Can be read as a standalone or a continuation of Our Little Games.
Found this on my external hard drive the other day and can only vaguely remember writing it. Must have been over a year ago xD
tw: touch starvation, kinda smutty?
Synopsis: you’re the protagonist, who fell into the antagonist's clutches. Now they'll be taking their sweet time toying with you.
They card their fingers lazily through your hair, gently scraping their nails along your scalp. Starting at your hairline, they slowly move to the back of your head, leaving a delightful tingle behind wherever their fingertips made contact.
You can’t help that soft sigh from escaping, or the way you lean into the touch, cursing just how much you crave it.
Goosebumps start to bloom on your shoulders and cascade down your arms as the feather-light caress travels over the back of your neck.
You expected them to stop there, but they don’t.
Shivers run down your spine even before their hand reaches the spot between your shoulder blades. The muscles in your legs begin to quiver.
Damn, they’ve really got you now. It’s nothing like your last encounter with them. This time, right from the very start, you’re under no illusions whatsoever as to who’s the one in control here.
You gasp, teeth catching at your bottom lip. You dare to glimpse at them from the corner of your eyes, whispering their name. And doesn’t your voice sound a little too urgent, a little too eager? Heat rushes to your cheeks.
Oh, the look in those eyes! They’re practically devouring you with that gaze and they seem in no hurry to stop toying with you, to finish what they started. And why should they be inclined to show you mercy? They’ve got you right where you assume they’ve always wanted you.
There’s no escape.
Something about that makes your stomach twist in a not so unpleasant way.
Fuck.
By the time their fingers arrive at the small of your back the breath leaves your trembling lips in shudders. The sensation of their fingertips still haunts your skin, even as you can already feel the fingers of their other hand settle on your hairline again, once more beginning that torturous descend.
Embarrassingly desperate, you press yourself against their body, shamelessly whining a plethora of pleas into their ear.
Their low chuckle and that smirk adorning their lovely mouth threaten to make your knees go weak. They lean in even closer, humming against the shell of your ear and, oh god, that sound settles on your mind like velvet.
“My poor, needy darling,” they purr, “I’m not done with you yet.”
Well yeah because obviously, it’s not easy to be bros everyday.
For the ones who rightly wonder what happened to Xavier’s wheelchair, take that as an X-men Legacy and Nation X reference (Magneto’s outfit is directly coming from those parts.)
This is one of two new versions of the snippet formerly known as #4. The original contained head-hopping and I wasn't satisfied with the narration distance either, so I wrote an improved version of this scene from both characters' pov respectively.
For the villain's pov, check out the [villain version].
Synopsis: they are not friends anymore, and yet, when the hero is mourning their father’s death, the villain can’t bear to stand idly by.
“Who died?”
The hero flinched, ripped out of the thoughts swirling around their foggy mind. The familiar voice tore at their insides like they’d swallowed a handful of broken glass, churning in their gut like needles and fire, as they whirled around a tad too fast and almost lost their balance.
Why did it have to be the villain? Why here of all places? And why did it have to be today? Wasn’t that just cruel? – As if they hadn’t suffered enough.
They swallowed the lump in their throat and clenched their fists in preparation for a fight they couldn’t see themself winning. Not today. Not here. Not when they hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even noticed the villain approach. And perhaps the most damning of it all: despite everything, they hadn’t even considered the possibility the villain might seize the opportunity.
Oh, but if this day was to end in blood, they wouldn’t be the only one to bleed.
The villain, however, raised their hands in a placating gesture and nothing in their stance spoke of threats and hostility. “Easy! I didn’t come to pick a fight with you,” the villain said, and looked like they meant it. “Not on a graveyard. I can see absolutely no merit in disrespecting the dead. Seems distasteful, no?”
Still wary, but somewhat pacified, the hero allowed their shoulders to relax. “Ah, right,” they mumbled and lowered their eyes.
Was it wrong to feel relieved?
Yes, it was.
It was wrong, cataclysmically, when their relief revolved less around avoiding a physical confrontation and more around not having misjudged the villain’s integrity. Because the mere idea the villain might stoop this low had felt too crushing an act of treason when there shouldn’t have been any trust left between them to betray.
“Who died?” the villain repeated, hauntingly tender, in the voice of a friend the hero still occasionally met in their dreams even after all those years.
Their gaze shifted to the fresh grave a few metres behind them, covered with a number of decorative floral arrangements left by the people who’d attended the funeral earlier.
Was it bizarre or fitting to gift beauty so fleeting as that of flowers in the face of a horror as irrevocable and eternal as death? They couldn’t imagine dead people would care for flowers. Their father had certainly never cared for flowers in his lifetime, and even death wouldn’t change a man that set in his ways.
