#cos it like a fucking chisel

[niko-jpg]

the eye hates this one simple trick!

blinding yourself with an awl

[boypied]

bet u wanna

mickey barnes x male reader

summary: mickey has just been cloned for the seventeenth time, and he ultimately can't hide his dark, lustfilled eyes whenever he sees you, mickey 17 wants nothing more than to please you.

requested by: anonymous

wc: 1.5k +

notes: MDNI, FDNI, oral sex (r!receiving), ass play, fingering, praising, pathetic!mickey, whimpering reader, thigh kink, cum swallowing (r!swallowing).

You slowly fall back against your bed, bouncing upwards ever so slightly hitting back against it once more as you press your hands over your eyes, submerging you into darkness. The knot in your stomach tightens as your cock soaks your underwear in your sweet tasting pre-cum, aching for a touch, a release that has been forced upon you from a pleasureful experience. You lay there fantasising about your co-working Mickey Barnes, the well-known disposable employee at your workplace. Throughout the workplace, Mickey comes across as quite submissive and pathetic, but you enjoy that about him. You find it so fucking sexy, almost orgasmic. You can imagine him right now, his perfectly chiselled face buried between your legs as he laps up your perfectly tight hole. You slowly slide your hand down your body and into your underwear, getting yourself ready to touch yourself until you're interrupted by a knock at your door. You let out a low grunt under your breath as you slip your hand out of your underwear. You adjust yourself ever so slightly, and you head towards your apartment door, pulling it open and being shocked at who is waiting behind it, "M-Mickey, what are you doing here?" You mumble out in pure shock as you swallow down a large amount of spit that you almost choked on the moment you opened up the door. Mickey smiles nervously as he scratches the back of his neck, "Can I come inside?" He says in his usual nervous tone. You nod your head and step to the side, allowing him to come inside your small apartment that was gifted to you when you took on the job.

You are completely shocked out of your mind that Mickey was here after the pure, smut filled fantasy that you were just about to blow a load over. "What made you stop by?" You ask him in a soft tone, stepping closer and closer to him, shutting the gap that was between the two of you. Mickey's face reddens with a deep blush as you slowly trace your fingers along his shoulder and then up his neck and down his jawline, you watch his eyes soften and he lets out a quiet whimper from your touch. You smirk as you notice how easy he folds for you, "Such a good boy.." You lean closer and mumble in his ear, which causes his eyes to soften even more, and a very obvious bulge begins to appear in his trousers. "Seems like someone is happy to see me." You say in a sultry tone with a cheeky smirk on your face as your hands travel down his body, feeling him until your finally reach what you've been waiting for; his huge fucking bulge. You gently grip at his bulge, causing him to let out a quiet whimper. You lean closer to him again and whisper in his ear, "Mickey... wanna come back to my roo-" but before you can even finish your sentence, Mickey eagerly nods his head with a huge eager smile on his face as he stares at you with his longing eyes wanting nothing more than to give you the best orgasm you've ever head. You take his hand and lead him into your bedroom, and suddenly, you feel Mickey grip at you from behind, and you hear his breath suddenly hitch when he whispers in your ear "I-I want to focus on you... all on you." He mumbles out in a soft tone, and your eyes flutter back as you reach your hand round to gently caress him.

Mickey's hands grip at your oversized t-shirt, and in one swift motion, he pulls it over your head, and he leans down ever so slightly covering the back of your neck and along your shoulder in soft and gentle kisses as you feel his raging boner pressed against your plump ass. Mickey's hands wrap around your waist from behind, and he grips at the hem of your joggers slowly pulling them down. He moves with it, dropping down onto his knees. Mickey slowly flutters his eyes open, and he's face to face with your bare asscheeks. His breath shudders as he reaches up, gripping at your hips as he pushes his face forward, your plump cheeks opening up to allow Mickey's mouth to reach in, his mouth coming into contact with your exposed asshole. Your body jolts, and your eyes widen at the sudden warmth and wet feeling of Mickey's tongue against your hole, "M-Mickey!" You gasp out in pure pleasureful bliss just from the sudden feeling of his tongue slowly lapping up your hole, coating it in his spit giving him the leverage to slip his tongue past your tight muscle ring and into the warmth of your ivory walls as they clamp around his tongue, you laugh out a breathy moan as you feel Mickey smirk around your asscheeks as he flicks his tongue back and forth getting closer and closer to your g-spot. You bite down onto your lower lip to keep you quiet.

Mickey pulls away from your asshole, his tongue slipping out and away from your tight muscle ring, and he looks up at your slightly arched back as you wobble back and forth. He places a gentle kiss on your asscheek before standing back up, "lay down." He mumbles into your ear as you walk over to your bed where you lay down onto your back and you open up your legs to see Mickey pulling his shirt off as he climbs onto the bed, his face inbetween your thighs. Mickey side smiles at you which causes your stomach to flip upside down and become riddled with butterflies, "fuck, he's never looked hotter." You think to yourself as he places a kiss on either side of your thigh until you grip at his hair pulling him down towards your cock where he takes your cock fully inside his mouth causing you to gasp out in pure bliss, "f-fuck!" You mumble out as you slowly fall back entirely and your eyes flutter back. "M-Mhm," you whimper out as Mickey works his head up and down, making sure that his lips are suctioned around your raging hard-on, that is all because of him. Mickey continues to work away at your cock, taking every inch of your cock into his mouth without taking his eyes off of your face that is so obviously full of ecstasy. Mickey's fingers travel up the bed and into his already full mouth as he coats his two fingers in his spit. Once they're covered in his own spit, he brings them down to your already tongue-worked asshole. He gently pushes his fingers against your hole, and without a doubt, your body allowed his fingers into you, "M-MICKEY!" You sharply moan out as you feel his tongue swirl around the tip of your dick as well as his fingers curling up inside your asshole, perfectly hitting your sweet spot that you've been dreaming of having Mickey touch.

