In which a superhero meets his match, masks are uncovered and a mad scientist just tries to get some mad science-ing done without getting distracted by the antics of her magical minion.

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This was not happening.

The gorgeous, yet very morally questionable woman cocked her head at him, staring intensely at his exposed hip. At least, he thought she was; it was hard to tell with eyes like hers. They pulsed with a soft red glow that seemed to be growing in intensity. It obscured her pupils and iris, making it impossible to tell what direction she was truly looking in. So maybe she hadn’t seen… no. She had. The tilt of her head and her sudden silence left no doubt.

Fuck my life.

He couldn’t decide if Dionaea — or whatever her ridiculous name was — was the worst possible villain to find out his secret or not. On the one hand, she was, as supervillains went, fairly low on the psychotic sociopathy scale. She had first appeared a few months ago and had not, to his knowledge, killed anyone, sticking mostly to theft and the occasional violent altercation with the police or fellow heroes or even other villains. Her relatively painless choice of weapons — spore-based narcotics with no permanent side-effects — pointed to a less bloodthirsty nature than most of the ruthless criminals he faced. In fact, she’d struck him as… likable. If he forgot that she was evil.

On the other hand, one of her other chosen weapons was her unabashed sexuality, which she wielded with terrifying acumen. He had no doubt that she, better than most, would know how to torment him over this. And he knew for a fact that she was not above blackmail.

Ruined. I’m ruined.

“Oh, Shade,” she breathed, leaning forward with interest. “And here I thought you were boring!” The way she said it, as if she’d just discovered a new toy to play with… He shivered and redoubled his efforts to free himself.

He tried to blink, to retreat into the shadows, to no avail. No matter how hard he strained against the vines around his arms, he couldn’t even get them to budge an inch. That didn’t stop him from struggling as hard as he could.

Dionaea was watching him with a mix of amusement and interest, tilting her head like a curious puppy. Then she stepped closer, long slim fingers brushing along the torn black fabric. The synthetic material was the strongest known to the metahuman community, and popularly used in many superhero costumes. It could withstand extreme temperatures and was bulletproof — yet her claws had shredded it like it was nothing. Never would he underestimate her again.

He felt dizzy, his thoughts lethargic. Neurotoxin, she’d said. The claws were poisonous? He was an idiot for her to have even gotten the chance to swipe at him; he should have tackled her without the verbal sparring match. Then these fucking vines wouldn’t have tripped him up, he’d never have lost his balance, he’d never have attacked so sloppily…

She’d never have revealed what he was wearing.

He closed his eyes, shame twisting in his insides.

He’d had rules about this. Never, ever wear them when on the job, not when he was in constant danger of wardrobe malfunction via explosion or rabid radioactive wolverines. But, somehow, he’d gotten careless. One time of changing into his uniform and leaving the panties because he was in a hurry had turned into another. And then another. And then the time after that. It stopped being a rule, and started being more of a guideline he broke more often than not.

Well fucking done, self.

He felt a tug at the silk, and his eyes flew wide open. Dionaea was leaning forward in front of him, tugging at the exposed pink string with a mischievous expression on her face. He felt lightheaded, the smooth fabric caressing his cock in time with her yanking.

“It looks cute on you!” she declared and to his eternal horror, he felt himself harden almost instantly. No. This was the most humiliating moment of his life, his cock had no business approving of this, none whatsoever.

“What did you drug me with?” he gritted out, trying to ignore the sensation of her soft hands at his hips, that she’d paid him a compliment when the only other woman he’d ever revealed his perversion to had reacted with revulsion.

“Just a tranquilizer,” she said, glancing up at him. “You’ll start feeling sleepy soon. It’s a shame,” she added with what looked to be genuine regret. “Things are just starting to get interesting…” At that, she ran her fingertips along his rapidly growing bulge.

He groaned. He couldn’t help it.

“What are you… why are you…?” His brain had trouble forming coherent thoughts, let alone putting together grammatically correct sentences.