They’d always joked he’d survive them – too stubborn to die. They’d been wrong.
“My dad,” the hero murmured. “He had a heart attack last week.” They almost choked on the words and had to fight back new tears.
It was a losing battle.
How a few more tears now could feel that shameful a defeat, they couldn’t fathom. It seemed odd, considering the many other times the villain had seen them during their most vulnerable moments. On countless occasions, their former friend had comforted them when they’d been bawling their eyes out over some idiotic little things that now seemed so trivial.
There probably wasn’t a single person they had cried in front of more often.
Somehow that made it so much worse.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” the villain said politely, a sad little frown on their face, “you have my condolences.”
Well, if that didn’t sound petty and hollow…. Just a few more empty phrases to be added to all those they’d already heard today.
They snorted mirthlessly and grasped for that tiny spark of anger underneath all the hurt. Because anything would be better than even more tears. “You are kidding, right? We both know you never liked my father.”
The villain grimaced. “True, I can’t say I did. But, in my defence, he wasn’t exactly a fan of mine either.”
“Oh, that’s quite an understatement, don’t you think?” Calling it an understatement was in itself an understatement. “My dad absolutely hated you.”
Quite unexpectedly, their childhood friend chuckled. The familiar sound made their heart lurch and it took them a breathless moment to reign in their emotions and clear their head.
This person in front of them wasn’t their friend.
Not anymore.
And yet the villain still possessed that mellow smile and those cute dimples they used to find so adorable.
“Yeah, he did despise me, didn’t he?” The villain rolled their eyes dramatically and that wry smirk spreading on their face was another heavy dose of nostalgia. “Remember that one time, when we tried to ‘borrow’ one of his chickens?”
As if they would ever be able to forget that…
Bringing it up now really wasn’t fair.
A sentimental smile appeared on their face. “We stole the key to the hen cope. Everything went perfectly according to plan, and then Dad spotted us from the balcony. Just as we were about to abscond with the bird.” They shook their head and huffed, not quite a laugh but dangerously close. “God, Dad was totally furious.”
The villain snorted. “Yeah, at me! First, he only yelled, telling me how I was such a bad influence on you” – their childhood friend shot them a mock exasperated look, a bit overdone with that hand-on-heart gesture – “and then he tried to murder me!”
“No, he didn’t! He merely—” They bit down hard on their lip, trying to stifle the laugh threatening to spill. This wasn’t funny, or at least it shouldn’t be. They shouldn’t even have a conversation like this, let alone enjoy the villain’s weird antics.
“You’re grossly exaggerating!” they protested, and it wasn’t so much a question of honest opinion as the pressing and perhaps silly urge to banter with the villain. “He only threw a couple shoes at you.”
“One of his damn boots hit the back of my head! You have no idea how much that hurt!” the villain complained indignantly, crossing their arms in front of their chest. “Plus, stealing the stupid chicken wasn’t even my idea. That was all on you!”
Now, that point they couldn’t argue. It had indeed been their idea. Just like pretty much all of the other terrible ideas that had ever landed the two of them in trouble.
Okay, they had to admit this was funny. A little bit.
And was it so wrong to not feel like crying for a few minutes? Was it so wrong to enjoy themself? Even if it was with the villain. Even if this was nothing more than pity. Wasn’t it okay to be selfish, just this once?
They did allow themself to laugh then, and it warmed their chest like a sip of their favourite tea while they let it slowly turn into a chuckle, then a hum. “That day, we were in such a hurry to get away, we forgot to close the door to the hen cope. Do you remember that? Those damn birds were suddenly all over the yard. It was quite a mess.”
“Yeah, of course I do!” The villain smiled. “Wasn’t it such a pain to catch them afterwards?”
Not nearly as much of a pain as getting their friend to stop whining about their headache…
“It was kind of fun actually, don’t you think?” Grinning, they turned, just in time to see something raw and desperate flit across the villain’s face.
“I miss you!” the villain blurted and instantly went pale.
They watched a myriad of emotions wash across their former friend’s panicked face.
For what it was worth, considering the audacity of turning up and pretending everything was fine between them, emotional manipulation had never been the villain’s modus operandi. Their former friend clearly hadn’t meant to go this far; they looked more shook than the hero felt.
Which meant it was true.
The villain averted their gaze and took a tentative step back. “Please, forget I said that.”
As if that was an option. As if it didn’t already rip them to pieces. As if they could pretend today hadn’t existed when next they met; as if they could both just go back to fists and insults right after establishing they hadn’t in fact irreparably moved on yet from kisses and cuddles.
