Requesting experienced villain x virgin hero :)
Make some luuuv
Sssmmsssmut
“You should be more careful,” the hero said as they washed the blood off the villain’s shoulders. The water in the bathtub was still scorchingly hot — just how the villain liked it — but now it had undertaken a muddy colour. Blood and soap mixing together, leaving a disgusting view that captured the least gruesome part of the last hours.
The hero stared at it, mesmerised, until they leaned over the edge of the bathtub, both arms resting on it, and started washing the villain with the washcloth in their hand again. At first, the villain had wanted them to join them in the tub, had offered warmth and lazy kisses. However, the hero had refused, blaming the villain’s wounds. It was…partially true. The hero was concerned about them but they were also incredibly nervous.
Their lover didn’t seem to be in the right state of mind to actually do something like this. And the hero was too inexperienced to do something like this.
“I’m fine,” the villain whispered. They exhaled and a deep-seated sigh escaped them. Something within them started to relax and they closed their eyes, leaning with their head back against the tub. “You always worry so much.”
“Well, you’re a reckless person.” With a simple motion, the hero ran their fingers through the villain’s wet hair, scraping their skull here and there, pressing a kiss to their temple. “I don’t want to have to kill for you again.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” the villain said with a hint of exhaustion but there was also some amusement to their tone. As if they’d enjoyed watching the hero murder someone else. It had been a criminal, yes…but that didn’t make the hero feel better.
“Do you ever…feel mad?” the hero asked.
“Sure. I get angry when I’m frustrated.”
“That’s not what I mean,” the hero said. They wrung out the washcloth, swallowing, thinking. It was difficult to talk about certain topics with heroes which was also why the hero felt so drawn to the villain. They didn’t know exactly what this relationship was, if it even was one, if the villain even had those. It was kissing and making out and talking. Making breakfast together. Sleeping on the couch. Nothing more. “Do you ever feel so mad it sickens you? Do you feel like you could destroy the world if someone pushed you a bit too far?
“I like where this is going,” the villain joked. They cracked an eye open and pulled themselves up again, sitting in the water with hunched shoulders. Scars created constellations on their back, spreading over the skin. Sometimes like rivers, sometimes like lightning. It was a whole fucking artwork to the hero and they had traced every single one more than just one time. They were obsessed with the villain, completely enchanted by everything they did.
As so often, they followed a particularly big scar which they knew the villain disliked, and followed it all the way down, disappearing in the warm water.
“It’s a stupid thought,” they muttered, lost in thought.
“Not stupid. Dangerous.” The villain — surprisingly — pulled the plug and let the water disappear in the drain. The hero watched as the water level sank and revealed more of their own arm. “Don’t walk around telling people about this. They’ll weaponise it.”
“I wasn’t planning on doing that,” the hero said.
“And yet, you told me.” The villain smiled at them lazily, showing off their teeth. Their hand reached out, slipped under the hero’s shirt and found a comfortable place right under their neck.
It was strange. Both holding onto each other. The hero’s finger pressing a vulnerable point on their lower back, the villain’s hand nearly grabbed their neck. The hero pulled away but the villain did not.
“Because I trust you,” the hero said. “Idiot.”
That made the villain laugh and lean against the bathtub again. Half of the water was already gone, making it possible to view the villain’s bare chest and the hero couldn’t hold themselves back from gawking for a second.
“You’re cute.” Without a warning, the villain tugged on the hero’s hair gently. It wasn’t even painful, just playful but it still shocked them. Like every little thoughtful touch.
“I’m scared of it,” the hero confessed. “I’m really scared of it. I’m not a monster.”
The villain tilted their head. “No, you’re not.”
For an unpleasant moment, there was nothing but a thick silence and the sound of water leaving the tub. Finally, the villain groaned, let go of the hero and put the plug back in before they filled the tub anew.
“Come here,” they said gently. “Take off your clothes and come here.”
The hero froze and even their breathing stopped. Shirtless was all they’d ever managed. They knew the villain wouldn’t mind if they didn’t want to.
The hero also knew the villain had done approximately every little thing there was to intimacy. Had tried everything. With other people.
It was normal for the villain, the hero supposed, and somehow that triggered that little part they were afraid of.
Nevertheless, they obeyed, letting their clothes fall to the ground and grabbing the bathtub as they let themselves sink into the hot water and onto the villain, each thigh on either side of them. The villain smirked lazily. Constantly. All the time. But right now, it was soft.
“Easy,” the villain warned. The hero tried, really fucking tried to relax but being choice 321 or whichever number of situationship they illustrated for the villain was irritating. They were replaceable.
They were so irritated, in fact, that they hadn’t noticed the hands on their waist, holding them in place. Nor how they were sitting on the thick muscles of the villain’s lower stomach.
“When we kissed for the first time, was that your actual first kiss?” the villain asked quietly. The hero leaned forward, trying to ban the thoughts of jealousy and obsessiveness, thoughts of actual madness. They welcomed the warm water, how it captured them and didn’t let go.
“No,” they said. “I had my first kiss with sixteen.”
“And since then?”
“I kissed a few heroes,” they said, fairly sure the villain could say the same thing about themselves. God, the hero was afraid of what they were getting themselves into. A whole if-I-can’t-have-you-no-one-can-type of thing. They shuddered.
“Nothing more?”
The hero stared at them. Stared at their enemy underneath them, vulnerable, sweating, wet hair. Beautiful.
“You’re asking too many questions,” they decided eventually. And with that, they leaned over and left a trail of wet kisses up the villain throat which earned them a low groan, followed by fingers digging into their flesh.
“Sweetheart—” Despite their whiny voice, the villain seemed eager, pulling the hero closer, trying to catch bare skin with their own lips and leave a few mark. Before the hero even knew it, they were chest to chest, panting as the hero found the villain’s lips and kissed them possessively. It was raw, obsessive on the hero’s part. How they clawed at the villain’s hair, soaking in their heat and rocking their hips on their stomach.
“You spoil me,” the villain wheezed once they pulled away.
“I despise you,” the hero said, pulling at the roots of the villain’s hair to get more access to their neck.
“Liar,” the villain said but it was slurred, drunk on the feeling of ecstatic pleasure.
“Moan my name,” the hero demanded, lips close to the villain’s ear.
But the villain started chuckling, sobering up really quickly, if their reaction had been real in the first place.
“Such a little monster,” they said. “Let me make it good. Let me help you forget your fears.”
With that, the villain’s hand slithered right between the hero’s thighs.
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