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Hello. I heard you wanted ideas for a snippet so here I am.
Why not write about a supervillain inviting the hero to a dinner to a fancy restaurant. The hero would accept and he would be either dumbfounded or happy to be treated well (or any feeling you would like but something strangely positive). The supervillain would be a gentleman, the hero would be able to eat what he truly wants and not what is cheaper (broke hero perhaps?)…
I feel like I’ve been super specific already so I hope you enjoyed the prompt and if you pick this prompt, hopefully you’ll have a good time writing it.
Dinner with the Villain
This was so fancy to write lol, I love how it was more specific. I hope this is what you had in mind.
Warnings: Poor living conditions
The hero stood outside the restaurant, staring up at the glowing sign with a mix of disbelief and apprehension. Le Clair de Lune was the kind of place they’d only ever seen in movies—crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, waiters in tailored suits. Not exactly the kind of spot you’d expect to be invited to by your arch-nemesis.
But here they were, clutching the embossed invitation in their hand, the words “Join me for dinner. 8 PM sharp. No capes.” scrawled in the villain’s elegant handwriting. They’d almost thrown it away, convinced it was some kind of trap. But curiosity—and the gnawing hunger that came with living on instant noodles—had won out.
The moment they stepped inside, a waiter greeted them with a polite smile. “Ah, you must be our guest of honor. Right this way.”
The hero followed, their boots squeaking awkwardly on the polished floor. They felt out of place in their patched-up jacket and scuffed jeans, but the staff didn’t seem to notice. Or if they did, they were too professional to comment.
The villain was already seated at a table near the back, dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than the hero’s entire apartment. They looked up as the hero approached, a smirk playing on their lips.
“You came,” the villain said, their voice smooth and amused. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Yeah, well,” the hero muttered, sliding into the chair across from them. “Free food is free food.”
The villain chuckled, gesturing to the menu. “Order whatever you like. My treat.”
The hero hesitated, their eyes scanning the menu. The prices were astronomical, the kind of numbers that made their stomach twist. But the villain had said whatever you like, and the hero wasn’t about to pass up the chance to eat something that didn’t come out of a microwave.
They ordered the most expensive steak on the menu, along with a side of truffle fries and a dessert they couldn’t even pronounce. The villain raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, simply sipping their wine as the waiter took the order.
“So,” the hero said once they were alone, “what’s the catch?”
The villain tilted their head, feigning innocence. “Catch?”
“Yeah. You don’t just invite me to a fancy dinner for no reason. What’s your angle?”
The villain leaned back in their chair, their smirk widening. “Can’t a villain simply enjoy the company of their favorite adversary?”
The hero snorted. “Favorite adversary? You tried to blow up my apartment last week.”
“And yet, here you are,” the villain said, gesturing to the table. “Eating my food, drinking my wine. Clearly, you’ve forgiven me.”
“I haven’t forgiven you,” the hero shot back, though there was no real bite to their words. “I’m just… curious.”
The villain’s expression softened, just slightly. “Perhaps I’m curious too. We’re always fighting, always at each other’s throats. I thought it might be… refreshing to see what happens when we’re not.”
The hero didn’t know how to respond to that. They were saved by the arrival of their food, the aroma of perfectly cooked steak making their mouth water. They dug in without hesitation, savoring every bite. It was the best meal they’d had in years.
The villain watched them eat, their expression unreadable. “You know,” they said after a moment, “you don’t have to live like this.”
The hero paused, a forkful of steak halfway to their mouth. “Like what?”
“Like you’re always one paycheck away from disaster,” the villain said, their voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re a hero. You save lives. And yet, you can’t even afford a decent meal. It’s… tragic.”
The hero set their fork down, their appetite suddenly gone. “What are you saying?”
The villain leaned forward, their eyes gleaming. “I’m saying you deserve better. And maybe… I can help with that.”
The hero stared at them, their mind racing. This had to be a trick. Some kind of manipulation. But the villain’s expression was sincere, their offer genuine. And for the first time, the hero wondered if maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have to do this alone.
“Why?” they asked finally. “Why would you help me?”
The villain smiled, a rare, genuine smile. “Because even villains have their soft spots. And because… I think you’re worth it.”
The hero didn’t know what to say to that. So they didn’t say anything. They just picked up their fork and kept eating, the weight of the villain’s words settling over them like a warm blanket.
For the first time in a long time, they felt… hopeful.
Masterlist
The villain sprawled languid, more somber than usual, on the rooftop of a towering business building. Their head rested on the wall leading to the stairwell, legs dangling precariously over the edge. Staring down at the street with an intent that made hero's blood run cold.
"V-villain," Hero murmured with some measure of trepidation.
Villain leaned back, gazed at the hero from upside down, and smiled slow.
"Hero! How on earth did you find me?"
"I'll tell you i-if you come down," Hero said with a note of urgency.
"And why would I do that? I can hear you perfectly fine up here!"
"P-please come down."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me," the villain said, tapping them teasingly. "Scared of heights? Or think I have something up my sleeve?"
"I know you saw what the mayor said," Hero said. "I... I don't even know where to begin."
"So don't," Villain said. "After all, you agree with him, don't you? You just stood there and let him say everything. Of course you'll deny it and feign being neutral--"
"No, that's not--"
"Because that's so much less messy, isn't it?"
"I--"
"Listen, sit back, grab some popcorn, and I'll make a show of it just for you." They stood, one foot on the edge, one arm holding a pole as they dangled over the rooftop edge. "Your life will be sooo much better if I just--"
"VILLAIN!" Hero yelled. They climbed up and grabbed for their collar, but Villain dodged, spinning gracefully to the other side of the pole. Hero lost their balance, and Villain grabbed at their collar to steady them. "Careful, darling, we're high, high up. You don't want an accident, do you?"
"V-villain, please--"
"Aren't you afraid I'll push you?" Villain said. "Poor, sweet, trusting thing."
Hero sucked in a breath. Looked down below. That was a mistake.
"Villain, please, get down from here," they pleaded. "Please, I need you, please--"
Villain sneered. "You need me? What sentimental hogwash are you spewing now? You've never needed someone like me. Besides, you should worry more about yourself." Villain gripped their collar tightly, eyes wide with a hungry sort of malice. "Aren't you letting your guard down too much?"