You let out a sharp whimper as his fingers directly curl against your sweet spot, and once he hit that once, he continued to hit it over and over again. Mickey milks your sweet spot, which creates a ripple effect as your cock leaks like a facet in his mouth and Mickey is loving every moment of this. You slowly begin to run through his hair, gripping in against it, gently tugging on it, which causes Mickey to throw his head back and show off his extremely sexy smirk. "I love it when you whimper." Mickey mumbles out in a breathy moan as he continues to finger fuck you except with his other free hand that was gripped against your thighs, Mickey now wraps it around your slick wet cock and he slowly begins to pump your cock. "Cum for me baby, p-please cum for me... I've never wanted anything more then to watch you explode a fat load all for me." He says in a clear sultry tone which completely sends you over the edge, "M-Mickey! F-FUCK!" You gasp out in pure orgasmic bliss as with one more swift motion of Mickey's wrist and curl of his fingers, you get sent completely over the edge. The tip of your cock pulsates and your entire cock twitches until you spill your load, completely shooting rockets of cum all over the place. Mickey sticks his tongue out as he pumps the load out of you, "Good boy!" He whispers to you as some of your cum hits his face and lands all over his tongue. Your eyes flutter back as you try to stay focused on him, but the pure blissful delight of the orgasm that Mickey has just given you has caused you to see stars. Mickey climbs up closer to you as you take deep breaths to try and cool down from what just happened. You turn over and look directly at him, and you can't help but smile. You don't even have to say a word to Mickey for him to just pull you against his body. "You're perfect." You mumble out underneath your breath, thinking about all the things you can do together in the near future, but until then, you lay there in his warm embrace listening to the sound of Mickey breathing and hearing his heart beat... for you.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold @sluttyhusband @sleep-0-deprived

[rafedarling]

queen have u seen the new photos of Drew. 🤭🤭

dad!Drew x reader where like it’s the blue suit red carpet and the whole family is in italy together and reader thinks drew looks so yummy so it’s like smut where they get back to the hotel and they have to be quiet AF

yass girl and not gonna lie, he looks fucking hot !

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐲

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader summary: at the venice film festival 2024, drew and you, both acclaimed actors, make a stunning appearance on the red carpet for the premiere of the new movie, ‘queer’. your two-year-old twin daughters, ophelia and olympia, accompany you and drew, captivating everyone with their sweet presence. after the event, the starkey returns to their luxurious hotel suite, where, after putting the girls to bed, you and drew indulges in a passionate, intimate moment, trying to keep quiet as your daughters sleeping in the room next door. | word count: 2,8k warning(s): english is not my native language. 18+, smut, piv, creampie, cum play, sexual content, language, MINOR DNI!!

au: fill this form if you want to be tag. like, reblog & reply or much appreciated! tagging: @rafeyslamb

As the sun was setting over Venice, casting the city in a warm, golden glow as you and Drew Starkey arrived at the Venice Film Festival. The air buzzed with excitement as stars from around the world gathered to celebrate the premiere of QUEER, a film that had garnered significant attention for its bold storytelling and representation. Tonight, you and Drew were not just co-stars but partners, sharing the spotlight with your two-year-old twin daughters, Ophelia and Olympia.

As you stepped onto the red carpet, the cameras flashed, capturing the perfect image of a beautiful family. Drew looked stunning in a deep navy suit, the black lapels adding a sharp contrast that highlighted his chiseled features. His hair was styled just so, a little tousled, giving him an effortlessly handsome look. You wore a flowing, elegant gown that complemented Drew’s suit perfectly, the fabric shimmering under the lights as you walked hand in hand.

Ophelia and Olympia were dressed in matching white dresses, their blonde curls bouncing with every step as they clung to your hands, their little faces a mixture of awe and curiosity. They had been to events before, but nothing quite like this. The sheer scale of the festival, the grandeur of the venue, and the attention from the media were overwhelming for anyone, let alone two toddlers. Yet, they handled it with the grace of seasoned professionals, waving shyly at the cameras, their innocent smiles melting the hearts of everyone watching.

As you posed for photos, Drew leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You look incredible tonight,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “But I think the girls are stealing the show.”

Drew chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at Ophelia and Olympia. “They are, aren’t they? Just like their mom—beautiful and captivating.”

The interviews followed, and as usual, Drew handled the press with charm and ease. The reporters were eager to hear about your experiences on set, the dynamics of working together as a couple, and of course, how you managed to balance your careers with raising your daughters. Drew’s answers were thoughtful and sincere, emphasizing how much he valued the time spent with his family, both on and off the set.

“They’re the reason I do this,” he said, glancing at you and the girls with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Having them here with me tonight makes it all the more special.”

The night continued with more photos, more interviews, and a palpable sense of anticipation for the premiere. But as much as you enjoyed the spotlight, the most important part of the evening was the shared experience with Drew and your daughters. You could see the pride in Drew’s eyes every time he looked at you or the girls, a silent acknowledgment of the journey you had been on together.

After the screening of QUEER, which was met with a standing ovation, the four of you were whisked back to your hotel in a sleek black car. The night air was cool and refreshing, a welcome contrast to the heat of the cameras and the lights of the red carpet. Ophelia and Olympia, who had been little stars all evening, were starting to show signs of fatigue. Their little eyes drooped, and they leaned heavily against you and Drew, their tiny bodies growing limp with exhaustion.

Back at the hotel, you and Drew worked together to get the girls ready for bed. The suite was spacious and luxurious, with a separate bedroom for the twins. After helping them out of their dresses and into their pajamas, you read them a story, your voice soft and soothing as they snuggled into their beds. Drew sat beside you, one arm draped around your shoulders, his other hand gently stroking Olympia’s hair as her eyes slowly closed.

Ophelia was the first to fall asleep, her hand clutching her favorite stuffed bunny. Olympia held out a little longer, her eyes fluttering open and closed until finally, she gave in to sleep. You and Drew sat there for a moment longer, watching your daughters’ peaceful faces, their soft breathing filling the room with a sense of calm.

Finally, you and Drew quietly left the room, closing the door behind you with a gentle click. The suite was silent, the only sounds the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint noise of the city outside. You leaned against the door, your eyes meeting Drew’s across the room.

“They were amazing tonight,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips.

Drew walked over to you, his gaze intense as he cupped your face in his hands. “They take after their mother,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You were incredible too. I’m so proud of you.”

You felt a warm blush spread across your cheeks at his words. “Thank you,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Drew’s eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “We finally have some time to ourselves,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “What do you want to do?”

A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine at the implication in his tone. You slid your hands up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. “I can think of a few things,” you replied, your voice breathless as you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

Drew responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing yours as he pressed you against the door. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the intense need that was building between you. His hands roamed your body, expertly undoing the zipper of your dress and letting it fall to the floor in a soft rustle of fabric.

You broke the kiss just long enough to help him out of his jacket and shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you undid the buttons. Drew’s hands found your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you again, more urgently this time, his need for you growing with every passing second.

He backed you towards the bed, his hands never leaving your body as he guided you onto the soft mattress. The cool sheets contrasted with the heat of his skin as he hovered above you, his gaze raking over your body with a look of pure adoration.

“You’re so beautiful,” Drew whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he kissed a trail down your neck, his lips leaving a burning path on your skin. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You arched into his touch, your fingers threading through his hair as he continued his descent, his mouth hot against your collarbone. “Drew...” you moaned softly, your voice trembling with need as you felt him reach for the clasp of your bra, expertly undoing it and tossing it aside.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as he gently cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you gasp. Drew smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself as he dipped his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

Your back arched off the bed at the sensation, a moan escaping your lips as you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, every nerve in your body on high alert as Drew lavished attention on your breasts, his hands and mouth working in perfect harmony to drive you wild.

