Has Velvet Vixen ever fallen for a villain

Madame Mirage reclines in her pile of stolen riches, wand dancing between her fingers like a lazy sparkler. Her voice dips low again—too casual to be harmless.

“Ever fall for one of your villains, darling?”

She grins, half-lidded and amused.

“I bet you’ve got a type.”

Velvet Vixen, still seated on the polished glass table like a prize on display, says nothing at first.

She crosses her arms over her satin-wrapped chest. Her legs swing just above the edge. She looks away—but she doesn't deny it.

Because the truth stings just a little too sweetly.

First, there was Cleo Capone.

Sharp jaw, sharper tongue. Power suits cut to kill, and a voice like low jazz. She hadn’t just tied Velvet Vixen to a cart and stashed her in a supply closet—she’d kissed her, tasted her weakness, mocked her struggle with a velvet smile.

Cleo hadn’t cared that Vixen escaped. She’d cared that Vixen made it fun.

“You like the bad girls,” Kendrick thinks now. “Especially the ones who take charge.”

Then came Venus Flytrap.

Tall. Regal. A siren wrapped in vines. Her mansion deep in the forest had smelled like honey and danger. The flowers on her skin weren’t just tattoos—they pulsed. Laughed. Poisonous beauty dripping from every fingertip.

Venus hadn’t even been cruel. She’d been sensual, slow, like a lover savoring every moment before the final kiss.

“You’d make lovely compost,” she had purred.

And Kendrick had blushed.

“She almost ate me,” Vixen murmurs under her breath, “and I almost didn’t mind.”

Then… Daisy.

Bubbly, bouncing, and completely unhinged. All denim shorts and boots and southern twangs, a walking contradiction who giggled as she coated Velvet Vixen in glaze like a pastry, humming while she brushed across her body with a grin. Daisy had been playful. Affectionate. But there was something in her eyes—something unhinged and dangerous.

Kendrick hadn’t known whether to scream or moan.

“I’ve got a very specific type,” she mutters.

Her cheeks are flushed now. She knows Mirage sees it.

And when she finally lifts her eyes to meet the magician’s, there’s no point in lying.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I think maybe I do.”

Madame Mirage leans in, her grin widening, all satisfaction and smoky silk.

“Oh, I knew it.”

She tilts her wand, pointing at Velvet Vixen like a magician calling a volunteer from the crowd.

“So what does that make me, hmm? The next in line?”