They stared in disbelieve as their perhaps-not-quite former friend mumbled an apology and made to flee.
And yeah, there was absolutely no way they were letting this go! As if they’d allow the villain to casually drop by, make them laugh, and remind them of why and just how much they’d adored their best friend – only for the villain to run off afterwards like the easily-spooked little scaredy-cat they apparently still were, if deep down.
“Wait!”
They gripped the villain by the shoulder and pulled them back, wrapped their arms around the villain’s torso, and buried their face in the crook of the villain’s neck – and met next to no resistance.
“Hero, I should go.” Gentle fingers pushed meekly against their arms.
“Villain, please.” Their voice was barely more than a whisper; they shifted just enough to make eye contact. “I miss you too.”
Don’t you dare leave me again!
Warm breath fanned against their cheek. A small smile curved their lips when the villain went still again in their arms. They tightened the embrace and could feel a heart beating, quick and excited, against their chest; whose they weren’t sure.
“You’re not thinking straight,” their friend implored, caring and kind. Ever so considerate of the hero’s feeling. “You’ll regret this.”
Maybe they would, but that didn’t matter. Because the villain was still the same – still theirs.
Soft-hearted and tender.
So easy to take advantage of.
“I don’t care,” they promised and stole what would be the first of many kisses.
This is one of two new versions of the snippet formerly known as #4. The original contained head-hopping and I wasn't satisfied with the narration distance either, so I wrote an improved version of this scene from both characters' pov respectively.
For the hero's pov, check out the [hero version].
Synopsis: they are not friends anymore, and yet, when the hero is mourning their father’s death, the villain can’t bear to stand idly by.
The hero was still facing the grave. Fifteen minutes had gone by and yet the hero hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as shifted their weight, didn’t seem to register the grinding of gravel now as the villain approached them.
The villain should have kept their distance, should have settled for watching from afar. They didn’t. They couldn’t.
“Who died?” they asked.
Of course, they knew; after all, they’d only come because they’d seen the obituary in the newspaper. But what else was there to say?
I was worried.
I had to see you.
I’m so sorry.
They had no right to speak of any such things. Not anymore.
Whirling around to face them, the hero almost stumbled over their own feet. Shock and grief carved lines into the hero’s pale face, like crevasses in a dying glacier, or cracks in fine porcelain. Tiny structural disintegrations, the early signs of impending breakage.
There wasn’t another face, another body, on Earth the villain was more versed in reading.
So, naturally, they noticed the silent resentment in that frown, in the wrinkling of the bridge of the hero’s nose, and in the wobble of their bottom lip. It may lay burrowed beneath layers of losses and let-downs, but it was unmistakably present, well-nigh palpable. If they were to reach out, they could run their fingers over it, find reassurance in the tension of those shoulders and the tremor running down the hero’s arms to their raised fists.
With so much fire still in them, the hero was anything but broken.
Daring eyes bored into theirs.
“Easy!” They raised their hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t come to pick a fight with you. Not on a graveyard. I can see absolutely no merit in disrespecting the dead. Seems distasteful, no?”
Even if this particular dead person would no doubt have loved nothing better than for the villain’s blood to be spilled all over his grave. But this wasn’t about him.
“Ah, right.” The hero deflated, their gaze trailed away, to the withering grass on the lawn across the gravel pathway they both stood on.
In all the years they’d known the hero, they had never seen their childhood friend in such a state: resigned, red puffy eyes on an ashen face. A testament to sleepless nights spent weeping into pillows.
“Who died?” they repeated, softer this time. As if the wrong tone of voice would lead the hero to fracture after all. As if the other was a fragile thing, and maybe they were.
Though, if so, it really shouldn’t concern them. They shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t care. They weren’t friends anymore.
Things were different now.
“My dad.” The hero’s gaze had shifted back to the fresh grave a few metres behind them, covered with flowers. “He had a heart attack last week,” the hero said, and then they started crying.
And things really should have been different now; but apparently things weren’t different enough, because all it took was one look at their former friend’s face and their hands twitched with the itch to reach out, to wipe the tears away, to hug, to kiss, to… to do everything they were no longer allowed to do.
Empty words of condolences tumbled over their lips before they could think of anything better to say. Yet, somehow, they meant it, despite the person the hero’s father had been.
“You are kidding, right?” The hero snorted, probably in disgust. Probably thinking the villain was lying, or worse, taunting. “We both know you never liked my father.”
They cringed. “True, I can’t say I did,” they admitted and smiled as apologetically as possible, “but, in my defence, he wasn’t exactly a fan of mine either.”