After what felt like an eternity of blissful torment, Drew continued his journey downward, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach, his hands guiding your hips as he slowly pulled your panties down, leaving you completely exposed to him. He paused for a moment, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe as he gently spread your legs, positioning himself between them.

You bit your lip, anticipation building as you felt the heat of his breath against your most sensitive area. “Drew, please...” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

He didn’t make you wait any longer. With a low growl of desire, he dipped his head, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you, your hips bucking involuntarily as you moaned his name. Drew’s hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he continued to pleasure you, his tongue and lips working together to drive you closer and closer to the edge.

You clung to the sheets, your body trembling with the intensity of the sensations as Drew brought you to the brink of ecstasy. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it any longer, he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours as he inserted a finger inside you, the sensation of his long, skilled fingers pushing you over the edge.

You cried out, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm as Drew continued to work you through it, his fingers and mouth never stopping until you were completely spent, your body going limp with exhaustion.

Drew climbed back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss as he positioned himself at your entrance. You were still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but the feel of him so close, so ready, reignited the fire inside you.

You wrapped your legs around Drew’s waist, pulling him closer as he hovered above you, his breath warm and ragged against your lips. His eyes locked onto yours, a mixture of love, desire, and admiration swirling within them. He held himself there, just at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

You nodded, unable to find the words as anticipation coursed through your veins. The look in his eyes was enough to send another shiver of pleasure down your spine. You could feel him, hot and hard, pressing against you, and the need to have him inside you was almost unbearable.

“Please,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. “I need you, Drew.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a slow, deliberate movement, Drew pushed forward, filling you inch by inch. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pressure as he stretched you, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other. You both moaned as he entered you fully, the feeling of him deep inside you almost overwhelming.

Drew paused, his forehead resting against yours as he took a moment to savor the sensation, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“So do you,” you replied breathlessly, your hands gripping his shoulders as you adjusted to the feel of him inside you. The connection between you was palpable, an unspoken bond that had only deepened over time. Every touch, every movement felt like a promise, a testament to the love you shared.

Drew started to move, slow and steady at first, his thrusts deep and measured. Each movement sent ripples of pleasure through your body, building a delicious tension that made you gasp and cling to him even tighter. His hands roamed your body, one settling on your hip to guide your movements, the other brushing the hair away from your face as he kissed you deeply.

The kiss was passionate, filled with the kind of raw, unfiltered emotion that only came from years of love and trust. You could feel the intensity of his feelings in the way he kissed you, in the way he held you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world. It was more than just physical; it was a connection of souls, a merging of hearts.

As Drew’s thrusts became more urgent, the pace quickened, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of another orgasm. He seemed to sense it too, his movements becoming more purposeful, his hand slipping between your bodies to find that sensitive bundle of nerves that he knew would push you over the edge.

When he touched you there, the sensation was electric, your body responding instantly as pleasure exploded within you. You cried out his name in silece, your back arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through you, your body trembling with the force of it. Drew didn’t stop, his movements relentless as he continued to drive into you, prolonging your pleasure until you were a quivering mess beneath him.

Finally, with a few more powerful thrusts, Drew followed you over the edge, his own release coming with a guttural groan as he buried himself deep inside you. You could feel the warmth of his release, the pulsing of his body against yours as he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving with exertion.

For a moment, the two of you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of you trying to catch your breath as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through your bodies. The room was filled with the sounds of your breathing, mingling together in the stillness of the night.

Drew finally lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with love. He reached up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as he smiled down at you. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with sincerity.

You smiled back at him, your heart swelling with love. “I love you, Drew” you replied, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “I love you, Drew.”

“I love you too,” he whispered back, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. It was a kiss filled with all the love and affection he couldn’t put into words, a promise that he would always be there for you, no matter what.

He rolled over, pulling you with him so that you were lying on his chest, your legs still entwined. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that lulled you into a state of contentment. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

The two of you lay there in silence for a while, simply enjoying the closeness, the feel of each other’s bodies pressed together. The world outside might have been filled with the glitz and glamour of the festival, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s love.

Eventually, Drew shifted slightly, his hand running up and down your back in a soothing motion. “We should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “The girls will be up early.”

You chuckled softly, knowing he was right. As much as you wanted to stay in this moment forever, the responsibilities of parenthood would call soon enough. “Yeah,” you agreed, though you made no move to get up just yet.

Drew smiled, tightening his hold on you. “We’ll have plenty of nights like this,” he promised, his voice filled with certainty. “Plenty of moments where it’s just you and me.”

You nodded, feeling a warm sense of contentment settle over you. “I’m looking forward to it,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest before finally, reluctantly, rolling off of him.

You both moved slowly, the exhaustion from the day and the intensity of your lovemaking catching up with you. Drew helped you pull the covers up over your bodies, his arm wrapping around you once more as you settled against his side. The bed was warm and comfortable, and you could feel yourself drifting off almost immediately, the events of the day a pleasant blur in your mind.

As you closed your eyes, you felt Drew press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, his voice the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you.

“Goodnight,” you murmured back, a smile on your lips as you finally surrendered to the peaceful darkness.

And with that, you both fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

[whirlybirbs]

simon walking a patrol in his walls w a bucket of mortar, moth following behind him whistling tapping the wall with a rlly small chisel

3. handler's manual — ghost / reader

desc: a new year's eve honeypot brings a realization. pairing: lt. simon "ghost" riley / f!reader ; callsign: moth listen to: asmr by only fire (for seoul bar beats) a/n: i like making this traumatized man come to terms with his repressed sexual attraction to his co-worker in questionable mission scenarios. he really said "i am gonna kill this man because he touched you wrong" ⇽ prev / next ⇾

Your boots are crossed at the ankle and perched on the debrief table. You lean back, flip through the mission report, and then level Laswell with a look that — if given proper ammunition — could kill.

Your affect is flat. Unenthused.

"Honeypots are outdated."

"—But effective—"

"And misogynistic," you insist as you sit up and smack the manilla folder to the table. You drop your head back, "Kate, come on—"

"You're the only fit for this assignment, Moth," her eyes wander the room; bless their hearts, the men look decidedly uncomfortable about the subject. Price is fiddling with his watch. Johnny's tugging at his lip, watching the exchange closely. Gaz looks like he's going to be skinned alive if he speaks. Ghost is silent with his hands in his lap, unmoving — is... is he even listening?

"If you're trying to tell me the el-tee wouldn't look good in a red dress and a pair of heels—"

"Oi."

So he is listening.

