Can you do a Hesitant Hero and A Flirty Villain? Maybe Villain Escapes from the prison and when hero chases them gets caught in a trap in the villain's lair. Hero's can't handle the proximity?
my day’s been pretty chill & good ty for asking, glad to have time to write again :) @marichika04
request #1 - the hero gets caught in the villain’s trap
warning: themes of captivity, suggestive language (not nsfw)
The hero hated admitting they looked forward to these daily checkups, which is why they wouldn’t.
With a keycard in one hand and a list of questions in the other, the hero approached the metal cell door with an intake of breath.
The villain only agreed to talk to them for some reason, adding yet another mystery the hero needed to solve.
The door opened with a beep, revealing the villain lounging casually against the wall, as if they were comfortable, as if they wanted to be there. Their untouched breakfast lay before them.
The hero sighed. “You need to eat,” they muttered, crouching down to the villain's level, glaring at the back of their head. The villain had been in the team's capture for over a week and had barely eaten.
“I’ve fed my dog better.”
The hero suspected they were starving themselves on purpose, perhaps intending to die with secrets still buried in their mind. Yet, a part of the hero also wanted them to eat for their own health, so they wouldn’t waste away.
The villain turned, eyes locking onto the clipboard in the hero’s hand. A smirk spread across their face as they met the hero's eyes. “I’ll agree to answer more boring questions if you give me something edible.”
The hero tried to maintain their courage, but they felt the villain could see through the facade, see their cracks, see how scared they really were.
“You will answer them because you’re our prisoner,” they replied, not missing how their own voice shook slightly.
The villain only smiled, tilting their head slightly, a glint in their eye that the hero recognized.
The villain shook their head, chuckling.
The hero stood, stepping away from the villain, feeling a slight relief with the added distance. Despite the bars between them, the hero felt an unsettling mix of emotions whenever they were close to the villain—an intense nervousness that they couldn’t quite categorize as liked or loathed.
They wished they could make these confusing feelings vanish and needed a distraction. They began scanning the list of questions on their clipboard, pondering when they might finally get answers to these questions from previous days, all left unanswered. The villain's stubbornness was their biggest strength.
“You heroes are so boring,” the villain groaned, standing to grip the metal bars, their fingers flexing around them. The hero glanced up, curiosity killing the cat.
“I would have answered all your questions ages ago if you weren’t so afraid to use more... creative methods, sweetheart.”
The hero tried to ignore the villain’s suggestive tone, returning to their clipboard, though they felt the villain’s gaze burning into them.
The villain didn’t miss how their face flushed. “Don’t be afraid to have a little fun,” they smiled. “If I were in your shoes, all the things I’d do to you would drag the answers right out.”
The hero’s mind flooded with images, their cheeks reddening. The villain wasn’t violent, but their interrogation methods always spiked the hero’s heartbeat in a way that was unsettling.
The hero had been trained to handle painful interrogations, and the villain knew this, which is why they always used these other methods. Their body reacted in a way their mind hated, but their body couldn’t help but adore. It was confusing. It was hell.
“Your threats mean nothing,” the hero said, barely audible, trying hard to suppress the unevenness in their voice. They still managed an erratic heartbeat in the villain’s presence, even though they couldn’t do anything from inside that cell.
“They still made your mind race,” the villain smirked. “And I’m sure—"
The hero heard a sharp intake of breath. They looked up in confusion.
Their eyes widened as they saw the villain’s hands grip the bars like their life depended on it. They slumped to the ground.
The hero dropped their clipboard and rushed over, the worst possibilities flooding their mind. Red seeped from the villain’s crumpled form. They looked like they were at death’s door.
“What—what’s going on?” the hero whispered, their hand moving to check the villain’s pulse. Their skin felt too cold.
The villain grunted, clutching their side, struggling to keep their eyes open. “Your teammates aren’t as nice as you are, darling,” they smiled, blood seeping through their teeth, making their grin more haunting.
The hero’s breathing quickened as they swore under their breath and ran from the room. They wondered if that was why the villain wasn’t eating much. Did the villain think the team had done something to their food? Maybe they had, but why? The hero’s mind raced through possibilities as they sprinted down the hallway.
Grabbing the first aid kit they spotted, they rushed back in.
But the scene that greeted them was a pool of red liquid, an open window…
The hero cursed, bolting to the window just in time to see the villain sprint into oncoming traffic, kicking a poor bystander out of their car and getting in. How did they get down so fast?
The hero needed to act quickly.
Adrenaline surged as they dove out of the window, hitting the ground with a roll. Their shoulder scraped against the pavement, pain shooting down their back and arm. They hissed through their teeth.
They grunted but got back on their feet, signalling to other guards that the hero would handle the situation. The hero wasn’t even in uniform, only a tank top and pants. No weapons, just themselves.