She tilted her head and smiled a dazzling smile, drawing herself up to her full height. She was tall for a woman, with legs that went on forever, but she still only reached up to his chin. “Why, Shade,” she purred. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m the villain and I do believe that makes you the damsel in distress. You’ve even dressed for the part.”

“So you’re going to tie me to train tracks?” He leaned back, as far out of her reach as her vines would let him.

She laughed, a sly look to her eyes. “I was thinking more along the lines of the dastardly villain ravishing the damsel.”

“You’re insane.” His voice cracked on the second syllable; she’d roughly grabbed him by the utility belt he wore, undoing it and letting it fall.

“Maybe,” she said, unhurriedly hooking her fingers under the waistband of his uniform. “A certain estrangement with reality is after all obligatory for all ambitious supervillains, no? I’m nothing if not a model citizen. Fingers crossed for that Villain of the Month award.” Her voice held a mocking lilt, and she flashed him a grin that did things to his lower region that should definitely not be done amongst archnemeses. Not that she had been his archnemesis before today, but he was pretty sure she was now. Top of the list.

She casually gave his pants a pull, revealing the delicate, dark pink panties in all their girlish glory. Paralyzed by panic, mortification and what was most definitely not arousal, he could do nothing but stare. His erection was straining against the dark silk fabric, a small even darker stain slowly spreading across his cockhead.

“Pretty,” Dionaea murmured softly and there was a painful thump in his chest in response.

Her hand reached out, fingertips hovering less than a mere inch above him. He gave a strangled whimper, not even caring about his dignity anymore. It was lying in shattered pieces right next to his utility belt.

“I’ll stop,” she said softly, and his gaze snapped up, meeting hers. “If you really want me to. Just say no.”

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

“If you don’t say no,” she continued slowly. “I’ll have my wicked way with you.”

There was something seriously wrong with him. He’d always known that, but he hadn’t known the extent of it. His lips still wouldn’t form the word.

“Don’t…” His voice was hoarse, laced with need. She tilted her head. Don’t stop.

They both jerked in surprise when the sirens started wailing. Fuck. He’d tripped the alarm to alert the police, and they’d finally arrived. His eyes widened when he realized what sight the cops were about to stumble onto.

Ruined.

He immediately started straining against the vines with all his considerable strength, desperate to get the hell out of here. He grew still when Dionaea rested her palm on his chest, apparently wanting to calm him.

“Listen,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll free you if you get us both out of here.”

He gave a sharp nod. Somewhere in the back of his mind his heroic principles were yelling obscenities at him for helping a villain escape the scene of her crime. Said principles got slapped by the part of his mind that was rational enough to point out that he just almost had wild, kinky sex with said villainess at the scene of her crime, so everything was relative.

The vines slithered away and he grimaced as he regained the feeling in his arms. He hadn’t realized just how tight those things had been holding him.

There were footsteps nearing them, so he grabbed Dionaea’s wrist. At the last second he remembered to retrieve his utility belt, lest he leave incriminating evidence behind. Shadows pooled at his feet, smoke tendrils rising, and he pictured their destination.

Traveling through the void, as he called it, was cold, disorienting, and subject to gravity being an asshole that wasn’t doing its job right.

He was used to it, though, and found his balance right away. She, however, did not, stumbling and falling to her knees, heaving in big, gulping breaths. Shade used that moment to back away from her, pulling up his pants with agitated, jerky movements. Whatever insanity had him in his grip when she had him tied up seemed to have passed, and he could already feel rage building. Rage at the way he’d acted. Rage at the way she had made him act.

“Where are we?” she moaned, brushing her long blond hair aside to rub her temples. Her voice echoed in the abandoned warehouse. Shade often used this place for interrogations; it was one of the few places he could guarantee would be devoid of people.

“The docks,” he said curtly, then took a step toward her. At his words, she tensed, likely sensing the change in tone. She sat up, gazing up at him with those eerie red eyes of hers.

“Ah. Back to trying to arrest me for my evil ways?”

“And no vines to save you this time,” he seethed.

“But you forget one thing.” She smiled blithely, bringing her fingers to her lips.

“…what?”

“Sedatives.” She blew him a kiss.

“Oh, you bit-“

His knees gave out.