There are snickers. Price rolls his jaw to hide a smirk. Johnny slides a look to Gaz. Gaz presses both palms to his eyes. Ghost is staring now and boring a glare into the side of your head, wishing it was a 9mm.

You wish it was a 9mm. Then, at least, you'd be at peace.

"I don't want to outsource this, Moth, the less people involved the better," Kate exhales tightly; she can't say she blames you, she's never been a fan of honey-trapping in her own career, "It's quick. In, out. Rendezvous with the target, sweeten him up, sell the story, get the information, and then get out."

You let out a long sigh. You're thinking about it, how — sure — this is part of your job description but for fuck's sake. This sort of assignments make your skin crawl. Too close, too dangerous. Things can go sideways fast and all you'll have is the skin on your back and a knife under your skirt.

"What's th' problem, Moth?" comes Ghost's low rumble from the corner; his arms are crossed tightly over his chest, his knee bouncing, "You 'fraid y' won't look good in a red dress an' a pair of heels?"

Son of a bitch. It must be a good mood day.

You flash him a glare — you narrow your lashes and then throw him your best faux laugh. It dies flat into a deadpan. "Ha, ha — That's funny, Riley."

Ghost chuckles; it's quiet, you barely hear the gravel rasp from your spot at the debrief table.

Laswell cracks a wry smile. Price rubs his beard.

"I'll do it," you concede after a long breath; the tension in the room dissipates upon your agreement. You stand, tuck the folder under your arm, and flash a threatening pointed finger at Laswell and Price.

"But, no glitter."

"Lookin' awfully sparkly, Mothy."

You hope Lieutenant Simon Riley falls off the building he's doing Overwatch from. Actually, no. You hope he gets hit with a stray New Year's Eve firework. Then, you hope a bird shits on him. And then he falls off the building.

There's glitter everywhere. Gold glitter. Flakey, scratchy gold glitter. It's in your hair, and all over your hands. You feel... uncomfortable. Uneasy.

It doesn't help that your Overwatch is cracking jokes in your ear as you weave through the busy rooftop bar in Seoul. The music is loud; the bass rattles in your chest and the lights strobe making the crowd melt away into blinks of light.

Soap's laughter is louder.

"Wha' was tha' request 'bout no glitter?"

You hope he also falls off the building.

You can't reply — you're too busy thanking a waiter for the flute of champagne that's gripped like your lifeline. Your rings tinker against the glass as you smile and bob to the music; your eyes are busy scanning the room, trying to spot Joo Sung-Min — the son of a tech mogul whose recent involvement with some questionable political allies has raised flags in the intelligence community. He's under the impression he's meeting with a Russian businesswoman: you.

You spot the target ten minutes in — the Brit and Scotsman's occasional commentary is no help. For fuck's sake, those two cannot shut up as you lean against the bar and toss your best dazzling smile at Joo Sung-Min. It catches the man's eye.

"That 'ow you flirt, Mothy?" comes the more grated reply from Ghost; through his scope he can see you place a hand on Sung-Min's arm. He grimaces down the ACOG, "Could use some work."

Ghost doesn't know what this feeling is in his chest. It's uncomfortable. Wrong. You're smiling up at the target again, giggling, and leaned back against the bar. That dress is a right show. All leg. His scope wanders — only for a moment — and immediately Ghost grits his jaw so tight his teeth ache.

"There y' go, Moth," comes Soap's slow encouraging whisper over the comms — there's something being slipped into your fingers by Sung-Min; Soap props himself up on his elbows, binoculars trained on his face, "Almost done."

Fingers linger, your smile drags out, your face tilts up — then, Sung-Min's gilded hand grips your chin. It's tight enough to bruise, and Soap curses tightly. Ghost's finger twitches on the trigger, his sight trained directly on the man's skull.

...Then, you rake your eyes down Sung-Min's black-on-black suit and make a point of biting your rouged bottom lip.

Whatever the fuck that was? It worked.

The kiss that Sung-Min drags out of you is anything but sweet, but you twirl that data-stick in your fingers when he pulls away to release the rough grip on your chin.

Ghost swallows tightly, his pupils dilating. He lets go of a tense breath as Johnny exhales in relief beside him. His trigger finger twitches again.

...He doesn't like this feeling.

Your bitten lips are meant to insinuate thanks, and you toss a lingering look over your shoulder as Sung-Min's eyes follow you as you blend back into the crowd.

You're in the elevator when you finally chirp back over the comms:

"Get me the fuck out of here. "

You hate honeypots.

Ghost is realizing, as he shrugs his sniper over his shoulder, that he does too.

[leclerc-hs]

tachycardia! pt. 1 - cl16

pairing: doctor!charles leclerc x nurse!reader (alpha/omega au) summary: in which you don't always get along with the arrogant alpha doctor warnings: LIGHT a/b/o dynamics, angst??, none really (yet!), badly translated french, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 1.7k author's note: hi so this is the first part!! I'm thinking about turning this into like a "blurb" series, like i'll do a bunch of parts with them but they won't be toooooo long. emphasis on the LIGHT a/b/o dynamics because i am STILL leaning all about it but I'm sure the more I write the better with it I will get. I def will discuss more about it during smut scenes. let me know what you guys think and what else you would like to see happen between them!! don't be shy!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN’T HATRED, per se, but more so the fact that you both knew how to get under each other’s skin so easily. 

The amount of time it took for Doctor Leclerc to make some sort of asshole comment as you entered the doors of the hospital was little to none. It was almost a predetermined ritual at this point. So common that you should’ve been more concerned with the premise that he might’ve memorized your schedule just so it’s his face you see first thing every time you arrive to work. 

You had made a solemn vow to yourself long ago never to become romantically involved with a doctor. Any doctor for that matter. The allure of dating a doctor might have seemed appealing in theory, but they tended to exude an air of pretentiousness, rudeness, and arrogance that left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Doctor Leclerc was what you would consider the living embodiment of this, a constant reminder of the vows you made in the first place. Yet, the fact that he was probably the hottest fucking man you have ever seen, made it hard to not want to blur the lines sometimes. His chiseled features and commanding presence were sometimes a magnetic force, no matter how much he annoyed you.

So, you wonder why, even as you’re leaned against the nurse’s station with an elbow propped on it, you can’t help but stare at the muscles of his back poking through his scrubs and white coat, as he pours a cup of coffee into his mug. His massive shoulders rising and falling as he picks the coffee pot up and places it back down.

-

“Did he say something to you?” You ask as you press a tissue into the hands of one of your co-workers, April. You didn’t know that well, but nurses stuck together regardless.

“I’m fine,” she says, but the tears welling up in her eyes, made you know better. “I just need to stop being so sensitive.” The words hang in the air, a fragile façade masking the turmoil within, and you recognize the weight of her emotions despite her attempt to downplay them.

