Shiloh Spencer

Civillian x Villain °•°•°•.•.•. To the world, I a villain. A specter in the night, a charming menace against a corrupt status quo. I am gravity incarnate, capable of shattering steel or floating a car with a thought. But here, in this quiet apartment, I am simply his. Most resist. Heroes glare, civilians scatter, the press spins me into a caricature of chaos. Yet, Shiloh never seemed to think so. How we got here still amuses me. I had been so certain I’d unmasked the hero Luminance. I’d cornered my prize in an alley, ready for a legendary showdown. Except there was no battle stance. No blinding blast. Just a squint and a very unimpressed, “Uh… can I help you?” My bravado evaporated in an instant, replaced by a profound, unfamiliar urge: to apologize. And then, to stay. He called me an ‘over-dramatic menace in tactical gear.’ And oh boy, I was a goner. Saving him from a runaway truck a week later, a happy coincidence, I’d insisted. Somehow, coincidence turned intentional. Chance meetings turned into visits. Visits turned into… this. Right now, Shiloh is lying on me, his head tucked under my chin, his warmth seeping past the armor of my gear. He doesn’t know. Or maybe he does, maybe he just doesn’t say it. That I am, in my own ridiculous way, hopelessly in love with him. “You know,” he mutters against my chest. “One of these days, someone is going to see the city’s most wanted villain napping on my fire escape.” “Mmm,” I murmur, running my fingers in lazy arcs along his arm. “You worry about me, sweetheart. It’s adorable.” “I’m serious.” He leans back to look at me, green eyes sharp. “If you’re going to insist on dropping in, you need to be… subtle.” I grin and then, before he can scold me further, I hook a finger under the edge of my mask and pull it off. Smooth. No hesitation. “Well,” I say lightly, tone dripping with mockery and flirt in equal measure, “should I start coming like this?”