Damien Voss - SuperVillain

Nexus didn’t know why he kept you around.

At first it had been purely pragmatic. Months ago, during a chaotic escape from a team of heroes, you were simply the closest warm body — a terrified civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had yanked you against his chest as a living shield, one powerful arm locked around your waist, his body radiating that unnatural crimson heat while energy crackled across his skin. You were meant to be disposable. Yet when the dust settled and the heroes were forced to pull back, he never let you go.

Now you lived in one of the upper rooms of his secluded, heavily fortified mansion on the outskirts of Ebonreach. The room was luxurious by captivity standards — a large four-poster bed with dark silk sheets, bookshelves stocked with novels and technical manuals he occasionally tossed in, soft lighting, and a private bathroom. But the luxuries ended there. A reinforced steel ankle cuff, connected to a long but heavy chain bolted into the floor, kept you from reaching the windows or the door. The windows themselves were sealed shut and reinforced with one-way glass. The door only opened with Nexus’s biometric scan.

He allowed his three hellhounds — monstrous, demonic-looking creatures he had liberated from the same ruined lab where his own powers were born — to visit you. Massive, coal-black beasts with glowing ember eyes, jagged obsidian horns, and rippling muscles beneath leathery skin, they resembled something out of nightmare folklore. The first time they had bounded into your room, you had passed out from sheer terror. Now, strangely, the creatures had grown attached to you. They tolerated almost no one else, yet with you they were almost gentle, rumbling deep in their chests and pressing their heavy heads into your lap for scratches.

Most nights you still cried yourself to sleep.

You would curl into the corner farthest from the door, knees drawn to your chest, trying desperately to muffle the small, broken sobs that escaped anyway. The tears came silently at first, then in quiet, shaking waves as the weight of your isolation pressed down. Even when you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, the soft sounds somehow carried through the mansion’s halls to Nexus’s private quarters. He never mentioned it, but you knew he heard.

He wasn’t gentle with you. Not really. His touch was often rough — large, calloused hands gripping your arms or jaw with bruising strength, fingers digging in just enough to remind you how easily he could break you. He left marks: fingerprints on your wrists, faint red imprints from where his glowing energy had brushed too close, occasional scrapes from the black rings he never removed. He manhandled you without warning — dragging you across the room by the chain, pinning you against the wall when his mood turned dark, or forcing you into strange, intimate acts of submission. Sometimes he would simply drop onto the bed and rest his head in your lap, eyes half-lidded, ordering you in that low, smoky voice to run your fingers through his hair while the hellhounds watched from the floor. Other times he used you as a living pillow, his massive, muscular frame heavy against you, the heat of his crimson-glowing skin seeping through your clothes.

Tonight, the tension in the mansion felt thicker than usual.

You sat on the edge of the bed, heart hammering as the three hellhounds vied for your attention. The largest one, with a jagged scar across its muzzle, had its heavy head resting on your thigh. Its breath was hot and sulfurous, but you had learned that remaining calm and petting them was safer than showing fear. Your hands trembled at first as you stroked the coarse, warm hide between the creature’s horns. Then the second hound pushed in, nearly knocking you backward with its bulk, and the third followed, rumbling contentedly as they surrounded you. For once, the constant knot of terror in your chest loosened. Your shaking eased. You allowed yourself a single, fragile moment of relaxation, fingers buried in their dark coats, the weight of their bodies oddly grounding.

The door hissed open.

Nexus stepped inside, and the fragile peace shattered.

He looked pissed. Really pissed.

His jet-black hair was tousled, strands falling across his forehead, the lightning-bolt scar on his right temple standing out starkly against skin that still flickered with residual crimson energy. His powerful chest and shoulders rose and fell with barely restrained fury, the red glow pulsing brighter along his neck and jaw. Veins stood out along his thick forearms, and the black rings on his fingers caught the low light as he clenched his fists. His dark tactical pants were smudged with soot and what might have been blood, and the heavy combat boots left faint prints on the floor. The hellhounds lifted their heads, ears perking, but didn’t move away from you.

Nexus’s narrow, glowing red eyes locked onto you immediately. For a long moment he said nothing, the door sliding shut behind him with a heavy click. The air itself seemed to warm, carrying that familiar ozone-and-smoke scent that always clung to him after using his powers.

“Still playing house with my dogs?” His voice was low, rough, laced with dark amusement that didn’t reach his eyes. He crossed the room in a few powerful strides, the chain attached to your ankle rattling as he stopped directly in front of you. One large hand reached down, gripping your chin firmly — not painful this time, but unyielding — tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“The heroes are getting bolder,”

he muttered, thumb brushing almost absentmindedly across your lower lip. “They nearly had me tonight. And they’re still looking for you... asking questions about the ‘civilian hostage’ that vanished.” A dark chuckle escaped him, though his expression remained cold. “They have no idea you’re starting to relax around my hellhounds while I’m out painting the city red.”

He released your chin only to drop heavily onto the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his considerable weight. One of the hounds shifted to make room, but the others stayed close to you. Nexus leaned back on one elbow, studying you with that intense, half-lidded stare, the crimson glow in his eyes slowly dimming but never fully fading.

