Hi! I am absolutely obsessed with your work…I was wondering if you could write a hero who is getting taken advantage of by the hero society but the villain doesn’t know that. So either they are touch starved or are trying to consistently fight this villain and the villain really hates them but also really admires them. Villain finds them either drained or hurt and they get excited until they realize that they weren’t the one that hurt them and none of the villains did either.
I know it’s a cliche and has been written before but I love it so much. If you wanna spin it a different please do! Pretty much I just love a misunderstanding scene with a “who did this to you” or the villain realizing that the super hero is the real villain
The clattering that echoed down the hallways of Villain’s lair felt too obvious. Someone with enough skill to locate their base and get past security surely wouldn’t be stupid enough to make such a loud racket when they were trying to be stealthy.
A trap, probably. A pretty poor one too, considering it was Villain’s first thought, but if security were having a bad day perhaps someone with a skill of that caliber could have snuck past them.
It would make the most sense to send the guards in first. If they were trying to lure people over rather than go in all guns ablaze then they’d probably get outnumbered quickly by the amount of men under Villain’s formidable command.
However it had been a tediously slow week, and Villain was desperate for at least something engaging to happen. It wasn’t wise to go into a fight that wasn’t necessary to begin, but they were oh so bored and decided this might as well become something fun.
The cacophany of sound didn’t slow or halter as Villain’s footsteps drew closer to the origin of the noise. That crossed off the possibility of a poorly executed stealth mission — if they were trying to be subtle they’d at least stop rummaging until Villain passed by.
Villain turned a corner, noting how the door to their office was wide open so carelessly it was almost an impressive feat (or lackthereof), and entered the familiar room. It was a mess.
Papers spilled all across the floor, dripping down from drawers that had been hastily yanked open and suffocating the parquet wood that lined the ground. Anything that was initially locked had clearly either been jammed open or broken with brute force: no attempt to identify a key had been made.
Worst of all was the figure in the middle of the room: a dishevelled, frantic mess clawing their way through Villain’s personal belongings, eyes unfocused and still desperately trying to make some sense of the items before them. Like Villain’s water bottle might hold the secret to their latest victory.
“Hero?” Villain asked hesitantly. This was uncharacteristic for the crimefighter. And, impossibly more terrifying, it didn’t seem much like a trap anymore. Sickeningly, deep down, they were suddenly glad they hadn’t asked their security to apprehend the invader.
It would have been too easy.
“Go away, Vil, not right now,” the hero managed weakly. They sounded frail, like they were on the verge of collapse from either exhaustion or blood loss. Were they? It was hard to tell, considering their body was mostly covered from how hunched over they were, hips leaning against the desk like they had no other choice.
For a second, Villain is elated. Hero is in their base, vulnerable, and this is their chance to swoop in and finish them off. They’ve never really defeated Hero before, always one to opt for a stealthy escape rather than try their hand at a showdown they’d undoubtedly lose to Hero’s usual bravado. A bravado that currently isn’t present at all.
But that moment passes. Because the criminal starts to consider the timeline here and their dreams of conquest come crumbling down. Hero mostly likely got injured (if that isn’t the case, then at the very least something equivalent happened, because look at them). Then, within quick succession of that happening, they ended up at Villain’s base looking for something.
No time to go back to the agency and recharge. That was odd.
The criminal’s first assumption is that someone fought them on the way here. That makes a problem for the both of them, because this is Villain’s territory, every bastard should know that by now. Why would someone try and fight a superhero so close to their base?
Villain looked closer. Hero’s eyes were red; they’d been crying. Their pain tolerance was unfairly impressive and the criminal is certain that not even impalement would cause the crimefighter to shed a tear. This wasn’t a pain response, something had hurt them emotionally.
Judging by the fact that they’d opted to go on a mission in this state, instead of taking the day off to sob into some ice cream, this was normal. This was someone close to them.
Their blood boiled instantly.
Villain walked closer, any malice, frustration, or hatred wiped fascinatingly fast from their face.
“Hey, I’m not gonna fight you. But I need you to tell me what happened, Hero. Because I know something did.” They ushered Hero to take a seat but they refused, focus not at all drifting from the files. They didn’t even respond.
“What’re you looking for?” Villain had a lot of important documents, that was their speciality after all: information. In fact, they had so much that they weren’t entirely certain specifically what Hero needed right now.
“I just— I just need something. There has to something here. Anything. I can’t let— I can’t let it happen again,” Hero replied frantically.
“Is someone threatening you?” Was there a villain trying to kill them? Did they desperately need some dirt on one of Villain’s rivals in order to diffuse a proverbial timebomb?
Hero slammed their fist on the desk. It was a testament to their inhuman strength that the action left a notable dent in the wood. Villain paid it no attention.
“It’s you! I can’t— you just keep getting away and I can’t just let that happen again. I can’t. So there has to be something here I can use, and please just let me find it just this once,” they were somewhere between yelling and sobbing, terrified.
Villain didn’t target civillians. They targeted politicians, world leaders, superheroes. Anyone who gave them some sort of leverage. It was why Hero had never seen them as big of a threat as the rest of the agency did.