With a yank, they swung Hero over the edge, toes barely holding the rooftop's edge.
Hero SCREAMED, panted, scrambling for as much purchase as possible.
"You're pathetic," Villain said. "Weak and trusting and SO easy to manipulate. A good little puppet for the mayor up until now."
"VILLAIN--" Hero screeched, voice cracking.
"But now I hold the strings," Villain said. "And it's time to make you dance."
They shoved Hero's feet off the edge. Kicking air. Crying. "Please please PLEASE--"
"Say it. Say I'm a monster, you COWARD. A filthy creature that needs to be eradicated--"
"V-villain--"
"An infestation on an otherwise fine society--"
"VILLAIN, NO--"
"You coward," Villain spat. "Say it to my face."
"Y-you're not."
"Liar. I'm a monster. Say it."
Tears fell from Hero's face.
"N-no. You're right. I'm a coward."
Silence.
Villain drew them back to the ledge.
"The m-mayor... Is the monster. I s-shouldn't have let it get this bad. We can't let him keep on like this."
There was that same somber look on the villain's face.
"I-I should have stood up to him," Hero sobbed. "I-if you... J-jump... It would end me." They hiccuped and buried their face in their hands. "I... I c-can't... I..."
"Hey, uh..." Villain gripped their shoulders. "Let's get down... Okay?"
"I'm a coward," Hero sobbed. "All this time... I just kept quiet... And for what? I almost lost you."
Villain patted their shoulder gently.
Hero looked up at them with watery eyes.
"I... I care about you. You're so used to being the villain you can't picture anything else."
"Heh." Villain shook their head. Put some distance between them, back turned. "You martyr. I just threatened your life."
"They're calling for your blood and disrespecting your life's work, and I stood by and let them. I betrayed you."
"It... Hurt," Villain said, hugging themselves. Head hung. "More than I care to admit."
"I'll make it right," Hero said. "Most don't see it, but your motives are good. I'll make them see it."
"I'm a villain, darling," Villain said with a sad smile. "My motives hardly matter."
Hero closed the distance and laid a gentle hand on their arm.
"They matter to me."
Inspired by the song version Minor Key All I Want For Christmas is You - Kurt Hugo Schneider with original characters (no names, I'm allergic apparently).
CW: Kidnapping, gun violence
Red and green lights blinked through the window blinds. Christmas music echoed from the street below. Gloved and shaking hands pulled red yarn from tack to tack. Photographs, sticky notes, news articles, emails.
The detective stared. Head pounding. Swigged the cold and bitter coffee. Jittery. Cold.
A month. It'd been more than a month since the thief's last known activity.
It just didn't make sense.
"Where are you," he whispered.
It wasn't like they owed him anything. Not the little gifts they would leave after a heist, nor the postcards mocking him for being one step behind.
Not the flirtatious moments that just… Refused to leave his mind.
They'd given him a souvenir of the last heist, just before disappearing. A thick and heavy gear, uniquely shaped, wrapped in a box. He'd shoved it into his bottom drawer with the other odds and ends the thief brought them.
He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It meant nothing, he tried to tell himself. No news was good news, right? The thief was lying low after kicking the hornet's nest.
It had only been a month. They'd turn up. They always do.
Yet the hours ate away at him. They'd… Promised to stop by on Christmas Eve. Rookie mistake. Never trust a con artist to follow through on their honeyed promises.
Yet…
The thief's last target had been none other than a mob boss. They'd been missing since shortly after the heist.
If… If the detective could find some sign, some single shred of evidence they were okay, that they were safe, he could sleep.
He tried not to think the worst.
He took a shaky breath.
He couldn't sleep. Couldn't focus. Couldn't function.
Time to call on an old family… 'friend'.
Hopefully she was in a good mood.
He pushed through the cold and crowded streets. He went down a much quieter alley to a door with a small and faded sign.
The door to the shop jangled.
"Hey! Look who the rat dragged in," the shopkeep rasped. She hacked a cough and limped over to him.
"C'mere, you!"
She pulled him into a back-cracking hug.
"Ohh! Merry Christmas, sugar plum! I haven't seen you since, what? Last year? You look thin. Have a cookie."
The detective shook his head. "I just need some information, then I'll be out of your hair."
The shopkeep pursed her lips.
"Oh. I see. I'd hate to keep you, mister important detective man. No time to visit your auntie anymore. Not even on Christmas."
"You shot at me last time."
"Warning shots. Ought to teach you not to stick your nose where it don't belong."
"…Yeah." The detective sighed heavy. "I… Speaking of that." He withdrew a photograph and slid it to her. "Recognize this face?"
The shopkeep squinted. "Oh, yeah, that thief character. Stole my favorite mug. Little beagle on the front. Said 'You're the Doggon Best' on it."
Oh. The thief gave him that mug. He used it every day.
He shifted his gaze awkwardly, opening the door to a grandfather clock pendulum.
"Have you seen anything of them recently?" He asked.
"I heard they're not going to be a problem anymore," the shopkeep sniffed. "Quit fiddling with that old clock. You'll break it."
An old and matted cat mewled and stretched, and she scratched his head. "Does Mr. Biscuits want his num nums?" She cooed.
"What does that mean," the detective hissed, stepping between the shopkeep and her cat. "What do you mean, they're not a problem anymore?"
"You get between me and Mr. Biscuits, and we'll have ourselves a problem," the shopkeep growled, pushing past them. "Your friend messed with the wrong people. Forget about them."
"You know something," the detective demanded. "That mob boss has them, right? Where are they?"
"Dead," she rasped. "Dead, as far as you're concerned."
The detective sucked in a breath.
He leaned against the glass display for support.
No. No, they couldn't be dead. If the item the thief stole was worth their life, they wouldn't do away with them until they found said item. They were currently worth more alive.
"I don't believe it. Tell me your sources"
"I don't owe you that. Believe what you want."
"Where…" The detective pulled out a notepad. "Where is the boss's last known location?"
The shopkeep's eyes went wide, nostrils flared.
"No. You're looking for a fool's end, and I want no part in it," she said, walking by and pulling him by the sleeve.
"Take this cookie and get out, you fool boy." The shopkeep pushed a gingerbread into his hands and shoved him out the door.