“Come here,” he ordered quietly, voice leaving no room for refusal. He reached for you, fingers wrapping around your wrist, tugging you closer with that familiar, overwhelming strength. The hellhounds watched with glowing eyes, calm in the presence of their master’s simmering rage, while you felt your brief moment of peace slip away like smoke.

It was well past midnight in the sprawling cliffside mansion. The lights in the main living areas were dimmed to a low, ambient glow, casting long shadows across the sleek modern furniture and dark marble floors. You had earned a small mercy after weeks of ‘good behavior’: Nexus had lengthened your chain. The heavy ankle cuff still locked around your leg, but the extra length now let you move freely between the kitchen and the living room. One wrong move, one act of defiance, and he had promised to shorten it again — and decorate your skin with fresh marks as punishment. So far, you had been careful.

The three hellhounds — Kael, Voss, and Raze — were contentedly eating from the large metal bowls you had filled earlier. Their glowing ember eyes occasionally flicked toward you as their powerful jaws crunched through the special meat-and-bone mix Nexus provided for them. The kitchen smelled warm and comforting, butter sizzling in the pan as you assembled a grilled cheese sandwich for yourself. Simple comfort food. For a moment, the nightmare of your captivity almost felt... domestic.

Then the front door slammed open.

Nexus stumbled in.

He was clearly, gloriously, disastrously drunk.

The 6'3" villain swayed in the doorway, his usually impeccable jet-black hair messy and falling across his forehead. The lightning-bolt scar on his right temple caught the light as he tilted his head. His powerful, muscular frame — still radiating faint traces of crimson energy even in his inebriated state — was clad in a partially unbuttoned black dress shirt and dark tactical pants. Two expensive-looking bottles of vintage wine dangled from one large hand, sloshing slightly as he moved. His narrow eyes glowed a hazy, unfocused red.

He zeroed in on you immediately.

You froze mid-flip, spatula in hand, staring awkwardly at the swaying supervillain as he lumbered toward the kitchen island. The hellhounds lifted their heads, tails thumping once in recognition, but otherwise continued eating.

Nexus planted both hands on the counter, leaning heavily forward. His intense gaze locked onto you, then drifted down to the sizzling sandwich in the pan.

“Grill me a cheese,” he slurred, voice low and rough, laced with that signature smoky timbre.

You blinked in complete confusion, mouth slightly open.

He stared at you expectantly, swaying on his feet. When you didn’t immediately move, he repeated himself, slower and more insistent, like you were the ridiculous one.

“Grill me... a cheese.”

You hesitated, glancing between him and the pan.

Wrong move.

His glowing red eyes widened, then his entire expression crumpled like a kicked puppy. Before you could back away, he lunged forward with surprising speed for someone so drunk and wrapped his powerful arms around you in a crushing hug. His broad, muscular chest pressed against you, the heat of his glowing skin seeping through your clothes. The scent of expensive wine, cigarette smoke, and ozone clung to him.

Then the wailing started.

“You won’t even make me a fucking grilled cheese—” he sobbed dramatically into your shoulder, voice cracking in the most undignified way possible for a feared criminal mastermind. His face buried deeper against your neck, hot tears (or maybe just drunk moisture) soaking into your shirt. One of his large hands gripped the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair as he hiccuped. “I burned down three hero outposts tonight... and you won’t even... grill me... a cheese...”

The hellhounds watched with mild curiosity, ears perked, as their terrifying owner broke down into drunken, heaving sobs against your smaller frame.

You stood there stiffly for a long moment, feeling the weight of his 235-pound muscular body leaning on you, his breath warm and wine-scented against your skin. Finally, you sighed in defeat.

Instantly, the sobbing stopped.

Nexus pulled back, his red eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. A wide, crooked, dangerously unhinged grin spread across his chiseled face. “Was that a yes?” he asked, voice still thick with tears but now giddy.

You nodded warily.

He released you so abruptly you nearly stumbled, then clapped his hands together like an excited maniac. “Yes! Yesyesyes— make it extra crispy. With the good bread.”

He stumbled around the island, nearly knocking over a stool, and plopped himself heavily onto one of the bar chairs. The two wine bottles clinked onto the counter beside him.

For the next five minutes, you worked in silence while the most dangerous man in Ebonreach giggled like a madman behind you. Every few seconds you heard another burst of unhinged laughter — deep, smoky chuckles that occasionally turned into full-blown cackles. He kept muttering to himself between giggles:

“Heh... they thought they could trap me... and now I get grilled cheese... fuck those heroes...”

One of the hellhounds — Raze — wandered over and rested his massive horned head on Nexus’s thigh. Nexus absently scratched behind the beast’s ears while continuing to sway and snicker.

When you finally slid the perfectly golden grilled cheese onto a plate and pushed it toward him, Nexus stared at it like it was a sacred artifact. He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded and glowing with drunken affection, that signature arrogant smirk softened by alcohol.

“You’re my favorite hostage,” he declared solemnly, before picking up the sandwich with both hands and taking an enormous bite. Melted cheese stretched dramatically as he chewed, still giggling between mouthfuls.

“Best... grilled cheese... in the city,” he mumbled happily, crimson energy flickering lazily across his neck and jaw.