This distress over their lack of an arrest was not because they wanted Villain behind bars. But the criminal knew intimately that the agency sure did want them dead and deceased.
Just how far they’d go to achieve that goal, Villain wasn’t entirely sure.
The criminal bit down on their lip, entirely entranced in their own hurried thoughts. They didn’t like the hero. If they could, with a flick of their wrist, send them off to the other half of the world and never have to encounter their face again, they’d be more than willing to do as such.
Their determination to foil every Villain’s plans. Their persistance to keep pushing forward even when the odds were against them and their body was already brusied and broken. Their ridiculously kind nature that felt almost mocking with how brightly it shone through.
All were things that made Villain scowl at the sight of their nemesis. An annoyance, that’s all they were, and their hesitance to end their life at the easy swipe of a blade was not a comtradiction to that testament.
Nobody deserved to experience what they were going through right now, Villain thought internally. Not even them.
Villain reached out a hand. It hovered uncertainly before Hero’s cheek, dampened with sweat and silent tears, before changing its mind and resting on the crimefighter’s shoulder instead. They were painfully tense.
“Whose mission plan was this?” According to Villain’s deductions, someone at the agency had sent them out on a mission in this state with apparently no backup or real game plan. They’d keep that in mind once they’d gotten a name out of Hero.
“This isn’t an official mission, they’re not expecting me to be here. I’m— I chose to be here.” A lie, quite obviously. If this was of their own volition, they’d likely be less frantic about their methods.
But they believed the part about the lack of an official mission. Better to keep something like this off of the books when in case things go South and people ask why Hero was there in the first place.
“Then who made you feel like you had to come here?” Villain asked grimly. Hero flinched at that, usually one to comment on how piercing Villain’s gaze could be, deconstructing a person in seconds of meeting them and getting straight to that vulnerable, human core inside.
“If I don’t arrest you the next time I’m assigned to you, there’ll be a penalty,” Hero started to rationalise, voice quavering. “Obviously, I’m nowhere near close to catching you yet. I’m here to find something to fix that on my own accord, so please just let me have this.”
“That’s an awfully long name.”
Hero scoffed at the sardonic remark like they should have seen it coming (they should have). Villain didn’t want a longwinded explanation as to why. They always knew why. They just wanted to know who.
Who to direct all their anger towards: the anger bubbling ominously inside them that they couldn’t quite comprehend why it had formed in the first place.
“You really think I’m at liberty to be giving out names here? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”
“If you were against the idea, you’d be arguing that you wouldn’t betray their trust, not that you’re banned from telling me. So indulge me as we both know you’re desperate to.”
Hero had their head firmly planted in their hands, distraught.
“Didn’t you hear the part about the penalties? If I don’t get a specific result — one which does not include divulging anything to you — I will be reprimanded,” they pleaded, trying their best to convince Villain to just let all this go and give them their pitiful win just once.
“Hero. There’s nothing here in this room that’ll give you the advantage. If you leave here without telling me anything, you’re going to lose and you’ll be penalised either way. But that won’t happen if I can do something about it.”
The villain slowly started to rub their hand in smoothing circles against the hero’s bicep in a somewhat awkward attempt to comfort them. They practically melted at the feeling, shivering like it was the first time someone had ever shown them kindness in their life.
Villain’s brow furrowed, impossibly more concerned.
Then, the crescendo inside of them seeming to become all too much, Hero broke, quick to bury their head in the stupidly safe and warm crevice of their neck, tightly gripping at Villain’s clothes like they were the one last safety net they had, and they were terrified of losing them too.
“I can’t do this. I can’t.”
There was a reason Villain had dirt on most of the agency. They hadn’t exactly dug up anything insignificant or trivial, like a highschool rivalry or slightly ill-tasted comment about a friend. Most of them had blood on their hands that were still fresh enough to drip.
Villain wondered just when the hero had worked all that out too.
“The next time Superhero sees me, they’re gonna kill me. They’re gonna kill me,” Hero continued, desperate for something to ease the fear inside them. For once Villain didn’t feel smug about getting Hero to accidentally reveal more information than they were intending to.
“It’s ok. You’re never going to have to see them again. I’ll make sure of it,” Villain reassured, and that was the last Hero spoke (intelligbly at least, the criminal couldn’t tell if any of their subsequent blabbering was meant to be a sentence).
The pair stayed in that room, paying no attention to the mess that littered the usually spotless floor, for an indistinguishable amount of time. Hearing the hero, usually so dignified and self assured, whimper terrified into their chest had made time stretch on tediously long for the criminal.
Once Hero had essentially sobbed themself to sleep, the villain elected to carry them towards the closest room, which happened to be their personal quarters (by pure coincidence and not due to an intentional miscalculation on Villain’s behalf), setting them down and watching their chest finally rise and fall in a calm, soothing pattern, no longer hyperventilating.
Outside the room, just as Villain stepped out, Henchmen caught them pulling on their gloves and double checking all their usual weapons were still on their person before they left.
“Tell the guards I’ll be out for a while. I have business that needs attending to.”
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