“He must have been a proper douche,” you remark, the water from the bathroom sink running over your hands as you meet April’s gaze through the mirror. “What did he do?” Your tone carries a mix of concern and frustration.

Her hesitance to disclose wasn’t rooted in desire to withhold information, but rather in a reluctance to escalate the situation unnecessarily. Aware of your tendency to stand up to Doctor Leclerc, she treaded cautiously. You turned back around to face her, an eyebrow raised as if you’re saying spill the beans already.

“Well,” she begins, her grip tightening on the crumpled tissue in her fist, “all I did was ask if the symptom the patient was experiencing was a common side effect of the medication we prescribed her, just to be sure.” You cross your arms over your chest, you can feel the agitation growing in your chest. “He wasn’t mean in front of the patient, but he pulled me aside after and told me how unprofessional it is to be questioning in front of a patient.” Her voice wavers with a mix of frustration and hurt.

Your lips press into a thin line as she recounts the encounter. “He then told me that I should’ve paid better attention in school and then maybe I would know the answer,” she emphasizes, tinged with a hint of bitterness. The word “maybe” lingers in the air, weighted with insinuation, as if Doctor Leclerc’s implication stung deeper than mere criticism.

“What an alpha asshole!” you exclaim, your frustration evident in the forceful wave of your hands. “Don’t listen to him.” You offer her comfort, a smile of reassurance accompanying your words, a silent vow to stand by her side.

April’s lips curl upward into a small, grateful smile, her eyes softening as she murmurs a heartfelt “thanks”. In that moment, her expression speaks volumes, conveying both appreciation for your support and glimmer of relief.

-

You saw him before he saw you. 

As you step through the doorway into one of your patient’s rooms, a pang of exasperation washes over you, accompanied by the silent question of what you did to deserve this particular form of punishment. It feels like a cruel twist of fate to find Doctor Leclerc attending to one of your patients, whom had just recently had a coronary angioplasty and a stent placement. Despite the urge to roll your eyes, you summon all your professionalism and force one of the biggest smiles onto your face. It’s a façade of warmth and cooperation, masking the internal tension brewing beneath the surface.

There he stood, a figure of authority on the opposite end of the bed, his arms folded across his chest as he chuckled at whatever anecdote your patient shared with him. His laughter, though genuine, seemed to echo with a hint of superiority. You can’t help but notice the subtle flex of his jaw muscles as his head tilts back briefly. The sight of his scruff and the contours of his muscular neck send a tingling sensation coursing through you.

You need to snap out of it! You repeat to yourself, a silent mantra echoing in your mind. You were so preoccupied with convincing yourself that Doctor Leclerc wasn’t unbelievably attractive that you failed to notice the scrutiny of two pairs of eyes now fixed upon you. The sudden realization jolts you back to the present, and you redirect your focus to the patient.

You didn’t need to glance at Doctor Leclerc to sense the presence of a smirk tugging at his lips; it was almost palpable, a silent acknowledgement that he had caught you staring at him. Distracted by him. 

“Glad you can join us, mon lapin.” My bunny.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a flicker of irritation igniting within you. That forsaken nickname—he just couldn’t resist. Ever since your first day, when you innocently showed up with a tote bag adorned with colorful bunnies, he had taken great delight in teasing you with it.

“Ne m’appele pas comme ça.”  Don’t call me that.

The patient looked up at both of you, eyes full of delight in entertainment.

His verdant eyes look at you for a few seconds, contemplating something, before looking back at the patient. “I’ll make sure you’re out of here in no time,” he assures the patient, his voice full of warmth. “I just need to check your vitals, and hopefully we can have you out here in a few days.” His words are reassuring, delivered with a blend of confidence and empathy that contrasts with the earlier tension in the room. Despite your reservations, you can’t deny that he provides great care for his patients.

“How has your medication been? Still uncomfortable?” You inquire, while Doctor Leclerc listens intently to your patient’s chest with his stethoscope.

“A little bit,” your patient murmurs in response, pausing between deep breaths as instructed by Doctor Leclerc.

“I’ll make sure you get another dose of aspirin to help ease the pain.” You promise with a tight-lipped smile as Doctor Leclerc removes the stethoscope from his ears.

“I think we need to reconsider the dosage,” you assert, meeting Doctor Leclerc’s gaze.

“We don’t want to risk any adverse effects.” His eyes, a much darker hue of green now, narrow at you, like he can’t believe you’re telling him what to do. “I’ve already adjusted his medication. It’s within the recommended for his condition.” 

He shifts his focus back to the patient, the darkness and annoyance that once clouded his eyes now dissipating. “Everything is looking great! I’ll check on you tomorrow morning,” he reassures the patient with a warm smile before bidding his farewells. As he turns to you, nodding toward the doorway, his demeanor shifts, and a lethal glare meets your gaze. Without a word, you follow him out the room, bracing yourself. You refuse to cower, meeting his glare with a steely resolve of your own. Each step you take alongside him is a silent assertion.

His touch on your elbow sends a jolt of tingles to your stomach as he swiftly turns you around, your back now pressed firmly against the wall. His gaze pierces through you with a lethal intensity. 

“Que pensez-vous faire?” What do you think you’re doing? He pinched the bridge of his nose in between his pointer finger and thumb, with his eyes scrunched as if he got a splitting headache in the span of one second. Like he was in pain. Did you know how strong you scent was? He wondered mindlessly, almost forgetting why he was so mad at you in the first place.

You thought nothing of his actions, too busy feeling the anger swell in the pit of your stomach.

Your eyes roll in exasperation, and your eyebrows knit together in annoyance at the audacity of this man. 

His eyes meet your again and can’t help but think how beautiful you look, even when angry. How he would just love to bend you over his knee and remind you who is in charge.

“Je veille sur mon patient.” I’m looking out for my patient.

He rests his hands on his hips, stealing a glance at his beeping pager before fixing his gaze back on you. His eyes, nearly black, pierce through you. “Non, tu essaies juste de provoquer une dispute comme d’habitude,” You’re just trying to start an argument as usual. He grits through clenched teeth. “His medication is completely fine, et tu le sais!” And you know it!

So, maybe you were trying to start an argument with him. Especially after April’s crying face came to your mind.

He’s so close that you can hardly think around his scent. It’s almost intoxicating.

“Don’t ever make April cry again.” You jab your finger into his shoulder, reminding yourself why you’re here in the first place.

He blinks, and you catch the glimmer of recognition spreading across his features. “Elle n’a aucun courage” She has no spine. He remarks before continuing, “She should learn from you. You probably have spare spines.” He steps back from you before striding down the hallway in opposite direction of the nurse’s station.

