you die on the news.”

The villain jerked a hand through their hair, pacing to the other end of the room. The door snapped shut with a flick of shadow, the curtains following suit.

“You’re sixteen,” the villain snapped. The hero was fighting off tears, pressing their lips together like they were trying to hold in a sob. The villain had seen them do hundreds of times over the years.

“And you’re all I have left.”

The villain forgot how to breathe. Their sibling was trembling, just slightly.

“I’d never leave you,” the villain promised, voice cracking.

The dam broke, and a tear slipped down the hero’s cheek.

“But what if the only part of you left to stay is your ghost? I don’t—I can’t-“

And then their little sibling was sobbing. The villain tucked them into their arms between one second and the next, cradling them against their chest.

“It’s okay, I promise, it’s okay.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” the villain carded a hand through the hero’s hair. “I won’t.”

Their sibling was too young for this.

The villain was too young for this, too.

Being a villain paid the bills—but was it worth it?

The hero sobbed again, and the villain knew.

No.

It wasn’t worth it. How could anything ever be worth hurting their sibling?

It wasn’t worth their sibling almost dying, it wasn’t worth the heart ache, it wasn’t worth the pain.

But it was worth a month’s rent. It was worth school supplies and food on the table. It was worth a life.

Maybe not theirs—no, theirs was ruined already.

It was worth their sibling’s.

That was what mattered.

The nausea was back, deep in the villain’s stomach.

“Stop fighting me.”

The words stung on the way out, cutting the villain’s tongue. The hero jerked out of their arms as if scalded.

“What?” Their voice was rough with tears.

The villain swallowed, and it took everything in them to keep their face blank.

“Stop playing hero. You’re going to end up dead.”

If the villain couldn’t hear the heart monitor beeping, they would have thought their sibling’s heart had stalled in their chest.

“It won’t happen again,” they fisted their hands into the blanket.

“You’re right,” the villain agreed, and it hurt. “It won’t.”

The hero gaped at them.

“You don’t get to do this—“

“I do.”

“Stop it,” their sibling hissed. “Let me talk, I just want—“

“I want you alive.”

The hero went silent.

“And I want you happy, and warm, and well fed, because I love you, and it is my job.”

“Isn’t me being a hero to protect you the same thing? It’s love, not hatred or stupidity, can’t you see that?”

The villain could. They could see all of it. They could see their sibling, just a younger version of themself, desperate to keep their last loved one safe. They could see their sibling, helping the city because they cared too much with a too big heart.

They could see their sibling choking on poison, hunched over a toilet.

“I can’t let you keep fighting me.” The villain held the hero’s gaze. “I won’t, do you hear me?”

Their sibling was crying again, silently, chest heaving.

“I’ll fight you anyways,” but it was weak, and they both knew it.

The villain gave them a long look.

“You’re going to let the nurses help you. You’re going to get better. And then we’re going to go home, and you’re going to go to school, and I’m going to pay the bills, and put money on the table, and you’re going to pretend you don’t know how.”

The hero let out a shuddering breath, jerking their eyes away. Their jaw clenched.

“Do you hear me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hero.”

“Yes,” they sobbed. “Yes, I hear you. Yes, I’ll watch you die and bleed out and I’ll do my math homework and pretend I don’t know why there’s blood stains in the bathroom.”

The villain wished they had been shot. It would have hurt less than this.

“Good.”

The hero shot them one last, desperate look. Like they had expected the last bit to mean something. Like they had hoped it would. Like they had needed it to.

Their sibling was just shy of hyperventilating when the villain tucked their oxygen mask back over their face. They brushed a piece of the hero’s sweat soaked hair out of their face, softening their eyes a fraction.

“I love you.”

The hero just blinked at them as the villain slid off the bed, tucking the blankets back around them.

The villain hesitated, just barely, at the door.

“Don’t—Don’t do this,” their sibling was crying again, voice wet with tears as they shook. Like the villain had grabbed something within them and broken it, something vital, and their sibling no longer knew how to be still. “Please don’t do this.”

Whatever they said next was a mangled sob.

“I love you,” the villain repeated forcefully, more weight on those three words than they had ever put on them. Maybe, when the hero was older and the villain didn’t need to commit crimes to keep them afloat, when there was no danger for their sibling, they would tell them they hadn’t wanted this either.

They would tell them they had wanted them to be a hero.

They would tell them they were sorry.

But for now, the villain said nothing. The door clicked shut behind them like an oath.

The villain managed to make it all the way down the hallway before they started sobbing too.

I….I have to know

ha?

every single person who reblogs this

every

single

person

will get “doot doot” in their ask box

Cuddle, an intense cuddle scene in the dark grotesque hallway filled with soft sobs, until its the villain flinching from the same dull fuzzy ache in very core of their heart, their skin feeling tingles against the warm of the cozy couch and flurry blanket wrapped around them with the hero sound and softy breathing in their arms. Their small hands cluched on the material of the loose shirt in their smol fist.

Now this is so wrong because they were just suppose to return the favour in time when they need. They almost lost the hope with a heavy longing heart to be ever to see hero again, but here they are giving in with their plead to, "...just hold me for once...hold me tight..." with their heart crumbling like cookie in their pious hand.

Actual ask:I always write promts of unfolding scene, lol. Can u do a quick monologue from villain while cuddles.

I craved reading the energy ur dailogue fumes with. Finally finding ur a/c here was like discovering a new nirvana. Congratulations on having just another supporter *flashing u my best giddy smiles* lol

The hero was sound asleep in their lap, and the villain was panicking, just a little. Not panicking exactly—their schedule wasn’t exactly conducive to panic attacks—but they were….frazzled. Yes, that was a good word for it.

They shifted slightly and the hero mumbled their displeasure. The villain froze, because what were they supposed to—they carded their hand through the hero’s hair as soothingly as they could. The hero quieted, hand clutching into the villain’s shirt.

The villain sighed with relief.

The hero looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted you find in hospital rooms and gas stations at 2am. Maybe that was why, when the hero had sobbed, “Can you just—hold me, for a second, I just—“ the villain had let the hero collapse into their arms.

The villain, selfishly, was glad they were asleep.

The hero needed the rest, sure, but mostly the villain had just wanted the hero to stop crying. They didn’t know how to handle that. They weren’t a gentle person, someone who knew the correct words at the correct moments; but the hero was. And the hero deserved the same kind of comfort in return, so the last time this had happened, the villain had tried their best.

The last time, the hero, crying and bloody and entirely a mess, looked at them, said their name in a collapsed hallway, and the villain had—not panicked, because they didn’t do that—become increasingly frazzled.

And then the hero had been in their arms, and they were sitting on the ground, because the villain had hugged them.

The villain was an idiot.

They swore it wouldn’t happen again, because it couldn’t. The hero could never be their friend, and the villain could never be theirs.

It happened again.

It was happening now.

And the villain, secretly, was glad the hero was asleep, because they just wanted this moment, this forbidden thing, to last. Because if the hero saw the villain’s face right now, the hero would know that the villain cared.

The villain couldn’t care. They weren’t allowed to.

But desperately, they did.

For now, they simply brushed the hero’s hair back. Held them tighter, resting their chin on the top of the hero’s head. They let themself have this stolen, forbidden, soft thing.

Because they knew, when the hero woke up, it would be gone.

So, they listened to the hero’s breathing, and selfishly, hopelessly, let themselves care.