#magic~l

[Sapphic Heroine x Villain] [CW: mentions of drugs.]

[To @mirohtron and @cybelpunk: Here’s your food, ducklings. Make me proud.]

The villain, Heroine thinks grudgingly, is toying with her. Teasing her. Flaunting a distinctive Hermès bracelet that goes all too perfectly with her black turtleneck and leather trench coat, but is completely out of place because after all, Villain supposed to be hiding her identity.

It’s infuriating, really, that she’s wearing something so expensive and walking on the railings of an office building like gravity wouldn’t dare to touch her. Meanwhile, Heroine is hiding behind the electrical box, swallowing down a sick exhaustion as she grips her wounded arm.

She’s certain her injury is more than it seems. The nausea and her sudden cold sweat is proof of an assisting drug.

“I hope you aren’t making this easy for me, Heroine,” Villain calls, stepping off the railing with a clack of her Christian Louboutin boots. She laughs, loud and clear, raising her arms above her head and sighing loudly. “But then again, it’d be much better for you to just fall into my arms. Don’t you think?”

Heroine would be convinced of Villain’s insanity, only it can’t be. Villain may be teasing and sarcastic with her words, carelessly wearing designer shoes on a wet rooftop, but she’s not a fool. She’s backed Heroine into a corner more than once, has won battles Heroine didn’t even know they were fighting, and kept her identity secret, under the leather hood and behind the loud laughter. She can wear all the Hermès and Christian Louboutin she likes, because she knows Heroine can’t ever be sure of her identity despite the clues.

Villain is like the Cheshire Cat—always laughing, playing with words. She’s like smoke, vanishing and reappearing, a mirage of sparkling darkness. She’s sly and tricky, but charismatically so.

Heroine stifles a pained moan when she tries to move her arm, gritting her teeth and pushing herself off of the electrical box. Immediately, gravity sinks its hooks into her, and she staggers, throwing one hand out and slumping, crashing against the cold metal. Pain and exhaustion close her eyes as she shivers from the impact, tensing up with her arm clutched to her chest.

God. Damn. There is no way Villain didn’t hear that.

An almost disappointed sigh reaches Heroine’s ears, accompanied by the slow clicking of Villain’s boots, and followed by a mocking lament. “You weren’t supposed to surrender.”

Heroine chokes out a dry laugh. “I’m not your mouse to toy around, anak kucing.”

Kitten. Why is she calling Villain a kitten? The drug must be potent, pulling her eyelids closed and shutting down her brain enough for the word to slip.

The boots stop, followed by a rustling noise. Feather-light fingers touch the bottom of Heroine’s chin, lifting it up.

Heroine’s eyes refuse to clear, her vision cloudy with black dots.

Villain’s soft breath against her skin makes Heroine inhale sharply, but it’s futile. The velvet voice hums, “Good night, Maliha.”

━──┉┉┅┄┄┈ 🍓🥀💋🥀🍓 ┈┄┄┅┉┉────━

Heroine wakes up unable to see.

After the briefest second of panic, she realises the cause of her blindness: a silk cover over her eyes. When she reaches to pull it down, slender fingers cover hers and pull her hand away, gently but firmly setting her wrist down against cool, soft sheets.

“I’d advise against that,” a lighthearted voice warns.

Heroine picks up on the unspoken or else. It doesn’t faze her, though, and she slowly pulls her wrist out of Villain’s grip, brushing her fingertips against a ring on Villain’s left ring finger.

“What if I don’t listen to your advice?” Heroine asks softly, bringing her hand to the edge of the blindfold and rubbing it thoughtfully.

The next moment, her hands are pinned on either side of her head, her back pressed against the cool sheets as Villain’s knees press against her sides. Heroine freezes, completely thrown.

Villain’s voice is unruffled, perfectly collected. “Then you pay the price.”

Her breath tickles Heroine’s skin, their closeness making her sense of touch send firecrackers up her spine and into her brain. Despite the heated thrum, Heroine refuses to move, to breathe, as Villain slowly moves off of her body, her fingers releasing Heroine’s wrist.