The streets were colder as the night grew darker. Crowds thinned and the festive lights went out. The detective found a bench to sink into.
Something began to build in his chest. A cold, sad laugh.
He was laughing.
Crying.
God, he needed to get ahold of himself.
"Hey, uh," a voice caught his attention.
The detective hastily scrubbed away his tears.
"Heard you're looking for a friend," the gaunt figure grunted. "I can help."
Their eyes flicked to the cookie, and they swallowed. "For a price."
The detective held out the cookie for them. They blinked wide-eyed, then snatched and scarfed it down. A moan of satisfaction.
"The mob boss is hosting the Christmas party in their cabin." They smacked their lips. "That's just outside of the abandoned diner, cut right after the old winery. You'll find an unmarked path with a fork, go left. Tell em you're making a delivery."
They shoved a package in his hands. Cookies.
"I can't trust myself with 'em." The stranger grinned crookedly. "God, I've been so tempted for a nibble all day. Fresh baked this morning. A special something in the butter. God, just smell that." He sniffed the box deeply. "Tell em Ol' Shakylegs sent you if they ask."
The detective reached the address long after dark. Vehicles parked back to back all the way down the driveway and across the lawn. Anyone parked farther in was stuck. What a nightmare. He parked his motorbike close to the side.
There was a side entrance where staff went in and out. He made his way over and an event planner all but snatched the parcel away.
"You're late," they barked.
"Apologies," the detective said.
"Well? Move it! Clear out!"
"Where's the restroom?"
The planner scoffed. "Second door on your right. There's a line."
The detective nodded. Then went left, towards the party. He slipped into the crowd, eyes darting around for familiar faces.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
"You're not supposed to be here," a hefty man grunted. "Party guests only."
"I'm a detective, and I found something of interest for your boss," the detective said. He handed a photograph of the gear the thief had left them.
"This looks like junk." The man held the photograph. Squinted. "Stay right here."
The detective peered around the room. Suspicious eyes flicked back. He recognized some. Some recognized him. He waved and forced a smile.
The man returned. "Come with me," he said. He grabbed the detective by the shoulder in an iron grip and pushed him through the murmuring crowd.
He reached a private study and shoved the detective inside. A few more men blocked the door.
"I'm told you have something of mine, detective," the mob boss said, tapping the photograph of the gear. "A Christmas gift, perhaps? This isn't extortion. You're much too smart."
"I need the whereabouts of a certain thief," the detective said. "Tell me where they are, and I'll wrap that gear in a pretty little bow for you before Santa comes to town."
The boss tapped his desk. "I need the blueprints, too."
"Only they have that information." The detective wet his lips. "I can get them to talk. Let me see them."
"Afraid that's not how this is going down." The boss made a gesture and one of the grunts pulled the detective to his knees, gun barrel digging into his temple. "You bring me the gear and the blueprints or my boy's'll make like Picasso with your brains."
Silencer. Plastic wrap on the floors and furniture. Fridge-sized gift box. He wasn't joking.
"Replicating the gear will take years," the detective said, voice stronger than he felt. "You need it now. Let's be reasonable here. Only I know where it's hidden. Blueprints won't help if you don't have all the pieces."
The boss stepped around the desk like a panther stalking for the kill. He looked down at the prone man with a bloodthirsty glint in his eye.
"Do you have family, detective?" The boss asked. "You look like a family man. You have a wife? Husband?"
The detective sucked in a breath.
"No." He looked down. "No, I have no one."
"No." The boss patted his cheek. "No, of course not. You don't know what it takes to raise a family. A happy family. What the cost is."
He gripped the detective's hair and forced him to meet his eyes.
"You get between me and my livelihood, you threaten my family. Understand? You come to me the day before Christmas and you threaten my livelihood with my family just outside--"
"Tell me they're alive," the detective pleaded. "Tell me they're alive. Give me some proof they're alive. Or…"
He took a shaking breath. "Or I won't care what you do to me."
There was a shift. The boss released his grip.
"You care for them," the boss whispered in revelation.
The detective's throat bobbed.
"You came for them… Because you have feelings for them."
"They're all I have," the detective whispered.
"That's why you have the gear," the boss said, everything clicking into place. "They care for you, too."
A pang in the detective's heart. Did they?… They never really confirmed-…
"Bag him. Take him to the basement," the boss said. "I'll deal with him later."
The detective yanked himself out of the grunt's grip and dodged a swing to the back of his head. One hit the other. The boss shot at him, missed and hit the second grunt. The detective grabbed a bottle of brandy and broke it, and held the broken glass to the mob boss's neck. A bead of blood trickled from where he pressed too hard.
"I will destroy you," the mob boss hissed. "I will destroy everything you love."
"You have MORE TO LOSE," the detective roared. "You have a family? I have one person. ONE PERSON I CARE ABOUT! WHAT ELSE CAN YOU TAKE?! TRY ME!!!"
He grabbed at the boss's wrist and bit into it until he released the gun. The boss wailed.
"YOU'RE INSANE!" He screeched.
"Tell me where they are," the detective said. "Tell me where they are now."
"In the abandoned warehouse near the pier," the mob boss said. "But you will never--"
Grunts stormed in from outside. They trained their guns on him.
The detective aimed the gun towards the ceiling, and shot the light. He ducked and rolled in the ensuing chaos.
"He's escaping! Get him! GET HIM, YOU IDIOTS!"
The detective burst into the room filled with festivities and barreled through the back entrance.
"Grab him! SOMEONE GRAB HIM!"
The detective pushed a chocolate fountain over. The grunts skidded and fell behind him.
Shots fired. The staff hit the floor.
Glass shattered. A bullet grazed the detective's side. He ran out the back and mounted the motorbike.
Too many cars parked. The grunts scattered in panic, trying to work a car free.
Precious time lost for them. The detective chuckled. That was a lesson in crowd management.
It was well after midnight when he reached the pier. Someone must've phoned he was coming. Grunts all around the perimeter.
They didn't expect him to be so brazen.
He barreled through a crowd of grunts who dove away with a cry. He shot at the deadbolt, but it held firm. A waste of bullets, a waste of time.
Something hit the back of his head.