They ran toward the sound of honking cars and panicked voices, watching the villain weave through traffic, picking up speed.
The hero jumped into a car vacated by a startled civilian, slammed on the gas, and shouted, “Sorry!”
The hero could still see the villain’s car in the distance, weaving recklessly through traffic. Sweat coated their palms, blood from their scraped shoulder seeping onto the seat. Their foot pressed harder on the gas.
They’d be in serious trouble if they didn’t return with the villain. The team would get a reputation for letting a villain escape because the hero was too gullible. Too scared. Not fit for the job.
A sharp ache filled their chest. The team already said the hero was growing soft.
Being soft wasn’t bad, but it was bad when someone used it against you.
The hero watched as the villain took a sharp left, their car’s rear slamming into a trash can on the sidewalk, sending metal shards flying. Bystanders jolted back, screams of shock echoing.
The hero followed the turn, the car screeching against the pavement, their body thrown to the side. Breathing felt like a struggle, but they pressed the gas harder, their heartbeat matching the car’s speed.
They tailed the villain’s reckless turns, watching them narrowly avoid collisions. The hero closed in, seeing the back of the villain’s head, imagining their stupid smirk. So close.
The hero slammed on the brakes.
They realized then the person who came running into the street like a maniac, the person they barely missed slamming right into and turning into roadkill, was a cop.
The hero watched the villain take a right in the distance.
They got out of the car without a second thought.
They managed about five steps before a bruising grip halted them.
“What do you think you're doing?” the rookie snapped, gripping the hero’s arm firmly, anger in their voice making the hero flinch.
The hero looked at the scared civilians overwhelming the street with their shaking chatter. They were just trying to go about their day. Now their eyes reflected only terror.
Breathing heavily, the hero stared into the cop’s eyes, which were seeing red.
Without their uniform, they were just another reckless civilian.
“You are going to sit in my car,” the cop gruffed, handcuffs inches from the hero’s wrist, “while I go get your friend.”
The hero didn’t have time to explain or fix this mess.
So they headbutted the cop and ran.
The hero didn’t wait for the officer to recover, sprinting with all their might.
The hero took the right turn, legs burning, the cop’s shouts fading behind them. Slowing down, they saw the villain’s car parked askew in front of an old, abandoned-looking apartment building.
The graffiti-covered walls looked familiar, but they couldn’t place it. Maybe because it felt like they were dying.
They doubled over, hands on knees, trying to catch their breath. They knew the villain was near, their skin prickling with awareness.
The cop’s pounding footsteps echoed, breath heavy, just about to round the corner.
The hero quickly jumped through a broken window, ducking down.
They tried to breathe quietly, feeling their pulse in their ears. They backed up slowly, crouching, holding the weapon they snagged from the cop unnoticed.
The hero watched the cop pass by, sporting a new bloody nose.
With one finger delicately on the trigger, the hero continued to back up carefully. They needed to find the villain, and then clean up their giant mess.
Their foot caught on something uneven, causing them to stumble. They looked down.
The rope tightened around their ankle, lifting their foot in the air.
Their body swiftly followed.
Their head smacked against the dirty pavement, their heart dropping to their stomach.
They groaned, cradling their head, feeling a bump forming as their vision blurred.
Somehow, over their heartbeat, they heard their echoed yelp bounce off the apartment’s walls.
Now the world was upside down.
“I know you’re here!” the cop shouted. “Come out!”
They must have heard the scream.
The hero held their breath, eyes wide, praying the cop wouldn’t glance their way.
They watched the cop frantically search, feeling their pulse in their feet.
Please. Please. Please. Don’t look this way.
After seconds that felt like hours, the cop swore and stomped off, muttering into their radio.
The hero would’ve sighed with relief,
but the rope still dug into their ankle bone.
They looked down—or up, given their position—and saw the cop’s weapon on the floor, just out of reach.
They stretched, arm and hand straining, fingers brushing the metal.
The hero was tired, exhausted. Their breath was uneven, their body shaking.
Their body weight pulled at their ankle, sending tingles through their feet, muscles screaming in protest.
Focusing all their energy, they pulled more, blocking everything else out.
Finally, they inched the weapon closer, feeling the cool metal on their fingertips. Slowly, they grasped the end—
A deafening crack exploded inches away.
They yelped, retracting their hand just in time to avoid a bullet hole.
Pure fear shot through their swaying body.
Hands cradling their head, they tried to block out the deafening ringing in their brain.
The hero frantically twisted, seeing nothing but the upside-down view of the apartment’s walls. No other breathing but their own.
Their vision blurred, seeing double, then quadruple. Their ankle grew numb, pins and needles dancing on the bottom of their foot as the rope dug into their skin.
They saw the cop’s weapon but didn’t dare grab it again.