“Oh, that’s quite an understatement, don’t you think?” The hero cocked an eyebrow, a tad spiteful. At least the tears had stopped. “My dad absolutely hated you.”
Hatred was still too small a word; a more fitting one would be loathing.
They chuckled helplessly.
“Yeah, he did despise me, didn’t he?” They made a show of rolling their eyes dramatically, and conjured up that special smirk their childhood friend used to love. “Remember that one time, when we tried to ‘borrow’ one of his chickens?”
A sentimental smile mellowed the hero’s face. “We stole the key to the hen cope. Everything went perfectly according to plan, and then Dad spotted us from the balcony. Just as we were about to abscond with the bird.” The hero shook their head and huffed what might have been a laugh. “God, Dad was totally furious.”
“Yeah, at me! First, he only yelled, telling me how I was such a bad influence on you” – they gave a scoff in mock incredulity, because when had they ever been the source of stupid ideas – “and then he tried to murder me!”
“No, he didn’t!” the hero protested. “He merely—" Their childhood friend bit down hard on their lip, trying to stifle a laugh that so clearly threatened to spill, and shook their head. “You’re grossly exaggerating! He only threw a couple shoes at you.”
A couple of heavy field boots that is…
“One of his damn boots hit the back of my head! You have no idea how much that hurt!” Gosh, they’d felt that bump for over a week. “Plus,” – they narrowed their eyes at the hero – “stealing the stupid chicken wasn’t even my idea. That was all on you!”
This time, the hero did laugh, and laughter certainly suited them so much better than sadness did. It transformed that tired face, softened the edges, made the hero look oh so young again. Suddenly, the hero’s face was that of a friend, that lovely voice a touch of nostalgia.
They swallowed.
What the hell were they doing?
The hero’s laughter slowly turned into a chuckle, then a good-natured hum. “That day, we were in such a hurry to get away, we forgot to close the door to the hen cope. Do you remember that? Those damn birds were suddenly all over the yard. It was quite a mess.”
Not as much of a mess as my priorities.
They pushed the thought aside and allowed themself a breathy laugh. “Yeah, of course I do! Wasn’t it such a pain to catch them afterwards?”
“It was kind of fun actually, don’t you think?” A grin tugged at their former friend’s lips – so genuine that they were sure the hero must have momentarily forgotten everything that had since happened between the two of them.
Their eyes met.
“I miss you!” the villain blurted and instantly regretted their moment of weakness. They hadn’t meant to say that. It didn’t matter that it was the truth. They shouldn’t even feel this way about the hero. Not that they could just force themself to stop caring now, but still…
The hero’s gaze was a question, a slight frown on an otherwise comically blank face. Wary eyes fixed on them in an unreadable expression, reminding them that the hero wasn’t the child they’d known inside and out ages ago.
They quickly averted their eyes and took a step back. The scrunching of the gravel shifting underneath their boots seemed oddly loud in the silence that had suddenly descended upon them.
Shit. Now they’d done it.
What had they been thinking, uttering these silly words that should never have been spoken, least of all in front of the hero? And what a stupid thing they’d said! What a ridiculous situation they’d gotten themself into! – Reminiscing on fond memories one shared with their foe? Who in their right mind would do that?!
If only the hero hadn’t looked so sad, so lonely and lost.
Like a friend in need of comfort.
Only they weren’t a friend.
This was insane. A foolish mistake.
“Please, forget I said that.” Awkwardly, they rubbed the back of their neck. “Sorry,” they mumbled, and turned to leave.
“Wait!”
A hand gripped them by the shoulder and pulled them back. They froze, too surprised perhaps to offer the appropriate resistance, as strong arms wrapped around their torso. Another moment of weakness. Yet they still hesitated, even when the hero buried their face in the crook of their neck and the familiar smell of their friend’s favourite shampoo hit them like a punch in the solar plexus.
They had to go. Another minute of this and they’d be the one to shatter.
Gentle as can be, they tried to extricate themself. “Hero, I should go.”
“Villain, please.” Their friend’s voice was barely more than a whisper as they pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to lock eyes. “I miss you too.”
They shuddered at the longing in the hero’s eyes: the raw, undisguised urgency. Their own vulnerability reflected right back at them from the depth of that gaze. They cursed the tiny smile that showed on those lovely lips, as the hero leaned further into the embrace. So close, their breaths fanned warm against each other’s skin.
The hero couldn’t do this, could they?
It wasn’t fair.
Things shouldn’t be like that between them.
“You’re not thinking straight,” they tried weakly. And they weren’t thinking straight either, were they? “You’ll regret this.”
Please stop.