No matter how annoyed you were, you couldn't peel your eyes off his muscular back until he was completely out of sight. You scoffed at yourself. How pathetic am I? You questioned yourself repeatedly until you take in his last words to you.

Did he just make a joke?

[sleep-i-ness]

5 Midnight Conversations (Anthony Lockwood x reader)

SERIES MASTERLIST | LOCKWOOD & CO MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

You wake with a start, heart pounding, the feeling of too many hands on your skin, and you press a hand to your side, expecting to feel the warmth of blood seeping through your borrowed pyjamas. When it comes away clean, you are still breathing far too fast to be able to calm down, but at least your brain is slowly starting to register where you are. You haven’t screamed, so there are some small mercies at least.

Patting the air beside the sofa, your hand lands on the small table and fumbles around for the switch to the little lamp you assured them you wouldn’t need during the night. As warm light caresses your face, you force yourself to just breathe, inhaling and exhaling slowly and ignoring the adrenaline simmering beneath your skin. Until you get your heart rate down, there’s no way you’re falling back asleep. Your fingers close around your phone, taking comfort in the familiar weight in your hand, until the screen flickers on and you see the time. 3 a.m.

Fuck.

You wrinkle your nose. A meagre four hours will hardly last you through the next day, and you aren’t going to call in sick to Arif for just some bad dreams, which means that for the next few hours, you are at least going to have to try and sleep. Close your eyes and hope that the sensation of cold fingers bruising your skin fades if you wait it out.

Perhaps a nice cup of tea might do the trick. And maybe a couple of doodles added to the Thinking Cloth, just to provide some entertainment for when they next look at it. You’ve been itching to add Kipps’ face onto it, even if you don’t get to see either of their reactions—it’s the mere thought of it that brings you joy. You can hardly imagine that Lockwood will derive any pleasure from seeing his face all the time, anyway.

You swing your legs off the sofa, hissing at the cold seeping up from the floor before braving a stand. You should have asked for slippers as well, but you haven’t wanted to take advantage of their hospitality, even if Lockwood is the one to suggest your overnight stay.

You make your way to the door, feeling around in the darkness to avoid bumping into anything, and then creep through the moonlit hallway to the kitchen, frowning when you see the door lit up with an amber glow.

The door creaks open as you gently push it, bringing you face-to-face with a half-asleep Lockwood, hair awry and eyes half-closed. He seems softened by the lamplight, chiselled features blurred in the half-light, in his pyjamas, body relaxed into the chair.

You cough, and he jolts upright, fixing a smile onto his face at the sight of you in the doorway. You frown.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs.

You nod. “I thought a cup of tea might help.”

“You sit down; I’ll make us both some.” He stands despite your protests, so you just close the door with a gentle click and settle into the seat at the head of the table. Picking up an already uncapped pen, you take a look at some new additions and grimace at curling handwriting in the shape of your name.

“Peppermint work for you?” Lockwood asks from where he’s rifling through the cupboards.

“…Yeah,” you respond, too focused on the Cloth to really answer. He glances over at you and frowns. “Hey Lockwood, why’s my name on this?”

“We were trying to think of ways to get more information for this case. Kipps suggested you, which is why we brought you in, but Lucy had already mentioned your name, so we just jotted it down.”

“Hm.”

Lockwood sets a mug down in front of you, and you force a smile. His eyebrows furrow, mouth twisting slightly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re fine.”

You scowl. Hypocrite. “I’m sorry, what do you want me to do? Mope around and act like a dark gloomy cloud in the corner of every room?”

Lockwood winces.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he murmurs softly, and you feel a little pinch of guilt. Not huge, but he doesn’t really deserve you biting his head off, especially after apologising. “I…”

He hesitates, and you raise an eyebrow, eyes narrowing slightly as he runs a hand through his hair. You hate to admit that the strand flopping into his face, disrupting that carefully sculpted poise, makes him far more endearing than he has ever seemed before.

“I didn’t want you to do the thing earlier.”

You frown. That is the last thing you are expecting him to say. “I could’ve just said no.”

“But you wouldn’t have. It was obvious you did it for Kipps.”

You shrug. He is right, but you owe Kipps. You can’t count the number of times he has saved your life, has held you as you cried after every mission, has helped you get out of there. You would do anything for Kipps because nothing can repay what he has done for you.

“I’m sorry, anyway.”

You purse your lips. “Don’t apologise. I wouldn’t have done it, and Kipps wouldn’t have asked me if it wasn’t going to be okay. I’ll just take sleeping pills until the nightmares are gone.”

Lockwood’s face twitches, an unreadable expression flashing across his features. And then it is gone. “Why did you do it for Kipps?”

“I owe him. He’s saved my life far too many times, and I don’t like seeing him stressed.”

Lockwood frowns. “Are you two—”

There is an odd sort of pinch to his mouth as he speaks, something strange behind his eyes, and you grimace. “God, no. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I just…” Lockwood shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing for a second before his expression smooths over again. “I was just curious.”

You take a sip of your tea. “Well, you know what they say.”

Lockwood blinks at you, lips pressing together as he tilts his head.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

A grin breaks across his face. “And satisfaction brought it back.”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh. “Curiosity satisfied then?”

Lockwood taps his spoon against the side of his mug, laying it flat on the Thinking Cloth before picking up a pen to fiddle with. “Somewhat.”

Steam curls upward from your mug, and you stare at it, uncomfortably aware of his eyes still on you. Out of the corner of your eye, Lockwood tilts his head, pursing his lips.

“Go on then. Ask away,” you lean back in your chair, feeling it wobble on two legs and quickly steadying yourself.

A sheepish expression flits onto Lockwood’s face, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, who did you work for?”

“Fittes,” your nose wrinkles, lips pursing together as if you have tasted something sour. You, of all people, are not blind to the reputation your previous agency holds; it has been an unpleasant working environment, both with the cases and the people assigned to them.

“Is that how you came to know Kipps?”

You nod. “Yeah, he always kept me under his wing. People like me don’t tend to last very long in agencies.”

“Why did you leave?”

You take a deep breath. “Bad case. Really bad case. I don’t really want to talk about it. You can ask Kipps in the morning, if you have to.”

He nods, face softening as his eyes search you. Looking for something. You aren’t sure what, but it is disconcerting to be read so intently. Heat creeps up to the tips of your ears, tinging them pink, and you feel yourself cringing away from the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” Your words come out harsher than you intend, and Lockwood smirks.

“Nothing. It’s just… interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

Lockwood leans forward slightly, fiddling absentmindedly with the pen you left on the Thinking Cloth. His smirk deepens as he tilts his head.

“You.”

You frown, the heat at your ears creeping down your neck. “Me?”

He hums, swirling his spoon through his tea before taking a slow sip. “You’re an enigma.”