The detective came to with a bag over his head. Hands tied behind his back, feet tied to a chair.
"Detective? You awake?"
His heart fluttered.
The thief's voice.
"I… It's you," the detective was overcome with emotion. "I heard you were dead."
"You came looking for me anyway?" The thief huffed. "You… Why would you do that? For me?"
"No, I was just looking for my wallet," the detective said. "You stole it again, remember?"
Laughter. "Lot of trouble for a wallet," the thief said. "You know you can request new cards--"
The detective drew in a sharp breath.
"What? What is it?" The thief sounded worried. "Did they hurt you? What?"
"N-nothing," the detective said, voice rough. "I…"
Thought I'd never see you again, he couldn't say.
"Merry Christmas," he said instead.
The thief snorted. "Yeah. Merry Christmas."
A click.
"Touching reunion," the mob boss said. "You two seem close. Let's test that relationship."
Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁
“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.
“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”
The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.
They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.
“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”
“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”
An awkward pause follows.
They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.
They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.
Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.
“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”
The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.
“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.
The villain raises a brow.
“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”
“Yet you are working.”
“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”
The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”
“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.
“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”
They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.
“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”
“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.
“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”
Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.
There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.
Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.
What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?
Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...
They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.
“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.
“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”
He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.
The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.
Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.
“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”
He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.
Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.
It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.
Has anyone ever really seen them before?
Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.
They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.
There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.
They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.
They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.
They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.
They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.
Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.
Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.
Well, look at them now!
Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?
Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.
They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.
They’re drifting. Until they’re not.
It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.
“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.
They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”
“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”
“I didn’t.”
That startles a short laugh out of him.
“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”
“That sounds ... unhealthy.”
There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.
“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”
The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”
They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.
“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.
“Would you like me to kiss you?”
“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”
“It’s not a no either.”
“Not how consent works, darling.”
They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”
The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.
“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.
The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.
“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”
Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.
If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:
First to be seduced by a supervillain.
A Very Special Lighting
The hero awoke with a groan. Their head was pounding, their body was freezing, and something was very, very wrong.
The first thing they noticed was an offensively loud countdown from what sounded like a cacophony of voices.
They(?) yelled excitedly, “THREE!…TWO!…”
The second thing that they noticed was that they were not horizontal—how one would typically wake up in the morning. Instead, they were vertical, and something was now insultingly bright for what they presumed to be dawn.
“ONE!!!”
Roaring cheers followed closely with the end of the suspicious countdown. Hero had barely had time to consider covering their ears before another one of their senses was assaulted, this time by the onslaught of light. They automatically blinked the blurs out of their eyes and were met with starbursts of twinkling yellow.
Were those…Christmas lights?
All their limbs were lost in the glow. They tried to move but found that they couldn’t. With what little sensation they held, they surmised there were some kind of restraints keeping their legs and arms spread like a starfish.
No, not a starfish.
A star.
Below them laid hundreds of green branches that stretched out to the edges of the square in the city’s center. Hundreds more dots (people?) lined around the ginormous skirt.
They were stuck on top of a giant Christmas tree.
And, if they weren’t mistaken,…they were the topper.
As if their day(…night?) couldn’t get any better, one aforementioned dot started to enlarge, making the flight up several stories to their level. They groaned in realization as the figure approached.
Hero only knew one dastardly mastermind who could fly.
Villain stopped to float only a few feet in front of them, greeting gleefully, “Hero! I’m so glad you could make it to the lighting ceremony! This is a very special day for lots of children, you know.”
Hero gaped, though they doubted their face could be seen with the intensity of the light source behind and around them.
Since when did Villain care about children?
And more importantly, since when did Villain have a beard?!
Fluffy white hair flowed down from their chin, and it took Hero a moment to connect the cherry red suit and matching floppy hat, not to mention the extra padding surrounding their midsection that looked far too impractical to be used as protection in a fight.
Villain was dressed as Santa.
Villain was dressed as Santa.
Their head pulsed again with pain. Feelings of confliction flooded their thoughts as they watched the joy swim below them.
They knew they should be focusing on taking down Villain but…would that…(and they couldn’t believe they were thinking this) ruin it?
They asked the only question they could think of, muttering the words through ridiculously chapped lips and chattering teeth, “What- what time is it?”
“Midnight, silly!”
Right. They were supposed to be watching this on TV right now, from the warmth of their heated blanket with a homemade mug of hot chocolate. As much as they would have loved to participate in the ceremony, this was…definitely not what they would have had in mind. A plan of their own would have involved a lot more marshmallows, and a lot less Villain.
“Are you…gonna let me down?”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember seeing that particular request on your Christmas list. Send me another letter, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Villain bellowed a rolling laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a classic ‘ho-ho-ho’. Before Hero could even begin to think of a retort to what they had suggested, Villain was already moving far enough away for them to deem the effort futile.
A bewildered Hero could only watch as they took off, having mounted a sled-looking contraption that they carried with them into the sky, led by several floating deer-looking animals, the nose of one of which was adorned with a small glowing red dot. The unmistakable sound of jingling bells followed.
Villain exclaimed merrily as they flew away into the night, “Merry Christmas, City!”
Apparently, even villains could enjoy the holidays.
Though, if you asked Hero, Villain was enjoying this one a little too much.
Not many villains are brave enough—or stupid enough—to come straight through the front doors of the agency, so the agency never thought to put up anything more secure than a barrier for heroes to scan through on their way in.
The villain saunters in, hops straight over the barrier, and loudly demands, “Which of you assholes is meant to be [Hero]’s boss?”
The heroes leap on them, of course, and twenty against one is barely a fight. The hero’s boss, it turns out, is just the guy they wanted to see anyway.
“Why are you just strolling through my agency?” the superhero asks incredulously.
“Someone's clearly dramatised my entrance. I didn’t get past reception,” the villain corrects with a scowl. “And it’s not my fault you lot have the same amount of security as a train station. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to tear you a new one.”
The hero standing behind them makes a noise dangerously resembling laugh. Even the superhero quirks an eyebrow disbelievingly. The villain is sitting in his office in cuffs, sure, but this is only the beginning of what will be an ass kicking.
“You villains are so violent.” The superhero tuts, opening a tin box next to him with a shake of his head. “Has anything happened to warrant this so-called new one tearing, or is this just routine?”