But the hero only shook their head lightly with that same fond smile they’d always worn whenever they’d successfully wrapped the villain around their little finger. The hero wasn’t going to let this go. The hero likely knew it, had probably always known it: even after all those years, the villain was still the same.
Soft-hearted and tender.
So easy to take advantage of.
“I don’t care,” the hero promised and stole what would be the first of many kisses.
FORMERLY KNOWN AS SNIPPET#4.
I wasn’t satisfied with this version, since it contains head-hopping and ambiguous pov. So, I wrote two new improved versions of this scene.
[hero version] [villain version]
“Who died?” A familiar voice asked from behind them.
The hero whirled around, their stomach tying itself into a knot. Today wasn’t the day they’d wanted to face the other. Not here of all places, and certainly not now! They swallowed the lump in their throat and clenched their fists in preparation for the fight that should have followed.
The villain, however, raised their hands in a placating gesture. “Easy!” They said. “I didn’t come to pick a fight with you. Not on a graveyard. I can see absolutely no merit in disrespecting the dead. Seems distasteful, no?”
Slowly, the hero allowed their shoulders to relax. “Ah, right.” They mumbled and lowered their eyes.
“Who died?” The villain repeated, softer this time.
They quietly regarded the hero. Careful and hesitant, almost as if the other was a fragile thing. And maybe they were. They’d known them forever, and yet the villain had never seen the hero like this before. Their childhood friend’s eyes looked red and puffy on that too pale face. They must have been crying a lot.
The villain knew they shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t care. They weren’t friends anymore.
Things were different now.
Things should have been different now.
The hero’s gaze shifted to a fresh grave a few metres behind them, covered with flowers left by people who’d attended the funeral earlier that day. They couldn’t help but wonder whether those were truly meant as gifts for the deceased, or rather a vain attempt at cheering up those left behind.
“My dad.” The hero murmured. “He had a heart attack last week.” They almost choked on the words and had to fight back new tears.
It was a losing battle.
How a few more tears now could feel that shameful a defeat, the hero couldn’t fathom. It seemed odd, considering the many other times the villain had seen them during their most vulnerable moments. On countless occasions, the other had comforted the hero, when they’d been bawling their eyes out over some idiotic things that all seemed so trivial now.
There probably wasn’t a single person they had cried in front of more often.
But somehow that made it so much worse.
“I’m sorry to hear it.” The villain said politely, a sad little frown on their face. “You have my condolences.”
Well, if that didn’t sound petty and hollow...
A few more empty phrases to be added to all those they’d already heard today.
The hero snorted mirthlessly. “You are kidding, right?” They shot the other a critical look. A hint of a dare had crept into their voice. “We both know you never liked my father.”
The villain grimaced. “True, I can’t say I did.” They admitted and smiled apologetically. “But, in my defence, he wasn’t exactly a fan of mine either.”
“Oh, that’s quite an understatement, don’t you think?” The hero remarked coldly and cocked an eyebrow. “My dad absolutely hated you.”
Quite unexpectedly, their childhood friend chuckled. The familiar sound made the hero’s heart lurch. It took them a moment to reign in their emotions and clear their head.
This person in front of them wasn’t their friend.
Not anymore.
And yet the villain still possessed that mellow smile and those cute dimples that formed on their cheeks, which the hero used to find so adorable.
“Yeah, he did despise me, didn’t he?” The villain made a show of rolling their eyes dramatically. A wry smirk spread on their face. “Remember that one time, when we tried to ‘borrow’ one of his chickens?”
As if the hero would ever be able to forget that…
A sentimental smile appeared on their face. “We stole the key to the hen cope. Everything went perfectly according to plan, and then Dad spotted us from the balcony. Just as we were about to abscond with the bird.” They shook their head and huffed what might have been a laugh. “God, Dad was totally furious.”
The villain snorted. “Yeah, at me! First he only yelled, telling me how I was such a bad influence on you,” They met the other’s gaze with an expression of mock incredulity. “And then he tried to murder me!”
“No, he didn’t! He merely-“ The hero bit down hard on their lip, trying to stifle the laugh threatening to spill. This wasn’t funny. Or at least it shouldn’t be. They shouldn’t even have a conversation like this, let alone enjoy the villain’s weird antics!
They shook their head. “You’re grossly exaggerating! He only threw a couple shoes at you.”
“One of his damn boots hit the back of my head! You have no idea how much that hurt!” The villain complained indignantly, crossing their arms in front of their chest. “Plus, stealing the stupid chicken wasn’t even my idea. That was all on you!”
The hero couldn’t argue that point. It had indeed been their idea. Just like pretty much all of the other terrible ideas that had ever landed the two of them in trouble.
