Code Red
Pairing: Henry Hart (Aged Up) x Shy!Reader
Content Warnings: Oral (f receiving), fingering, shy reader dynamic, praise kink, possessiveness, light dom!Henry, protected PIV sex, emotional vulnerability, aftercare
a/n: this was suggested by a reader just letting yk that the characters are always aged up i DONT write those type of stuff, enjoy!
You weren’t supposed to be here.
Not in this strange metallic hallway. Not in this weird underground lair with high-tech walls and glowing control panels. Not staring wide-eyed at your best friend, the boy you’ve known since middle school wearing a red and blue suit that fit him like second skin, chest rising and falling like he just sprinted a mile.
You had followed him. You didn’t mean to. But he’d been acting strange for weeks. Always disappearing mid-conversation, dodging plans, eyes clouded like he was hiding a storm behind his lashes. And when you saw him sneak into that elevator in the back of Junk-N-Stuff, your curiosity cracked wide open.
And now you were here. Heart hammering. Lips parted in shock. Eyes fixed on the gloved hand he just pulled off revealing Henry Hart’s unmistakable fingers.
“Y/N,” he said, voice breathless, like he couldn’t believe you were standing there either. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even move. Your brain was short-circuiting, unable to connect the dots. Henry. Your Henry. Was Kid Danger. The sidekick. The superhero. The boy plastered on billboards and broadcasted in blurry livestreams saving Swellview every other week.
Your Henry had been lying to you.
The hurt landed before the logic.
“You—” Your voice broke. You didn’t mean for it to crack, didn’t mean for your hands to shake at your sides, but the sting in your chest came fast. “How long?”
He blinked, swallowing. His suit was still zipped to his collarbone, but his hair was a mess, curls wild from the fight he must’ve just had.
“Since I was fourteen.”
You turned your head like the words slapped you. “You’ve been lying to me for years.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he rushed. “I wanted to tell you so many times. I almost did. So many nights I wanted to show you—”
“But you didn’t,” you said, voice sharper than you ever meant it to be. You were shy, quiet by nature, Henry always teased you about how you whispered through your thoughts like they were secrets. but now your chest was tight with something that felt louder. Anger. Betrayal. And something else you didn’t want to name.
“I was protecting you,” he said, stepping forward. “I couldn’t drag you into this.”
You stepped back instinctively. “But I was dragged in, Henry. I’ve spent so long wondering why you’d vanish or come home with bruises or why your hands were shaking like you saw something you couldn’t talk about, I thought something was wrong with me. That maybe I wasn’t enough to trust.”
His face changed then. Like you cracked something in him wide open.
“Don’t say that,” he said, voice low. “You’ve always been enough.”
You stared at him, every inch of your body tense and burning. You’d loved Henry for years. Silently, painfully. You’d memorized every freckle on his shoulder, every smile he tossed over his shoulder when he thought you weren’t looking. But now that love felt like a weight.
“I just… I can’t believe you let me believe I wasn’t important.”
“You are,” he said immediately, stepping close again. “You’re so important. That’s why I didn’t tell you. Because the second I did, you’d be in this world with me. This dangerous, violent world. And the thought of you getting hurt…” He exhaled, jaw clenched. “It would destroy me.”
You looked up at him, and for the first time, you realized just how much he meant it. How scared he looked, not from being found out, but from losing you.
You whispered, “Then why didn’t you let me choose?”
Henry reached for your hand slowly. You didn’t pull away this time. His fingers were warm, trembling a little as they slid between yours.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But I never stopped thinking about you. Even on missions. Even when I was bleeding out behind dumpsters or flying through air trying to land on my feet, you were the one thing that kept me grounded. And that scared the hell out of me.”
You felt the knot in your chest loosen just slightly. You hated that you still cared. That his voice still made your stomach twist.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” you said quietly.
“Let me show you,” he said, eyes flicking down to your lips, then back to your eyes.
Your breath hitched.
He leaned in, but stopped a breath away. “Tell me to stop.”
You didn’t.