Heroine’s heart is most definitely not racing, thank you very much. Her voice is not breathless when she speaks—certainly not!—simply cautious. “Why…” she inhales sharply when Villain takes her arm and rolls up her sleeve. “Why are you…helping me?”

“Guess.” Villain’s voice makes it hard to tell whether or not she’s being sarcastic, even though she’s currently cleaning Heroine’s wound.

Heroine huffs out a laugh. “So I don’t ruin your Alexander McQueen coat?” She even raises an eyebrow, though she doesn’t know if Villain is looking at her face.

Villain chuckles once, and takes Heroine’s hand, placing it on her shoulder, sliding it down to feel the buttons and belt.

“Ah,” Heroine murmurs, and a smile slips onto her face unintentionally. “My mistake. Not McQueen, but Bottega Veneta.”

“Quite right.” Villain affirms, and lets go of Heroine’s hand, which lingers in the air for a beat longer before Heroine lowers it.

There’s only another two seconds of silence.

“Is this an apology?” Heroine asks quietly.

Villain’s movements don’t slow, but her response is not immediate. She finishes wrapping Heroine’s wound and rolls down her sleeve. “It’s not,” she says, and there’s no guilt in her tone. “I have no apology to offer. I don’t think you expect one, anyway.”

Silence. Villain is right; Heroine didn’t really think this strange act of kindness was anything more than that. It makes no sense for them to apologise for each other when they will inevitably clash again. When Villain will topple another company, destroying a building or a person, will toy with Heroine again. When Heroine will fight her again, maybe salvage something, and then they will separate. That’s how their relationship works.

“What did you give me?” It was an effective knockout drug, and Heroine has no clue how much time has passed. She can barely feel the pain, now, but that could be from treatment and not a lingering side effect of the first injection.

Villain’s breath sounds faintly amused. “Do you want to hear my voice that much?” Her laugh now is different from earlier, more innocent, like they’re trading jokes. “I’m not giving up my secrets to you just because I’m healing you, Maliha.”

Heroine frowns, having expected a rejection. She raises her hand as if to wave away the question altogether.

Villain catches her hand and laces their fingers together, bringing the back of Heroine’s hand to her lips, and Heroine’s lungs contract, her heart hammering all of a sudden because god, Villain’s soft laughter even feels like velvet. She’s like a rich drink, warm and elegant at the same time, completely intoxicating.

“Pretty girl,” Villain purrs. Her lips dance over Heroine’s knuckles, and a strained whimper makes it half out of Heroine’s mouth.

God, this is worse than a drug, because of it was a drug, Heroine could easily find a stronger substance to distract herself. But this? There is nothing more overwhelming than the feel of Villain’s breath on her skin, nothing stronger than her velvet voice washing away every thought in Heroine’s mind, nothing crueler than the mad feelings churning in Heroine’s chest right. There is nothing she wants more than to pull off the blindfold and see the face that belongs to a voice capable of bewitching sirens.

“You…” Heroine can’t hear herself so much as she feels the rawness of her voice. Breathless, wanting, after the ghost of a touch from this human belladonna. “What did you give me?”

The question has no answer. Heroine has been given nothing, and she knows this. But it is impossible for nothing to have happened, and indeed something did happen.

Another battle she didn’t realise she was fighting until she lost. How easily she had let Villain strike her heart, not by a weapon, but with a few gentle words and a touch. To be shaken by her without even seeing her.

The most dangerous monster is always the one that remains unseen. No matter how pretty it speaks or how soft it acts, it is the deadliest enemy, because it is so easy to be deceived by the idea of beauty and kindness.

I will literally take any chance to write a scene with Desi clothes.

My three current inspirations so far.

I have a scene where Amina is singing Deewani Mastani, one where her outfit is inspired by the pink one, and one where she’s getting mehndi done for a Nagada Sang Dhol stage.