A snort escapes before you can help it. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Lockwood rakes his fingers through the hair falling over his eyes and shoots you another easy grin. “Perhaps. But I’m an open book compared to you. Do you make it a point to not tell anyone anything?”

You roll your eyes, taking another sip of your tea to avoid responding immediately. There’s something about the way he looks at you, so earnestly and so deeply, that makes you want to squirm. Besides, he hasn’t earned an answer to his question.

He leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs, and you have to fight the urge to watch the fabric tighten around his legs, how comfortably he seemed to take up space, even in the quiet light of the night. “Do you think it’s worth it?”

You blink, whiplashed by the change of topic. It isn’t like Lockwood to give up so easily, and so you narrow your eyes. “What?”

“This job. The ghosts. The nightmares.”

You sigh, looking down at the swirling steam of your tea. “No. But who else is there to do it? I had the chance to leave, but some people aren’t quite so lucky.”

For once, Lockwood doesn’t have a quip ready. He just nods, something unreadable flickering across his face before he drains the rest of his tea.

The silence that settles isn’t uncomfortable, not really. It’s heavy but not suffocating. Just… there. Shared.

You trace a lazy swirl onto the Thinking Cloth with your fingertip, the ink beneath smudging slightly. Lockwood watches, quiet.

“Would you do it all over again?” he asks eventually.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you tap the side of your mug, considering. “Would you?”

Lockwood exhales a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he sets his empty mug down. “You really hate answering questions.”

You huff, rolling your eyes again, but the corners of your lips twitch despite yourself.

The clock on the wall ticks, the sound blending with the soft hum of the city outside. You have a feeling sleep would still evade you tonight. But, oddly enough, sitting here, bathed in warm lamplight, with Lockwood’s steady presence across from you, it doesn’t seem so bad.

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Save a Horse, Ride a (Space) Cowboy

tom ryder x reader 2.2k words

summary: Tom in his space cowboy outfit really does something to you. Something that makes you forget about everything else.

tw! almost smut. really basically smut.

(THE PICTURE HAS BEEN UPGRADED YESSSS!!!!! thank you all for bearing with me <3)

masterlist

It's hot. It's unbearably fucking hot. You're sweaty, your shirt is sticking to your back, your sun hat seems to have no effect at all anymore and that Tom is running around right in front of your face in that gods damned space cowboy outfit is not helping at fucking all to cool you down.

Fucking hell.

It's genuinely not funny anymore.

Tom himself had you rubbing your thighs together more than often enough, but with that fucking cowboy hat on too now? Holy shit.

The only good thing about the desert heat is that you can blame the sweaty stickiness you're feeling on the temperature, the sun and the sand. Maybe not how you've soaked through your underwear, but... It's a start, at least. It's probably why Tom hasn't subjected you to one of his scrutinising stares yet - one of those with raised eyebrows and his whole attention focused on you.

You're restless because of the sand. Sweaty because of the sun. Avoiding his gaze because you're so uncomfortable in this blazing hot weather.

...Yeah.

"One more take and we're done", Jody shouts. You can hardly bite back a groan. Wonderful. One more time you'll have to watch Tom run around in that fucking outfit. At this point, it's close to torture. A part of you wants to just dash back to the trailer and take a very, very, very cold shower.

But you can't, this is your job, so you close your lips around the straw sticking out of your water bottle and watch. Watch Tom in that goddamn cowboy hat save his alien princess.

"You're drooling", Venti whispers, startling you so badly you flinch away from her. God, she has a fucking talent for appearing in places she shouldn't be.

"Fuck off", you mutter, your eyes clinging right back to Tom as he wraps his arms around his co-star. Oh, you'd very much like to switch places with her right now - even in this boiling desert hell.

"You know, technically, he's your boss", Venti goes on, entirely undeterred by your not-so workplace friendly language.

"Technically, he's my boyfriend", you bite right back at her, trying hard not to get weak in the knees as the camera zooms in closely on Tom's face, all big eyes and chiseled features appearing on the display next to you. He's fucking marvellous, goddamn him.

You still don't know just how he's your boyfriend. Venti's right - technically, he's your boss. You'd applied as his assistant one day and now here you are, dating the most famous action star of the moment. And he really does have it all: the face, the fame, the green. You're not quite sure he's even real, to be completely honest. A tiny part of you is constantly dreading that when you open your eyes in the morning, it'll turn out he's nothing but a fever dream after all. Or a hallucination. Maybe you're crazy.

"Alright, we got it!", Jody shouts, pulls you from your thoughts - from the way you'd been ogling him - and drags you back to reality. You hadn't even realised you'd started chewing on your lip. "Great shot, really, well done, we're gonna take a break before we shoot the next scene!"

The word break echoes in your mind like a fucking hallelujah. With a start, you rush towards Tom, almost stumbling over your own two feet as you grab his water bottle and hold it out for him.

"Here", you breathe, hoping, praying you don't look as debauched as you feel. Then again, you've sweated through the few layers you're wearing, so you probably do.

"Thanks, love", he smiles, reaches for the bottle and takes a sip. Then he looks you down. And up. And down. And up again. And your hoping, your praying crumbles right down to nothing, because he gives you that very stare you'd been dreading, the one that shoots like x-rays through your body and lays you bare for him. "You feeling good? You look hot."

Fuck, you are hot. Just not because of the blaring sun.

"I'm fine", you lie, even though you can feel your cheeks warm further. Just watching him close up on a screen is already enough to get you wet, but to have him this close up? That's even worse. "Just the temperature, I guess."

You shrug for good measure, but he still doesn't seem all that convinced. He eyes you once more, trailing his gaze down your body, then up again. It's hard to keep upright at this point. God, that outfit he's wearing really does something to you.

"Do you want to eat?", you blurt out, anything to get him to stop scrutinizing you. And to actually do your job. "I could get something from the buffet, take it to the trailer or-"

"I could eat", he interrupts, the corners of his lips tugging up. His sudden grin distracts you. Mindlessly, you nod along.

"Sure, I'll find something you like", you mutter, ready to turn and plunder the buffet table when his hand closes around your arm. Your heels all but dig into the sand below. He really has too much of an effect on you. You could easily slip out of his grip if you wanted, and yet you're frozen in place.

"You know what I'd like right now, baby?", he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he takes a step closer. Fuck, he's so handsome. "You."

Barely three minutes later, he's got you pressed against the inside of the trailer door, cold metal against scorching skin as you try to catch your breath. You're panting, cheeks surely flashing red, and you'd like to blame that on the sun, on the sand, on the desert - but it's him, it's him, only him. It's him and that goddamn space cowboy outfit they'd put him in.