Okay, they had to admit, this was funny. A little bit.
The villain couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride at finally getting the hero to laugh sincerely. Laughter certainly suited the other so much better than sadness did. It transformed their tired face, softened the edges, made them look oh so young again.
And just like that, their face was that of a friend, their voice a touch of nostalgia. The villain swallowed.
The hero’s laughter slowly turned into a chuckle. Then they hummed good-naturedly. “That day, we were in such a hurry to get away, we forgot to close the door to the hen cope. Do you remember that? Those damn birds were suddenly all over the yard. It was quite a mess.”
Not as much of a mess as my priorities apparently, the villain thought wryly. They allowed themself a breathy laugh. “Yeah, of course I do! Wasn’t it such a pain to catch them afterwards?”
“It was kind of fun actually, don’t you think?”
A grin tugged at the hero’s lips. So genuine that the villain was sure the other must have momentarily forgotten everything that had since happened between them.
Their eyes suddenly met.
“I miss you!” The villain blurted and instantly regretted their moment of weakness. They hadn’t meant to say that. It didn’t matter that it was the truth. They shouldn’t even feel this way about the hero. Not that they could just force themself to stop caring now, but still…
The hero’s gaze was a question. Their eyes fixed on the villain in an unreadable expression, a slight frown on an otherwise comically blank face.
The villain quickly averted their eyes and took a step back. The scrunching sound made by the gravel shifting under their boots seemed oddly loud in the silence that had suddenly descended upon them.
Shit.
Now they’d done it. What had they been thinking, uttering these silly words that should never have been spoken, least of all in front of the hero? And what a stupid thing they’d said! What a ridiculous situation they’d gotten themself into! Reminiscing on fond memories one shared with their foe? Who in their right mind would do that?!
If only the hero hadn’t looked so sad, so lonely and lost.
Like a friend in need.
Only they weren’t a friend.
This was insane. A foolish mistake.
“Please, forget I said that.” Awkwardly, the villain rubbed the back of their neck. “Sorry.” They mumbled, as they turned to leave.
“Wait!”
Before the hero could take the time to think any better of it, they’d already gripped the villain’s shoulder and pulled them back. When the villain froze, too surprised to offer the appropriate resistance, the hero swiftly wrapped their arms around them, buried their face in the crook of the villain’s neck.
Neither of them moved. The hero could feel the beat of a heart against their chest, quick and excited, whose they weren’t sure.
“Hero, I should go.” The villain murmured and gently tried to push the other away.
This just wasn’t an option.
“Villain, please!” The hero’s voice was barely more than a whisper as they shifted to meet the villain’s gaze. “I miss you too.”
The villain shuddered at the longing in the other’s eyes; the raw, undisguised urgency. How they reflected the villain’s own vulnerability back at them. They cursed the tiny smile that showed on those lovely lips, as the hero leaned further into the embrace. So close, their breath fanned warm against the villain’s skin.
They couldn’t do this, could they?
It wasn’t fair.
Things shouldn’t be like that between them.
“You’re not thinking straight.” The villain tried weakly. “You’ll regret this.”
Please stop!
But the hero only shook their head lightly. They weren’t going to let this go. Because even now, after all those years, the villain was still the same. Always caring and kind toward the hero.
Soft-hearted and tender.
So easy to take advantage of.
“I don’t care.” The hero replied and stole what would be the first of many kisses.
Synopsis: you’re the protagonist, playing a game of mutual seduction with the antagonist. To kiss, or not to kiss, that is the question.
You stop in mid-motion, with your lips no more than two or three centimetres from theirs. Your breath fans warm onto their flushed skin as they look questioningly up into your eyes. They want you to kiss them. They expect you to kiss them. It’s written all over that adorable little frown of theirs.
But you won’t just hand yourself over to them on a silver platter. You’re not that cheap. And besides, you’re certainly not going to make it that easy. You won’t allow room for them to make excuses later, to tell themself you forced them and that they hadn’t actually wanted any of it.
No.
You know your own worth.
You are far too precious for that.
If they want you they’ll have to put in the necessary effort first. It has to be their choice, made of their own free will. If they want a taste of you they’ll have to claim it by themself.
They’ll have to seal this deal with their kiss.
You see the realisation gleam in the depths of those eyes they’re watching your every move with so attentively. A hint of desperation creeps into the lines on their face. Their throat bobs as they swallow, you can feel it brush against the back of your fingers.
A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you withdraw the hand that had been gently lifting their chin. They’re now free to turn their head away from you or lower it, but they do no such thing. Something in your gaze seems to be holding them in place still, even after you’ve removed the caress of your fingers.
