hey! i really like your work :) could you write about a spy hired to kill the antagonist, then being caught and beaten up but realizing the (flirty) antagonist isnât a bad person, his employers are (donât know if that makes sense haha)
âTch.â The antagonist tutted, crouching down in front of the spy. âI told them not to touch your pretty face. Theyâll suffer for that.âÂ
The antagonist traced the spyâs split lip with their thumb, and the spy was tempted to bite, just for the audacity. But they didnât get this far without learning when to pick their battles. Any reprieve to catch their breath, to steel themselves, to not be in pain would only make them stronger.
âI can handle the face,â the spy said. âIâd have preferred they kept away from my internal organs.â
The antagonist hummed, gaze dropping down. They hooked their hand around the hem of the spyâs shirt, lifting it to assess the damage. âYouâll live. No internal damage, just a few broken ribs.â
âAs if you donât know.â The antagonist gave them a half amused, half chiding look. âYou know all my secrets, donât you, gorgeous? Your employers wouldnât have ordered you kill me if they didnât think youâd got everything of value from me alive.â
The protagonist did know. The antagonist had indeed been a doctor for many years, before they vanished into the ether and became the creature in front of them now.
âSo, donât worry.â The antagonist dropped their shirt. âIâve never killed anyone by accident.â
The protagonist knew that too. Maybe, if they didnât know that, didnât know as much as they did, the job would have been successful. But, instead, they hesitated. They were a spy, their job was focused on gathering intelligence, making sure the right people on their side had the right information at the right time. It was rare to get a kill order. There were assassins better suited to that line of work.Â
But the antagonist was a rare creature, difficult to get close to, and there had been a shot. A shot that the spy had blown. Because they were dumb enough to think...
âTell me.â The antagonist stayed crouched in front of them, voice low, as if this was an intimate conversation just between the two of them and there werenât a dozen armed guards outside the door. âWhy did you hesitate?â
The spy said nothing. They kept their expression blank on instinct.Â
The guards who had interrogated them had plenty of questions - who are you working for, how did you get in, what have you told your people, who are you - but the question of why they had hesitated hadnât come up. It had been the smallest of seconds, just long enough for the antagonistâs sharp gaze to cut to them in the rafters and for everything to go to hell. The spyâs own people wouldnât have guessed at hesitation.Â
The antagonist smiled, crooked at one corner, at the response.
âOh, come on. You could have killed me. Iâve looked up your files - youâre very good. More than capable of making the shot. Excellent scores on all your tests. No need to be stoic, Iâm very impressed. Any schmuck can cause pain, but you...âÂ
âMaybe Iâm just good at tests.â
âThey wouldnât have sent you after me if that were true.âÂ
The spy said nothing, because there was nothing they could say. The antagonist was absolutely correct.
The antagonist sighed, getting up and going to the metal table in the corner.Â
The spy tensed, expecting them to return with a knife or something else equally unpleasant. The antagonist returned with a damp warm cloth that they used to start dabbing the spyâs face clean of blood.Â
It was probably a trick. A different ploy to pain, one that the spy would really have to be an amateur to fall for. Still.Â
âYouâre right,â the spy said, softly. âI know all your secrets. Of course I couldnât kill you.â
The antagonist paused, their stare piercing deep into the spyâs soul. The spy held the attention calmly despite their pounding heart. The antagonistâs hand started moving after barely a falter, meticulous and gentle in its care. The warm cloth, combined with the cool fingers, felt delightful against the spyâs aching skull.Â
The spy pushed the feeling away.Â
âLet me go,â the spy pressed, leaning in, the words barely above a breath. âYou donât want me dead, but you know what theyâll do to me. My face will be the least of our worries.â
What the spy had learned was that the antagonist had been a doctor, a brilliant surgeon, and then one day they vanished. Taken by their new employers. Trained up, polished into something wicked vicious. The pieces had been there before, no doubt, the unflinching ability to look at suffering and cut through bone and muscle if needed. But the antagonist wasnât a bad person. Possibly lacking any capacity for remorse or guilt, but not bad. They didnât enjoy causing hurt. They werenât especially out to screw anyone over.Â
The antagonist was a figurehead. A shiny symbol of what their employerâs wanted. It could be easier or harder to be a symbol, but regardless one didnât get much choice in the matter.Â
"You know I canât do that. My boss isnât done with you yet. They want all those not-about-me secrets you have floating about in that clever little brain of yours. Besides.â The antagonist shrugged. âEven if I untied you, you wouldnât get very far. Theyâd just drag you back and thereâs a line after which âroughed upâ will no longer be a good look on you, gorgeous. Youâre fine.â The antagonist had such a terrible knowing in their voice, at odds with that shrug as if none of it mattered. âYou wonât be fine if you try to run.â
âI might not get caught. Iâm very good. Your words.â They wet their lips, feeling the sting. âYou could come with me. Then they really wouldnât be able to stop us, would they? I bet weâd make a great team.â
The antagonist laughed, but it wasnât quite so amused anymore. More sad.
âYou have all the information but I can see why youâre not in the division for applying the pieces of that.â They dropped the cloth, carelessly, now that all of the obvious signs of breakage were gone from the spyâs face. âYou know all my secrets, lovely.â The antagonist raised a brow, back to flirty, voice a purr as if secrets were not a deadly thing. âWhy would I ever let you go?âÂ
They rose to their feet, entire posture changing into something sleek and dangerous, the reputation to bring down nations, as they buzzed the intercom - promptly rattling off a diagnosis of exactly what their guards could and should do to make the spy break, every weak point they had identified in the âexaminationâ, and exactly what not to do unless they wanted to lose limbs. And, when all was done...
The antagonist glanced over them, one hand still holding down the com.Â
âOnce youâve got whatâs needed, sedate our gorgeous new guest and bring them to my quarters. Iâll take care of them from there, if you know what I mean.â
There was laughter from outside the room. Ugly, jeering.Â
There was none of it in the antagonistâs eyes, even as they tossed the spy a wink and marched out.Â
The next round of questions soon began.
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