Love your writing! Can I request a hero that likes being controlled by the villain because they get relief from their anxiety/stressful life but they are denying it because they don’t want to admit to being overwhelmed?

"Oh god, you're back."

The villain smirked at that particular greeting and inclined their head in acknowledgement. "Long time no see, hero mine."

Anticipation had the hero's heart drumming double time. They shifted their weight, hold tightening on the battered strap of their rucksack. The street was empty, all curtains conspicuously drawn, but there was nothing actually blocking any exits. They could run. They weren't far from home. They might even make it.

"It's okay," the villain said, tucking their hands into their pockets. "You can try, I won't be offended. I know you prefer pretending that you don't like this. That you don't crave this."

"I don't."

"No?" The villain's tone was soft, but their eyes gleamed in the glow of the lampposts. Their gaze was somewhere between gently mocking and not so gently fond. "You're lucky you lie so pretty. It means I'll let you off with a warning. Just the one, because I've heard you've had a rough week."

The hero swallowed.

The week had been exhausting. Atlas would have buckled beneath the weight of the last week too. Anyone would. Wouldn't they? Maybe that was why, beneath the panic of seeing the villain again, there was a much more terrifying chasm of relief. Dizzy, desperate relief. The kind of longing that left a person brained by it. Dumb.

"You heard about that?" the hero asked, in a small voice, even if it was entirely not the point.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

The hero shuddered, to hear the villain say it so bluntly. Maybe if they hadn't, the hero could pretend - what? That somewhere along the way monstrosity and miracle had blurred together like wet watercolours?

"You could walk away," the hero said.

"I could," the villain agreed, placidly. They didn't move though.

"Would you if I asked you to?"

The villain's head tilted, considering the hero at that.

"Mm, I don't think so," they decided eventually. "Then you'd feel like you had to ask. It goes better when you don't have any choice in this matter, doesn't it?"

"You can't just - you can't say that."

"No?" the villain's lip curled up again. They closed the gap between them, casually confident. "You asked."

"Well, yes - but." The hero didn't have a good way to finish the sentence. Mainly because they should have been horrified. They were horrified! It was only..."You're not supposed to say it." The crack in their voice felt far too much like confession. "It's not right."

"Yeah. I'd say you should stop feeling so guilty about liking it so much, but honestly it's entirely too delicious watching you squirm."

The hero made a choked, incoherent sound in their throat. They took a step back, not remotely surprised when the villain's hand snaked eel-fast around their back.

"Ah, ah," the villain said. "You already had your chance to run. Go easy."

The hero felt the very moment that something switched in the villain's voice, their powers humming a siren song in the hero's bones. They felt their body turn to putty as they blinked at the villain, wide-eyed. Their hands settled comfortably on the villain's chest, not pushing back.

It wasn't...it wasn't exactly that their brain switched off, only that everything in them suddenly refused to fully recognise the danger. And there was danger, they knew that, but...

But for the first time since they'd last seen the villain, the knot in their chest loosened. They didn't feel one small straw or loud noise or well-meaning question away from bursting pitifully into tears.

"Good," the villain murmured. "Just like that. There you are. Deep breaths."

Up close, the villain took a moment to study them properly. The hero let them look. Minutes ago, they might have tried to hide, ashamed by the blatant dark circles under their eyes, by everything that the villain would see, but in that second...

The villain's lips thinned a fraction. "I've been away on business for too long, haven't I? Sorry about that."

"How was business?"

The villain didn't bother answering that question, more concerned with grazing their thumb along the swell of the hero's lip where they'd bitten it raw. Their eyes darkened further.

"You look annoyed," the hero said.

"You could have called me, you know."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why would you-" For a second, it seemed like the villain might say something. Then, they simply sighed, and shook their head, muttering something under their breath. They pivoted, so they were at the hero's side instead, snagging the hero's heavy bag onto their own shoulders.

"Walk." The command hummed through the villain's voice again. "I think we've both had enough of your idiot brain for today. You're done for the week."

Every time the villain let them go, it was harder to force themselves to leave.

im so obsessed with the touchstarved hero thing that you did ive read it more than 20 times, a very normal amount yes, would you ever think of writing another touchstarved prompt or even a touchstarved villain one? thank you so much for your work

"I don't mind."

"Hm?" The protagonist looked up, brow furrowing.

"I don't mind when you touch me," the villain said. "That is - it's not horrific."

"Well, I'm glad I wasn't horrific. Life goals."

The villain shot them a look.

The protagonist smiled despite themselves. It was too easy to feel lulled, brain at ease for the first time in far too long, buzzing with all the good endorphins. Intimacy. Closeness. It was impossible to dwell on the danger, for as surely as there was attraction, there was danger.

They leaned in, slowly enough to clearly telegraph their intentions, and pressed a kiss to the villain's chest. Half teasing. Half something infinitely more dangerous, like genuine affection for the terrible idea sprawled beneath them.

The villain held their gaze. They almost even smiled back. They tangled their fingers into the protagonist's hair instead, but didn't tug them away. They let the protagonist settle even closer than before, head against their beating chest.

The protagonist was starting to understand that meant something too.

"It's merely that people don't do it very often," the villain said, voice clipped, carefully controlled. "Touch me, I mean. Or when they do, it's with the sort of casual presumption that makes me want to rip their hands off. You do not presume."

"Well, you did look ready to rip my hands off once or twice." They knew what the villain meant though. When the protagonist had touched suddenly, unexpectedly, it had been less about trying to control the villain and more just needing something to hold onto as the villain kissed them stupid. Instinct. Desire. Need. The villain had known that, hadn't they? "But you're welcome. I mean, any time."

The villain nodded. Once. Curt - uncomfortable, perhaps, with such an open and vulnerable emotion. They cleared their throat.

The protagonist felt another stupid swell of warmth. They could hear the villain's heartbeat slowing beneath their ear, trusting, and it felt like yet another giddy thrill for the day. A complicated and tentative privilege.

They lay together, in their stolen moment of illicit peace.

"Besides," the villain broke the silence after a while. "Next time, I can always ziptie your hands to the bed posts."

"Next time?" The protagonist's heart skipped.

The villain shrugged. "You like touching. You'd look adorable begging for it. I think I'd like to see that."

The protagonist was sure they'd gone all wide-eyed again, flushed and flustered, because that time the villain definitely smiled. They hesitated, then tugged the protagonist's hair.

"Come back here so I can kiss you again," the villain said.

The protagonist obliged, even as their brain whirled through all the villain had said.

How long had it been since someone touched the villain like this? Since the villain let themselves be touched? It was clearly something they craved, enjoyed, just as clearly as it was something more complicated than that too.

They stopped thinking as the kiss deepened. They drew themselves a little closer still, ever-mindful of where they put their hands, and only more conscious now because of that of the way the villain's body responded beneath them. The shiver of breath. The thud of their heart. The way the villain pressed in, only to pull back again, like a starved creature that could only sustain itself in small increments before it became too much.

It was intoxicating. It felt just a little like power. A good, perfect, brilliant sort of power.

As they broke apart, the villain studied them for another long moment, expression unreadable, but eyes almost soft.

"Come on," the villain murmured. "Play time's over. Let's go."