“I’m glad you asked. Did you not notice [Hero] was missing?”
“Oh, yeah I did.” A biscuit comes out of the tin and promptly disappears into the superhero’s mouth. “Are they with you then?”
The disgusted silence the villain leaves is a second too long. “… Yes.”
The superhero nods mindlessly. “Cool.”
This silence is even longer. The villain can hear the hero behind them shuffle awkwardly. “You don’t care,” they say flatly.
“[Hero]’s a rookie,” the superhero offers with a shrug. “Catch one of my best, and I’ll consider coming to visit sometime. I don’t send rescue parties for just anyone.”
The villain can only stare at him in disbelief as he nonchalantly fishes about for another biscuit. Villains would never do that. Villains leave no man behind. The idea that they could be trapped somewhere, in enemy territory, with no promise of at least someone coming for them, is a horror enough to haunt their nightmares.
The villain really thought they’d done something when they’d managed to catch the hero. The hero was scared, of course, but the villain had put that down to the usual. A hero in a villain’s grasp won’t be without injury for long. But the hero had had a certain defeated look in their eye as well, and it’s only now that the villain is realising that that was probably because someone like them disappearing into a villain’s lair means they aren’t getting out.
The cuffs rattle slightly, and the villain heaves a deep breath to stop their hands from shaking. “I've heard them crying every night, knowing you’re not coming for them,” they snap coldly. “You’re heartless.”
The superhero can just about be bothered to meet their eye for a second before his interest diverts back to the food in his hand. “You don’t become a superhero by loving everyone, [Villain]. Do we have a cell set up?”
The hero behind the villain clears their throat. “We do.”
The superhero waves them off, and that’s the end of the conversation. The hero shoves the villain into a cell, and several hours later finds the back of that cell blown clean out with the villain’s friends at the detonator.
The villain never had a doubt they would be set free—they always are. Villains may not be looked upon favourably, but having a posse of like-minded outcasts can make some real ride-or-dies.
-
The hero wipes their eyes when they hear the door at the end of the corridor opening, rubbing their sleeve against their nose in an attempt to look a little less pathetic. They glance up to realise it’s not just the villain, but several of their friends too, all watching them with curiosity. Their stomach drops.
“You got it bad, huh?” the villain says lightly.
The hero doesn’t know what to say to that. They turn their gaze down at their hands to avoid everyone’s burning stares.
There’s a heavy clunk, and out the corner of their eye they can see the cell door swinging open. The villain shoots them a smile as they look up confusedly.
“We were wondering if you’d like to come with us,” the villain continues. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay in here, in the cold and the damp, like a hero. But, y’know…”
The villain shrugs. “We don’t leave people behind, I’ll say that much.”
A hero should never consider an offer from a villain. It’s a trap, the superhero always said. It’s common sense, it’s the right thing to do, it’s what a hero would do.
They didn’t think heroes were left at the mercy of their enemies by their own either, but here they are.
The hero wipes at their face again and clears their throat, painfully aware of how much they’ve been crying. “Um,” they say, their voice a horrible rasp. “O-Okay.”
They all cheer as the villain reaches in to pull them out. Someone hands them a thick jacket. “Put it on,” someone else says. “You’re in the gang now!”
It almost feels like they’re happy to see the hero as one of them. It’s a new feeling, and one the hero finds they like.
The hero lay on the floor curled in on themselves, willing the pain to go away. The creaking and clinking from the other room told them the villain was rooting around in their stuff again.
"Ugh… Villain?" They called.
Silence.
"Villain, I know you're out there."
They groaned and tried to stand. Not a good idea.
"Villain, if you're out there, bring me my meds, will you? They're on the counter?"
A pause in the shuffling. Footsteps.
A pill bottle hit their face.
"Ow!"
The villain retreated.
Silence.
The hero shakily lifted the pills to their lips.
The villain returned with a bag of bread and a bottle of water.
The hero looked up at them questioningly.
"You're not supposed to take that on an empty stomach," the villain said simply.
"Who eats bread from the bag?" The hero grumbled, but they pulled out a piece to nibble on anyway.
"You're lucky it's not poisoned," the villain replied.
"Am I?" The hero groaned.
"Lot of pain, huh?"
"…Yeah."
The villain knelt down in front of them. "Good."
The hero glared up at them. "Any chance of giving me a break today?"
The villain snatched the half-eaten bread and bit into it greedily. "I think you forgot we're enemies."
The hero laid back down. "Yeah, okay."
Uncomfortable silence.
"So, uh, this normal for you?" The villain tried. "You look a little… Not good."
"I'm kicking your butt so hard when these pills kick in," the hero grumbled. "Can you at least get back to looting my house?"
"I mean, I could kidnap you right now," The villain said. "You're at your most vulnerable."
The hero threw the bread at them. "Just because I'm not up to fighting you doesn't mean I'm helpless."
The bag hit the villain's foot. They gave the hero a deadpan stare.
"I'll bite your ankles," the hero tried.
Then the villain kidnapped them, and they went to Urgent Care together.
Part 1
The hunter approached the end of a misty alley, following little red droplets that led behind a derelict building. Crawling away in the dark was the wounded vampire, tired and worn.
“Ah... My faithless little hunter,” the vampire rasped. “What circumstances to be reunited. You appear stronger since last we met."
“I am,” the hunter agreed. They closed the space between them, looming over the fallen vampire.
"It seems faith is no longer a... necessary shield," the vampire murmured. "And yet, you kept the bauble, I've noticed."
“I saw what you did." The hunter tucked the bauble away from view. “Attacking the Guild leader in plain view. Very bold.”
"Well deserved."
"A foolish target, in any case."
The vampire laughed, then coughed at the effort. “Why the... Pleasantries? Savoring your victory?”
The hunter knelt. "The entire Guild is after you."
The vampire grimaced. "It seems you shouldn't stall, then. Others may take your prey."
"They won't," the hunter said. They brought out a dagger.
The vampire stared, and a very human fear flitted across their face.
"I've reached the end of the road," the vampire conceded. "I won't claim to embrace death, but I'd rather it be you."
The hunter tilted their head. "How unlike you to give up."
"I've carried out my vengeance." The vampire tilted back their head. "Now satisfy yours."