“Look at you, dangling like a piece of meat.”
The villain’s voice cut through their frantic haze, making the hairs on their neck stand up.
They swung around to see the villain lounging in a chair, examining the weapon that had nearly ended the hero’s hand, holding the rope supporting the hero’s entire body weight like it was nothing.
“How the mighty have fallen,” the villain chuckled, fingers tracing the barrel.
The hero let themselves dangle, the villain’s fingers close to the trigger keeping them compliant. Their pulse pounded in their head.
“I’m not a piece of meat,” the hero managed to say, their voice betraying them with fear.
The villain looked up, eyes narrowing with interest. “I’m aware, darling, and I’m glad you aren’t,” the villain smirked. “Pieces of meat don’t let out the sounds you do.”
The hero’s cheeks flushed with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and something else they refused to acknowledge. The villain knew their fear, like sharks smelling blood in the water.
The villain slowly stood, tossing the weapon back and forth, taunting the hero. The hero glanced between the villain and their still-captured ankle, trying to wiggle free, grunting and crying out.
The villain strolled toward the hero, footsteps like the ticks of a bomb before it detonates.
The hero thrashed, trying to reach the cop's weapon but pushed it away instead.
They whined in their restraints, trying to sit up to untie their ankle, their breathing erratic as the villain closed in, the weapon swinging between their hands.
The hero gulped. It could easily annihilate anyone or at the least, leave them with a missing limb.
Desperate, they sat up, managing to get one finger under the rope, a flicker of hope—
The villain yanked the rope hard.
The hero gasped, falling back to meet the villain eye to eye, smirk to scowl.
They could try to escape, but the villain’s proximity was terrifying. The hidden intentions in their eyes, their smirk—they were too afraid to move.
“You know,” the villain began, their tone mockingly casual, “it’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”
The hero flinched, breath hitching at the villain’s soft hand trailing across their ankle bone, sending shivers up their leg. Their body betrayed them, a mix of dread and anticipation coursing through their veins.
“I give a cop a bloody nose, and I’m labelled the bad guy,” the villain smirked. “You do the same, and you’re still the hero. The difference, I suppose, is that I’m not someone’s good little lapdog.
The hero’s chest heaved with anger. They wanted to snap back, but the villain’s soft touch kept them at bay. They were afraid that if they opened their mouth, only sounds they didn’t want to come out would escape.
Yet they wanted to scream.
They hated the villain for making them feel this way. They had rushed to help the villain in the cell, felt bad, maybe even cared. When did they become so gullible? When were they not naive?
The villain finally released the hero’s ankle, a mix of relief and longing flooding the hero’s mind.
Then they tied the hero’s wrists together, letting them dangle above their head.
The hero tried to regulate their breathing, the rope biting into their ankle, the world still disorienting as more blood rushed to their head.
The villain knelt, eyes level with the hero’s, examining their pitiful state.
Suddenly, the hero felt their tank top crumple under gravity’s pull, exposing their midriff.
The villain didn’t glance, keeping their gaze locked on the hero’s mortified reaction, making the hero’s body tingle.
They reached out, fingers grazing the hero’s waist. The hero sucked in breath.
“Don’t worry, I won’t peek,” the villain teased, fingers lingering before slowly pulling the tank back up.
Their touch was deliberate, disguised as innocence. It sent unwanted shivers down the hero's spine.
The hero’s face flushed, mind racing. The villain leaned closer, breath warm against the hero’s ear. "You know, back when I was captured, I couldn’t help but notice how you treated me. Different from the others. You were...nice."
The hero bit their lip, refusing to respond, their emotions a tangled mess of fear, anger, betrayal, and something else.
“I liked that,” the villain continued, almost thoughtful. “I liked that you were kind, even when you didn’t have to be.”
Before the hero could process those words, the villain pulled them further off the ground. The hero’s muscles screamed, a whine escaping them.
With practiced ease, the villain tied the hero’s hands to their feet, securing the knots tightly. The hero’s heart pounded, breath coming in short bursts, utterly at the villain’s mercy.
The villain’s smirk grew as they stepped back, admiring their handiwork. “We’re going to have a lot of fun,” they said, voice low and dangerous.
The hero didn’t have time to react.
In one swift motion, they pulled the hero’s tank over their head, using it to blindfold and gag them. The hero’s vision plunged into darkness, their screams muffled.
“Shh,” the villain whispered, their voice the hero’s only focus.
The hero’s mind raced with panic and unwanted desire, their body reacting despite their better judgment. They were trapped, helpless, at the villain’s mercy. This game had just begun, and the hero knew they were in for a long, torturous ordeal.
The hero remembered why the building was too familiar for comfort.
Memories that lay in those walls they tried to block out. Not because they hated them—no, because they were deathly afraid of how much they loved them.