His lips pressed against yours with years of pent-up frustration. It wasn’t soft, not really, it was desperate. Controlled only by how tightly he gripped your face, as if scared you’d vanish. Your body folded into him before you could think, fists curling into the fabric of his suit, mouth opening under the weight of his kiss.
He backed you into the wall with one hand on your cheek and the other at your waist, thumb brushing bare skin where your shirt had risen. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing yours, breath ragged. You moaned, a quiet sound, surprised from your throat and you felt him groan into your mouth in return.
Then he pulled back suddenly, chest heaving.
“Tell me to stop,” he said again, voice rough now.
You looked up at him with wide eyes. Shy. Flushed. Barely able to speak.
“Don’t stop.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, but with intent. His hand slid under your shirt and splayed across your lower back, heat rising between you both like it had been simmering for years.
And maybe it had.
Your back hit the wall of the hideout’s side hallway again, but this time it didn’t feel cold. Not with Henry pressed flush against you, mouth trailing down your jaw, his breath hot and frantic.
You whimpered when his hands slid under your shirt again, this time tugging it up completely. He paused, giving you one last look, giving you the chance to back out.
You nodded, shy but breathless. “Please.”
The shirt came off. His eyes dropped, chest heaving like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re perfect,” he muttered, voice almost reverent. “Fuck.”
He kissed your collarbone, then lower. Your back arched without meaning to. When his fingers touched your waistband, you gasped.
“Still okay?” he whispered.
“Yes,” you breathed. “Henry…”
Your name never sounded so good as when it was moaned against your skin.
He dropped to his knees.
You’d seen Henry on the floor before game nights, sleepovers, the two of you sprawled on a rug laughing over some stupid inside joke. But this? This was something else.
He kissed your stomach, lips warm and unhurried. His hands gripped your thighs, and when he pulled your underwear down, you whimpered again body already slick with need.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groaned. “Wanted you for so long.”
You were trembling, overwhelmed by how seen you felt, how worshipped and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.
When his tongue finally made contact, your knees buckled.
He was good. Too good. Your hands shot down to his hair, gripping for balance. He groaned against you when you tugged a little, and the vibrations made you cry out.
“God, you taste—” He groaned again, switching to two fingers and curling them expertly inside you while he licked up the mess he was making. “Been dreaming about this mouth on you since high school.”
“Henry,” you whimpered. Your thighs were shaking.
“I got you, baby. I’ve got you.”
You came with a cry that echoed in the hall, legs clenching around his head. He didn’t stop until you were twitching from oversensitivity, and even then, he kissed the inside of your thighs like you were the only thing that mattered.
He stood up, lips shiny, hair messy.
“Lay down for me,” he said softly, gesturing to a soft mat nearby probably where they trained.
You obeyed, cheeks flushed. You were usually so shy. So soft-spoken. But right now, every part of you was lit up and craving more.
He undressed quickly, stripping the top of his suit off and digging through a drawer to grab a condom before settling over you. His body was so much stronger up close broad shoulders, defined abs, muscles cut like they were sculpted by need alone.
He kissed you again, slower now, with more emotion than heat. Like he was still trying to say all the things he never had the courage to.
When he slid inside, you gasped not from pain, but from how full you felt, how deeply he reached. He was slow, letting you adjust, until your fingers dug into his arms.
“Move,” you whispered.
His rhythm was smooth, controlled. Like he knew exactly how to make you fall apart again. He whispered in your ear the whole time.
“You feel like heaven.”
“Been thinking about this body every night.”
“No one’s ever gonna touch you like this again.”
“You’re mine.”
You came again when he angled his hips just right, and he followed not long after, spilling into the condom with a groan that sent chills down your spine.
He collapsed beside you, pulling you close, your head on his chest.
Neither of you spoke for a long time.
Then, quietly, you whispered, “I’m still mad at you.”
He smiled, kissing your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you. Again. And again. And again.”
You huffed a laugh, curling into him tighter.
Maybe you weren’t supposed to find out. Maybe you weren’t supposed to fall for your best friend.
But you did. And now, you couldn’t imagine a world where you hadn’t.