"I had a different plan," the hunter said. They nicked the end of their thumb with the dagger's edge, and pressed it to the vampire's lips.
Wonder. Confusion. "You've truly lost me," the vampire whispered. "You're doing this... To what end?"
"Paying what is owed. Stop asking questions."
"You're playing with fire." The vampire's voice was low with hunger. "Offering your blood to one such as I. It seems you haven't shaken your wish for death."
"I've spilled more blood while training," the hunter scoffed.
"And if I forget myself?" The vampire whispered. "What then?"
"You're in no position to worry about that," the hunter said. "Drink."
With little other option, the vampire accepted the tithe of blood. Their cheeks flushed, and their wounds closed with unnatural speed.
"That should suffice." The vampire licked their lips and pulled away. "Thank--"
"I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing." The hunter stood and backed away, eager to put distance between them. "We are not friends."
"Then, what are we?" The vampire gazed up at them, strangely vulnerable.
The hunter avoided their eyes. "Follow the path down to the ravine. If you leave now, you will reach the next town by sundown."
"Hunter--"
"If I see you again," the hunter said, "I will end you."
"Ah." The vampire stood and approached the hunter.
The hunter backed away, raw with a sudden panic. "D-didn't you hear me?"
"Your hand is still bleeding."
The hunter hit wall. "Hardly."
"Let me tend to it."
The hunter reluctantly held out their hand. They took the wounded thumb and gently bandaged it. Then, boldly, they pressed a small kiss in the small of their palm.
The hunter stared, then tore their eyes away with a blush.
Shouting sounded from the end of the alleyway. The Guild hunters.
"They're here," the hunter hissed. "Go, now."
"Till we meet again," The vampire whispered. "My faithless little hunter."
And then they disappeared into the mist.
The villain found the hero stocking cans in Big Box Store.
"Is this why I haven't seen you lately?" The villain asked disappointingly.
"Heroism doesn't pay," the hero said. "My folks want me doing something more practical with my time."
The villain leaned on a shelf. "They do if you work for the Agency."
The hero grunted and plopped a particularly enormous box down. "The Agency rejected me multiple times. I have to- ugh -earn money somehow." They sliced the box open violently. "Besides, you think those hospital visits were cheap?! Move over. You're blocking the shelf."
"Wow, someone's a little grumpy," the villain said. They shifted to block the shelves even more.
The hero slammed down a can. "I told you to MOVE OVER--"
"Hero!" Someone barked.
Hero froze. The manager.
"I am deeply sorry for their behavior," the manager hurriedly said to the villain. "Hero, you do not under any circumstances raise your voice at one of our guests. That is not Big Box Store behavior. Apologize this instant or consider this your dismissal."
"Sorry," the hero mumbled.
The manager glared expectantly.
"I'm very sorry," the hero tried again. "I should not have raised my voice. It was not a reflection of Big Box Store values, and it will not happen again."
The manager gave a satisfied nod and left.
"... You think I can get them to make you kiss my shoes?" the villain snorted.
The hero launched at them.
By the time the fight was over, half the canned foods aisle was in shambles. Needless to say, the villain had their nemesis back the next day.
However, the hero started receiving a generous stipend from an anonymous benefactor, making the job search a bit less urgent...
I love love all your writing and jealous villains / possessive villains always make me kick my feet!! Can I request a hero that’s been under appreciated by the city and getting hurt / almost killed by civilians they were meant to protect? And the villain finds the aftermath? ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
"My god." The voice was strained. Familiar. Them.
It really wasn't the hero's day, was it? They released a slow, pained breath, pushing themselves gingerly off the grimy, rain-puddled street. "Enjoy the show?"
"What show? You could have taken them. You should have taken them."
The hero grunted. They straightened. They wobbled.
The villain appeared out of the shadows, at their side, in an instant. It took the hero a moment to realise that the villain had placed a steadying hand on their arm.
The villain's face was harsher in the streetlight; all firelit edges, beautifully demonic, orange pinpricks glinting almost red in their furious eyes. Rain spat down, soaking into the villain's hair and clothes. They didn't seem to care.
The hero did a double-take. The flippant comment they'd been about to make died in their mouth.
"How much did you see?" the hero asked.
The villain's jaw clenched. "I just got here."
It was an unexpected confession. On closer inspection, the rapid rise an fall of the villain's chest suggested they'd been running.
"Huh," the hero said.
The villain's gaze raked over them, taking in every bruise and scrape and bit of blood. "You didn't fight back. Why didn't you fight back? You could have pulverised them. Made them fear ever hurting someone again. That's what you do if I attacked you."
The hero shrugged, awkwardly. They eased their arm free of the villain's grip.
"That's not an answer," the villain snapped.
"I would have killed them. Normal people can't deal with my powers."
"So better to let them nearly kill you?"
The hero shrugged again. Everything ached; they weren't especially in the mood for hearing about how wrongly they'd handled getting the flying spit kicked out of them, they weren't in the mood to explain how the villain was different. Even at war, it was easier with them.
"You're in uniform," the villain said. "They knew who they attacked."
"Oh." The hero hadn't realised. The truth of it struck them like a low blow and their shoulders slumped, as if it wasn't already far too late to brace and curl into a foetal position to guard the heart of them. "Right. Yeah. Well, bold move on their part!"
They tried for chipper. They failed completely.
The whole time, they'd been so preoccupied, they'd thought the strangers had no idea. A wave of stupidity, prickling with humiliation, washed over them. Their eyes felt hot.
The hero swore under their threat.
"I'm going to kill them." Possessiveness threaded low and heated through the villain's voice.
"I don't need you to do that."
"I know. It will be my absolute pleasure." The villain grabbed the hero's arm again as the took a step and stumbled. "They shouldn't-"
The hero could feel themselves beginning to shake, a myriad emotions welling up inside them, threatening to explode, as they listened to the villain's insistence that really no one else should be allowed to touch what was theirs.
"I said, I don't fucking need you to do that."
The villain went quiet. Still.
The hero closed their eyes again, already regretting their sharpness. A treacherous tear rolled down their cheek. Christ. That was all they needed, wasn't it? Cherry, meet the top of the garbage pile. They swiped furiously at their face and didn't say sorry. They couldn't say sorry. They'd never stop, they were sure of it.
