I Want to Fuck a Hero – A Warm Spring Day
From forest fire alerts to news about some company detecting harmful substances in their food products, and warnings that rain was likely starting at lunchtime so grab an umbrella—the announcer on TV, who had been droning on with trivial breaking news, suddenly fell silent.
Was it a broadcast glitch? The man sprawled on the sofa scratched his belly and yawned.
As if it were no big deal, the sound cut out entirely.
"……."
The announcer glanced away from the camera, whispering with someone off-screen. Ah, there—a beige hoodie peeked at the edge. Slight beer gut, so probably production staff. She seemed to be chatting with them.
Must be something important. Now she was even handed a piece of paper.
Standing right there, she flipped through a few sheets. Soon enough, her head tilted sideways in confusion. She had a pretty face, so even that simple gesture looked cute.
After nearly a minute of back-and-forth, she neatly straightened the fresh-out-of-the-printer A4 sheets and moved on to the next story.
"…Uh, so."
Now she was even stumbling over her words.
Hmm. I'd seen clips like this online sometimes. Announcers flubbing their lines. One had even teared up from embarrassment last time. Wonder if I could find it with a search.
The man stretched out, grabbing his phone from the sofa table.
And there, the internet was plastered wall-to-wall with one single story.
"B-breaking news. A fire-breathing… baby has appeared in Canada…."
What the hell is this bullshit? He blinked in disbelief.
1. Honestly, living like this, I figured I'd get to fuck a few heroes no problem.
"Ugh……."
That's the image villains had. Heinous criminals. Terrorists. Loose screws. Orphans with tragic backstories. Society's scum. Even getting trashed like that, kids still thought they looked kinda cool.
Flip side—what about heroes? Mascots. Idols. Elites. Judges smiting evil. And sacrificing their bodies for others… total idiots.
I figured after hanging with villains long enough, I'd wipe the floor with a few of those heroes, use 'em like tissues.
TV. Smartphones. YouTube. Eyewitness accounts. Community proof pics. Those heroes beaming back, symbols of hope for everyone—I'd sneak 'em away in secret, no fans the wiser.
Quietly. Into a filthy, cramped room reeking of villain stink. Onto a bed even tighter, stained with used condoms.
Pin down the struggling hero by force, watch 'em gasp and pant as I ram my dick in deep.
Back around twenty, early-mid, that's the hopeful dream that got me through happy villain days. Freshly legal, body all grown up—that age when horniness trumps everything.
"…Ugh……."
Lost too much blood? Clutching my right waist gashed by that scythe, I let out a pathetic groan, slumping against the wall.
The searing pain like third-degree burns was fading now. My head went foggy, vision blurring.
At seven, when I first got my powers, no way I imagined dying like some two-bit crook.
Gripping my mangled waist with shredded arms, I fought to keep breathing. But it wasn't working.
First time hurt this bad, probably. I'd trained religiously every day… all for nothing? Just balloon muscles?
"Fucking bitch……."
If it was a combat transcendent, I'd have thrashed around at least. If she was gonna take me down this easy, should've spat in that smug face first.
Ended up not just failing to fuck a hero—dying without even a curse.
"Guh…."
Unfortunately, I couldn't spew fire from my mouth. Couldn't conjure ice spears to impale rooftops like big-shot heroes. No summoning revenge spirits. Not even sword skills to slice everything like our company's named bosses.
Just one thing: healing type powers. Rapid wound repair on touch….
"Fuck…."
Even that wasn't working now. Cracked ribs aside, punctured organs made it impossible to focus mana.
Now I got what "dying of pain" really meant.
Should've healed the kids faster when they came back banged up. Too late for regrets.
"Hoo…. Hoo…."
Like a doctor who can't heal himself? No bitter laugh left—just pure shit.
"Life……."
If I'd known, I'd have ghosted that rude bitch when she randomly texted about drinks days ago. No famous hero, but at least I'd have railed a notorious villain till the sheets soaked, then croaked happy.