The distance between you appears to be melting away gradually. You wonder whether they’ve noticed they’re slowly closing it. If so, they’re doing a great job at not letting it show on their face.
You can’t help but sigh as their breath starts to mingle with your own. So close you’re even breathing each other now. Traces of them are in the air all around you. The scent they carry conjures an image of an afternoon walk through the forest on a warm summer day.
Their half-opened lips tremble ever so slightly against yours. You’d think them vulnerable and on the verge of surrender, if it weren’t for that glint in their eyes, the persistent defiance underneath all that need and longing. There is a glimpse of danger lurking in the shadows, a predator.
They draw a gasp from you, running the nails of their fingers down your spine. You knew they’d try something, yet somehow this catches you by surprise anyway. Your body shudders against theirs.
Pressed flush to them now, you suddenly become keenly aware this is the closest you’ve ever been to them. The heat of their body seeps into you, seemingly unhindered by the oh so thin layers of clothing separating you from one another.
They wink at you, as if to tease you one more time. Then a simple touch of their tongue along your upper lip makes the last remnants of your self-restraint crumble as well. You lean in.
And just like that you lose yet another one of these little games.
You should have known better than to underestimate them!
Synopsis: Hero unexpectedly turns up at Villain's house, maskless and in civilian clothes, and asks for a most unusual favour.
Villain had absolutely no idea what to make of this situation. Everything about it was just too ridiculous.
First, they’d found some stranger casually standing at their front door, waiting for Villain to return from their evening walk. They’d instantly realised they knew the other from somewhere and had, after a moment of gawking at their undisguised face, recognised them as Hero clad in jeans and an ordinary ski parka.
Villain had of course half expected a bunch of police officers to show up at any second or for Hero to brandish a weapon from somewhere and attack them, only to be greeted with a smile and the friendly wave of a hand instead.
Just like that time, when Hero had offered to team up with them to defeat a third party who’d threatened both the city and Villain’s operation. Back then, they’d jumped at the chance to work together, hoping they might thereby find a clue to Hero’s private life or their weaknesses.
In hindsight, that might have been a miscalculation since it evidently cut both ways. That Hero had eventually figured out their identity came as no big surprise to Villain, considering that they’d always thought their foe resourceful and alarmingly clever, ingenious even.
They’d suspected Hero must have known for a while already, and had thus been wondering about the lack of any attempt to blackmail or arrest Villain. And yet, nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened.
Well, apart from occasionally receiving one of those odd little parcels they definitely hadn’t ordered. But Hero did have a peculiar sense of humour.
They also had a sweet tooth. And a strong liking for cinnamon-flavoured chewing gum. Lime green was their all-time favourite colour. They preferred lizards over cats or dogs, which was kind of adorable. Oh, and they mostly listened to songs from the 80s and 90s.
That amounted to all Villain had found out about them. During the long hours they’d spent scheming side-by-side, Hero had never let anything useful slip. And as their truce had come to an end, Villain had been none the wiser.
It was all the more startling to randomly see Hero reveal their face to them now, throwing that priceless advantage they’d had over Villain away so imprudently without ever having used it against them.
Utterly dumbfounded, Villain had blurted the first thing that had popped into their mind. Which happened to be “I can’t believe I finally get to see your face!” of all things, much to Hero’s obvious merriment.
The colourful array of Christmas decorations further enhanced the absurdity of the encounter. Gleaming down on them from all the windows and balconies, their light reflected as glittering rainbows on the surface of the freshly fallen snow.
Never would Villain have dreamt that they’d ever meet up with Hero like this. The two of them peacefully standing only a few metres apart, right outside of Villain’s house, attempting to conduct a civil conversation.
Just as Villain had decided that nothing would manage to surprise them anymore today, Hero had presented them with that most mind-boggling proposition. That insane, ludicrous idea of theirs.
Despite themself, Villain snorted. What was supposed to be a sneer, laden with a pinch of contempt or scorn or something along those lines, had somehow morphed into a look of genuine amusement. They couldn’t help a breathy laugh or the awkward grin spreading on their face.
“Huh? Sorry, I totally must have misheard that.” Villain lifted a gloved hand to their lips to hide that stupid smirk lingering there and glanced sheepishly up at Hero. “Almost sounded like you’d asked me out just now.”
“No, I didn’t!” Hero protested. “Not really.” They mumbled and scooped up some snow, formed a snowball and threw it at Villain who didn’t even try to dodge as it hit their shoulder.
They languidly brushed the remains off their duffle coat and quirked an eyebrow. “So, you didn’t just ask me to be your ‘holiday date’ then?” They purred and could have sworn that a faint tinge of red stole onto Hero’s cheeks.