"What do you need?" the villain asked.
The hero glanced up at them, startled.
It wasn't that the possessiveness was gone from the villain's face, only that the burning of it had finally cleared enough for the hero to see what lay beneath it.
The care, the sincerity, in the villain's question felt like a knockout blow. They didn't know what to do with it. They had no armour for it, no shield.
"What do you need?" the villain asked again, softer, when the hero said nothing. Their other hand rose, cupping the hero's cheek. "You want me to get you home? Your leg's screwed. You can't walk."
"I can walk." The hero looked down at their leg. They could...well, it wouldn't be fun walking. They eyed the villain. "Seriously?"
"Well, I'd prefer to hunt the bastards down and kill them, but I also do an incredible taxi service, yeah."
"Thank you."
The villain looked almost as uncomfortable as the hero felt. They shrugged. Their jaw worked, eyes narrowing when they caught sight of the hero's injuries again. The hero could feel the villain's fingers flexing against their skin with barely leashed violence - and, yet. It was leashed.
The villain dropped their hand.
"My car is this way. Can you - can I - I can help you get there. If I'm allowed."
"You're asking permission to touch me?"
The villain glared at them.
Despite everything, the hero managed a weak smile back. "Yeah," they said. "You're allowed."
The villain nodded, wrapping an arm around the hero, before pulling them up into an unexpected bridal carry. They were strong. All lean muscle and warmth against the hero's frozen body.
"I'm going to get blood on you," the hero said.
"Because nobody has ever bled on me before ever."
The hero huffed.
They let the villain walk them out of the alleyway, brain still sluggishly working its way through all of the implications of the villain's sudden appearance.
They'd come running when - what? When they learned the hero was in trouble? When they learned that the hero wasn't fighting back to the full extent they were capable of?
Thoughts were hard and the villain's car was warm, the heating soon on full blast.
Thank you. It welled in their throat again. The hero choked on it.
They didn't think they'd ever been as well looked after as they were that week.
How the Turns Have Tabled
Hero approached the cell with all the feet-dragging reluctance of someone who was in way over their head. They dug through their pocket for the key, mumbling something about stupidity and youth mortality under their breath. A quick glance through the small window nestled in the door revealed a form unmoving laid out in the corner.
To their minor relief, it appeared their guest was still out cold.
The hinges squeaked as Hero slowly pushed open the door. They watched closely for any movement and saw none, so they continued.
Once inside, they dropped a bundle of fabric at the feet of the sleeping figure and left a plastic bottle and an aluminum package on the ground. They were back out the door quickly and the lock clicked back into place just as fast.
Hero turned away from the door and let out a quiet breath as they moved away.
A few steps in, a creak sounded from behind them.
Shit.
Hero froze, then spoke calmly into the stale air,“The exits out back.”
Lowly, a gruff voice responded, “Not that easy.”
Hero winced.
“Worth a shot.”
By the time their hand shot to their belt and they made to spin around, Villain had already closed the distance. Their knife was knocked from their hand the second it was drawn. The villain kicked it away in the same move he used to grab the hero’s wrist. Hero used their free hand to punch him in the face, landing a hard hit before Villain used his leverage to twist, forcing their arm behind their back and shoving them face-first into the wall.
Hero groaned into the cinder block, “Fuck my life.”
They would not have even realized that they had said that aloud had it not been for the confirmation of a deep but quiet chuckle.
Fingers curled lightly into their scalp as Villain spoke, “Other hand.”
Hero squeezed their eyes shut and offered up their free hand into the borderline-painful grip behind them.
“You want to tell me where the ties are?”
Hero turned their cheek against the wall so their jaw was free to move with the words.
“Second shelf from the bottom, other wall.”
They were lifted from the concrete and pulled backwards to the opposite side of the room. A plastic tie soon zipped into place, pinning their wrists together before the villain shifted his grip to their arm to lead them forward.
“In.”
They stepped through the door into the dimly-lit cell, and Hero scowled at the lock hanging broken off the latch.
“Sit,” he ordered with a shove towards where the crumpled blanket rested on the stripped down cot.
The hero stumbled but did as they were told, settling with their back against the wall and feet planted firmly on the floor.
They watched as Villain dragged in a folding chair, flipping it around in front of him to plant a leg on either side and sit backwards, conveniently blocking the doorway.
“Kidnapping, huh?” The villain begun to question, “Is that what you do now?”
Hero leveled their eyes on the blank sheet that was the adjacent wall in lieu of a response. Villain tilted his head at the silence and leveled a disappointed glare at the hero.
“Don’t make me come over there.”
At that, Hero dragged their gaze slowly to the man in the chair.
“I don’t suppose you’ll believe you walked in here of your own free will?”
“Right,” the villain leaned forward, placing his elbows on the seat back and planting his chin on his palms. “And the lock was for decoration.”
“Obviously, given how easily it broke.”
The distaste shown on the hero’s face suggested that they would be having more than a few words with Masterlock customer service.
Villain grinned almost imperceptibly.
“I must say, this is giving my style, not yours.”
“Yeah, well,” Hero bit their lip and averted their eyes again, “shit happens.”
They took the time to notice all the numerous cobwebs in the room before Villain opened his mouth again.
Oddly enough, he wasn’t moving his tongue to push for an explanation.
“You know, they say mimicry is the highest form of flattery.”
Hero, taken slightly aback, could only find the highly dignified words, “Fuck off.”
Instead of lashing out like the hero had predicted with muscles tensed, Villain simply pointed out, “You’re the one who brought me here. I think I might just stick around and find out why.”
With that, he stood. The chair slid across the floor and into the wall as he pushed off.
“It’s in your best interest to answer, so I’d suggest doing that.”
Hero did not dare take their eyes off his form as he approached. He towered over the low-lying cot, and Hero may or may not have forgotten to breathe as he leaned in.
“Or have you forgotten your position here, now?”
Hot breath warmed their ear and Hero bit their tongue.
“You thought you could lock me up?”
“I…made an error in judgment.” Hero spoke carefully, suppressing a shiver.
Another chuckle had Hero silently begging for a Time Machine. An arm was planted on either side of them, leaving them feeling like a bird in a cage, or an ant under a microscope.