Sure, I'd brought home nameless villains… but they were just practice dummies. Fucked 'em all night, and they went "master, master," submitting instantly—boring airheads. Lost interest fast.
A hero would've resisted to the end. "This is violent, I hate it. Stop nicely. Kill me after." Yeah. That has breaking potential.
"……Phew…."
What use now? Deep sigh, I slid down the wall, sprawling on the floor.
Sticky blood soaking me like watered-down chocolate. Warm gushes cooled, hardened on skin.
Eyes shut. Even keeping them open tired me out.
Old folks say as long as you can hold a spoon, you can fuck. Bullshit.
Death closing in? Regrets flashed: blackmail sex tapes that proved useless. Extra-large condoms stocked with expiration dates for anytime action. Notepad on heroes' weaknesses, my in-roads….
Hmm. All sex-related.
"……."
Should've lived nicer. No cool last words like a hero—just generic Villain #1 thoughts as I wheezed in the blood puddle.
Breaths shallowed. Chest compressed slow, steady.
Losing consciousness… then bitter coffee scent snapped my eyes open.
"No need to read that closely. Healing types are rare—we'll treat you top-tier."
"…Pardon?"
"Nah, we don't need paper-pushin' for this anyway."
Clap. Loud smack like "look here."
Then a burly muscled right hand thrust toward me. Rolled-up shirt sleeve revealed furrier-than-human arm hair.
Right, the gorilla. Mutation type ability.
"Let's get along. Seo Woojin."
"……."
Familiar yet strange scenery rushed back.
Flashy interior from a solid backing. But that sofa—used? Sweat stains gleaming.
Mix coffee machine I'd never touched—too bitter. That rude bitch loved it.
And this furry arm. That creepy grin.
I knew them too well.
"…What're you doing, Woojin? Days later and still hungover? Kid looks spaced."
Ten years back. Day I turned legal, got plastered—he dragged me to a dark alley for a "scout offer."
Stalker vibes: watched a healing type like me for days. But villain was my dream job too, so street-cast smooth.
Not the point. Why replay that memory now?
"……."
Calm analysis: looks like… the past?
Crazy, but facts don't lie. Oh, right—life flashing. But this was sloooow. Not quick montage.
Tripping out? Dream? Staring at the furry hand—
Slap!
"Wha…."
Cheek stung like whiplash, neck cracking.
Slap. Slap. Slap. Kept going till questions cleared. Then the other side.
Slap. Slap. Slap. Blood and spit splattered the table. Hard.
"……Hmm."
Weird. Still no change. Swallowed pooled blood, stared blankly at his confused fist.
Hurts. Real-as-fuck pain. Nose stung too, though he hit cheeks. Nosebleed?
Wiped nostril with finger, touched face—channeled healing. Heat faded.
…Faded. Just like always. Felt real.
Dazed, fresh blood trickled, wetting lips.
Taste? No need—cheek split earlier, mouth full already. Gross from nose anyway.
Did I really return to the past with memories? Or gone insane, thinking I did?
Blinked awhile, grabbed tissue box, wiped nose.
Latter's too tragic. Force the former.
Villain life ends in raid death ten years on? Dodgable.
Mystery return process? Real.
Life contract ahead? Real.
"Hoo…."
Red tissues piled on trash bin's rice crust candy wrapper.
"Wh-what're you doing?"
"……."
"Woojin?"
"……."
…Oh. Right, this guy's frontline combat grunt.
Most hero encounters. Easiest post-fight hero-fucks. And per two months back drunk chat—still a virgin.
"Hey, you're scaring me, say something…."
"Sorry."
So. Eyeing the decent no-benefits contract.
"What?"
"Just… suddenly wanna live right from now."
"Huh?"
"Slapped myself awake."
Seizing the chance.
"Uh?"
"Cancel this contract. Pretend it never happened."
"Can-what?"
"Bye."
Villain life. Quit on the spot.
Death ten years later? Maybe dodge.
But this job… can't even properly fuck heroes. Utter bullshit.