“No,” The other repeated. “I asked you to pretend to date me. Not to go out with me for real!”
Chuckling, Villain ignored a glare directed their way or the fact that Hero was forming a new snowball, and went on teasing. “Same difference. Though you must have the wrong holiday, Hero. It’s not April Fools’ Day!” They jested.
“Just so you know,” Hero said, making their voice sound deliberately patient. “With the exception of Odessa, April Fools’ Day isn’t even a real holiday.”
In reply, Villain raised their eyebrows and tilted their head sideways. “Wow, if that isn’t fascinating.” They said sarcastically.
With a deep sigh, Hero placed their snowball on the porch landing and swiftly stooped to pick up more snow. “Villain, seriously, you should at least consider it.” They raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I’m just saying. Wouldn’t it be a good solution for everyone?”
“How on earth-” Villain scoffed and raked a hand through their hair, turning it into an unkempt mess. “What in the world would make you think that the two of us spending the holidays together with your family could somehow be ‘a good solution for everyone’?”
The remark was met with another shrug. “Well, you don’t have any family. Or friends, apparently. Wouldn’t it be nice to not spend the holidays alone?”
“Excuse me?” Villain snarled, puffing out their chest. “I do have friends!”
When Hero arched their brows unimpressed, Villain relented. “I do. They just want to spend some time with their families during the holiday season. But I can meet up with them again after New Year.”
“Right.” Hero said. “Anyway, I’ll have to both show my face at home and keep an eye on you. If you accompany me, I can do all that by myself.” They grimaced. “Otherwise I’d have to ask Vigilante to check up on you again, which I’d rather avoid, as owing them a favour is the absolute worst!”
Now, that was indeed something they could agree on! Villain shuddered thinking about their own experiences with being in Vigilante’s debt. Uh, a true nightmare! They shook their head to chase the memory away. Vigilante wasn’t the main issue here!
Villain hummed pensively to themself, pacing up and down the driveway. A most interesting thought crossed their mind. When they turned back toward Hero, they did so with a smug smile playing on their lips. “You’d really rather owe me a favour than Vigilante? Interesting! What exactly do you expect me to do for you?”
Hero’s teeth caught at their bottom lip. They gave a nervous laugh. “Honestly? Nothing much. I just need someone to show up at my parents’ place, so they’ll finally stop pestering me about meeting the partner I might have mentioned a few times before...”
Villain’s smile faltered. Suspicious, they narrowed their eyes at the other. “I don’t get you, Hero.” A deep frown creased their forehead. “Couldn’t you have asked someone else? I mean, it hardly sounds like a complicated problem and you can’t possibly be so desperate that you’d willingly show me your face.”
Slowly, Hero closed the distance between them. They sighed. “You see, not a single person knows both my hero and my civilian identity. I don’t know, guess I felt lonely?” Their voice cracked and they had to take a deep breath and clear their throat before they could proceed. “And out of all the people who I consider to be close to my hero persona, you might in all honesty be the one I trust most. Foolish, eh?”
A ghost of a smile flickered over Hero’s face, though there was a profound sadness in the lines around their eyes. The odd mix of regret and fondness on their features touched something deep inside of Villain.
All this time, they had admired Hero, although begrudgingly, for being so elusive and unparalleled and invincible! Now they had this strange sinking feeling in their stomach at the realisation that, despite the heroics, all the accomplishments, the uninterrupted winning streak, Hero was still human. Beyond anyone’s reach, and all the more lonesome because of it.
A weird silence settled around them, like the falling snow. Villain studied Hero who’d averted their gaze and affected to look busy, blowing warm air onto their chilled fingers, rubbing their hands with a concentration clearly not required for that simple a task.
The wintry night with its freezing temperatures made their breath curl from their lips in veils of mist.
Wearing civilian clothes, Hero felt like an entirely different person to Villain, unfamiliar and alien. Perhaps that was to be expected, they mused. An outsider would probably think the same thing in regard to Villain’s own private and public personae. However, hitherto it had never occurred to Villain to view them independently of one another. As two different entities, each with their own separate life.
Perhaps both Hero and Villain were someone else in the absence of masks and weapons.
Villain stared at the tiny snowman Hero had built out of different-sized snowballs. A shuddering breath came over their lips. Hero was right; it would be nice to not spend the holidays alone.
They swallowed against the lump that had suddenly appeared in their throat. “Would you maybe like to come in?” Villain offered, making a vague gesture toward the door. “We could drink a cup of tea and discuss that favour you asked?”
Hero smiled. “I might need something a bit stronger than tea.”