“I sure hope the five minutes of success didn’t get to your head,” Villain spoke with faux pity, lips slightly pouted in obvious mockery.
“I think they took five years off my life, actually,” Hero admitted, figuring it was probably clear at this point how they felt about their decision to… well, abduct the villain.
“It sure sounds like you’ve learned your lesson, then.”
Hero almost cheered when Villain rose back to his full height, out of their immediate personal space. That was, until he continued.
“But really, it is best to be certain.”
“How, exactly, do you plan on being certain?” Hero inquired carefully, not that they really wanted to know the answer. Their heart beat a rapid warning inside of their chest.
Villain tapped his chin thoughtfully before a familiar grin spread slowly across his face.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got just the idea.”
Worrying did not even begin to cover the fear that sparked in the hero’s chest at that statement.
“Sit tight,” commanded the villain as he sauntered out the door, not bothering to replace the lock or even so much as close the door.
The hero was left to gawk at his abrupt departure from their place in the corner, unable to gracefully rise and follow him with arms stuck behind them as they were.
A few seconds passed, and they slumped as the adrenaline finally started to drain out of them.
They breathed out into the quiet air as the villain’s footsteps receded, “I am going to die so young.”
Plumes of smoke clouded the dark horizon. The smokey scent of a campfire wafted through the cold air. The villain pulled the hero close and kissed their head.
"What are we?" The hero asked softly.
"Cupid's a chaos goblin," the villain stated, skewering a marshmallow onto a tree branch. "I love you, in case you haven't noticed. What are you feeling?"
The hero smiled fondly. "I... feel the same."
"But?" The villain gazed at them. "Your tone tells me there's something else."
The hero paused, then nodded and hugged themselves.
"You love me now," they whispered. "But... You haven't seen my unloveable side."
"You know I have an unlovable side," the villain retorted around a mouthful of marshmallow. "Why are you so afraid of me seeing yours?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full," the hero scolded. "That's a choking hazard."
The villain rolled their eyes.
"I... Everyone just... Eventually..." The hero struggled to articulate their thoughts. "There's something everyone really, really hates about me. I don't know what it is."
"Well, you are dating a villain." The villain threw a marshmallow at the hero's face. "Plus, you could stand to lighten up. We started out fighting, so it can only get better from here."
The hero glowered. "Can't you take ANYTHING seriously?!"
"But you're so good at that!" The villain said. "Why would I take your job?"
The hero grabbed the marshmallow bag and threw a handful at them. "What is WRONG WITH YOU?!"
The villain shook off the marshmallows. "I don't know, but I'm shocked every day you put up with me."
The hero's groaned and buried their face in their hands.
The villain reached out and gently touched their shoulder. "...and it makes me want to be a better person. You make me better."
The hero's expression softened, and they kissed the hand on their shoulder. "You make me better, too."
"I'll try to get better at... This." The villain gestured between them vaguely. "Maybe... Maybe you can try to have faith I won't just walk away from you. Not without a proper conversation."
"Deal," the hero said, and rested a head on the other's shoulder.
The villain pet their head gently, then reached stealthily for a fallen marshmallow.
"You're not eating those marshmallows off the ground," the hero said, eyes closed.
"Oh, come on--"
Too Many Beds
(Reverse Trope: Too many beds, as seen on @out-of-jams )
Context: Hero and Villain forced to work together and need a place to stay for the night
Hero had been sent back to the car to gather their things while Villain booked them rooms for the night. Refusing to use a readily available luggage cart, Hero pridefully piled several bags across their body. They held two in each hand, two more were strapped crossbody–one resting on each hip for balance–making them so wide they would have had to step through the lobby door sideways. That is, if they could open the door in the first place, considering their hands were full and this hotel was sketchy enough to be skirting the ADA.
When Villain came back outside with only one room key, Hero could only hope that there would be two beds awaiting them behind shoddy wooden door.
Image their surprise when they unlocked the door to find not one, not two, but three beds clad in all-white linens.
Villain, ignoring the gobsmacked hero, pushed all the way into the room and made a bee-line for the bathroom. In a rather fittingly-villainous move, Villain had refused to relieve Hero of any of their cumbersome stuff during the trek up to their second-story room. The hero finally gathered themselves and their bags enough to step into the room, throwing villain’s bags on the far bed, placing their own bags on the bed closest to the wall, and sitting themselves on the bed in the middle. Immediately feeling their aching joints relax, hero fell back into the plush dramatically. They contemplated the merits of stealing some of the extra pillows to transfer to their bed before a light bulb lit up over their head. After a moment’s consideration, they stood up and started pushing the center mattress towards the one on the wall.
Mega Bed. First come, first serve.
“Hey! I got that one for me,” yelled an incredulous voice behind them. Apparently, Villain was back from the bathroom, and they were very very jealous of Mega Bed.
“You don’t need two beds!”
“Neither do you!”
“Sure I do!”
To punctuation their point, hero belly-flopped dramatically onto their claimed, enlarged sleeping arrangement.
“If you wanted more room to sleep, then you should have booked a room yourself!”
“What kind of motel has rooms with three beds anyway?!” Hero’s question was muffled by the comforter as they held their ground starfished face down over the blankets.
“This one does,” stated the villain from what sounded suspiciously far from his allocated regular-sized bed on the other side of the room.
“Obvishushlee,” the hero mumbled in reply.
“…”
The hero recognized this as a dangerous silence. The silence of plotting.
“Look, we can be adults about this-“ Hero was cut off with a yelp as they were dragged by the ankle out of Mega Bed and onto the questionably-clean carpeted motel floor. Villain attempted to step over them, presumably to claim Mega Bed for themselves, but Hero caught onto their ankle in a grand feat of revenge, thus preventing Villain from crawling into the rumpled sheets.
Hero would not give up Mega Bed without a fight.
As Hero and Villain tumbled on the ground, knocking over the lamp and accidentally turning the TV to the Spanish channel in the process, a stroke of genius hit. Hero grabbed Villain by the back of the shirt, stalling their scramble for the bedpost, playground-king-of-the-hill style.
“Stop! Stop-,” Hero shouted, then added placatingly, “I have an idea.”
And thus the Super Mega Bed was born.