"Tom", you breathe, your fingers cramped around the collar of his shirt, clenched so tightly that your knuckles have turned white. He's real, he must be. You just can't quite figure out how.

"You good?", he asks, his voice deeper and a little breathy around the edges.

"No", you chuckle truthfully, your fingertips dipping beneath his collar and brushing over his skin instead. Your eyes drag right after them, drinking in the bit of bare chest his costume exposes. And that fucking golden necklace, just dangling from his neck like it's not driving you fucking insane.

"Still because of the heat, baby?", he asks, grinning widely when your eyes flicker back up at his face. His tone borders on mocking. Goddamn.

You should have known.

You should have known that he knows.

Because of course he knows. Of course he'd realised that you'd been fidgety and hot and bothered for entirely different reasons than the rest of the crew. Not because of the sun and sand and desert, but because of him. Because of him and that outfit.

"No", you admit quietly, your eyes dropping back down to his necklace as your fingers work open the first buckle of his vest. There's no way you could possibly lie to him when he's got you this close. "Not because of the heat."

It's honestly a miracle that you can even talk while you're undoing his clothes.

"Oh?", he asks, his hands tightening on your waist as you open his vest and rest your palms against his button-up for just a moment. "Because of what, then?"

You bite down on your lip to keep your grin at bay, even as his thumbs sneak below the hem of your shirt. His fingers graze your skin and, as if he hadn't already done enough to you, shoot sparks right down to your core.

"You", you mutter truthfully, drag your palms up to his collar again and begin loosening the buttons of his shirt. You want your hands on him. You want to finally touch him. You're basically melting for him, melting into him, and you want to get that shirt open now. "And this fucking costume. Space cowboy, who had that idea, anyway?"

Tom chuckles at your sudden honesty.

"Jody", he says, all matter-of-factly as you scoff at him and pop open one button after the other. By now, you can feel yourself dripping down your thighs. You're not sure whether it's sweat or not - you're just sure that you need to touch him and him to touch you. Now. Or you'll end up a puddle on the floor.

"Fucking cheers to Jody", you mutter, tearing his shirt open, steadying your palms against his bare, so very, very bare skin and taking a deep, deep breath in. Fuck. He's gorgeous. Drop-dead fucking gorgeous. All abs and hard muscles, warm and sweaty against your fingertips, so enticing, so inviting. You run your hands up, then down his torso, slowly enough to take in every inch you can touch. You could do this for the rest of your life.

"Didn't think you'd be so into it, baby", he murmurs, his fingers dragging fully beneath your shirt now and trailing over your stomach. Usually, he's got you naked and begging within seconds - but he always does like it just a little too much when you marvel at him this openly. It's an ego boost he doesn't need.

"Fuck, I'm into you", you whisper, your eyes catching on his necklace again. O-fucking-kay. So it's definitely not just him. As if in reflex, your finger hooks into the chain dangling from his neck. God, you've been waiting to do that ever since you'd seen him in this damned outfit for the first time. "But the cowboy hat has its effect."

Tom grins and grabs at your waist, pushes you firmly against the door and fuck, he's hard, he's-

"Just the hat?", he asks as your finger tightens around his necklace, as you tug. Tug him right into you, tug him so close that you can feel his breath on your lips.

"No", you smile, your eyes fluttering shut. "Not just the hat."

And then you pull him in and kiss him.

He's pressed against you, his shirt open, his hands on your waist, and he's all but crowding you against the door. His beard scratches against your skin in such a heavenly way you can hardly keep from pushing back against him. He really shouldn't be such a good kisser, not when he's also that good-looking, that talented, that famous, and that rich. He's truly got it all. And you can't do anything but melt into his arms, melt against his body, melt... quite literally.

"Tom", you moan, barely above a breath as you pull at his necklace and drag your free hand down, down, down to his waistband. Your fingertips catch on the button of his pants. "Fuck me."

He's just pulling his arms away from your waist and grabbing for your thighs, grabbing to wrap your legs around him when there's a sharp knock at the trailer door. You startle so badly you flinch and so does he, stumbling further into the trailer, knocking against each other, tripping over each other, steadying yourselves in just the right moment before the door opens.

Gail.

Standing in the bright light of the sun, her sunglasses high on her nose, her expression nothing short of frantic, one hand on the doorknob and the other curled like she's trying to strangle the fucking air.

"Ryder", she seethes, then pauses and takes a deep breath. You're so shocked you can't do anything but stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. "Take off your fucking mic before you hook up with your girlfriend."

Tom scrambles to pull out the tiny, fuzzy microphone stuck to his vest. He holds it in his hands for one, two seconds, his eyes wide as he stares at it - then he chucks it at Gail, who doesn't even make a move to catch it before it lands on the ground.

Embarassment shoots through your veins, glues you into spot and if you hadn't been flushed, sweaty and trembling already, you surely would be now.

Holy fucking shit.

Tom had been wearing his mic.

He'd been wearing his fucking mic during all of this.

The entire fucking crew had listened in on you and him making out.

Gail turns around and lets the door fall shut, one deafening thump of metal against metal that tears you from your spiralling mind and hurls you straight back to reality.

"Tom", you gasp, balling your hand into a fist and hitting him right in the chest with it. "You didn't take off your fucking mic?"

He doesn't even have the decency to look apologetic as he shrugs. No, there's already a grin licking at his lips again, a grin that tells you he's neither embarrassed nor going to remember taking his mic off the next time.

"I had so much more important things to think about", he chuckles, wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close again.

He's still half-naked.

You feel your breath hitch.

"Tom", you mutter, your fist resting against his chest. He can't be fucking serious. He cannot be fucking serious. You're burning with embarrassment, petrified with shock - and he's already pulling you in again, his palms rubbing into your back. "You horny bastard."

He's already pressed his lips to yours before you can finish, and despite yourself, you have to grin.

"Promise you'll take your mic off next time", you mumble into him, then you're throwing your arms around his neck and pushing into him.

He's a lost cause. You know that. But it never hurts to try.

[the-kr8tor]

Horror/slasher movie actor hobie x actor reader whose the protagonist of the story 💳💳💳💥💥💥

Silly actors that meet for the first time and falls in love on a silly horror movie set

ACTOR AU!!! LET'S GOOOO!!!! (Thank you for requesting ly bestie ❤️❤️❤️)

Pairing: Actor! Hobie Brown x Actress! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, fem! Reader, no specific physical description of the reader, R is mentioned wearing make-up, Actor AU, Fame AU, CW food mentions, Pretend blood, pretend violence, Pretend death, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You run on the soft soil, sweat dripping off your brows. Your trainers sink under the earth with every step. The wet squelch behind you tells you to run faster, but your curiosity gets the best of you. With a quick look behind your shoulder, you instantly regret it as the tall masked man has gotten closer to you with his long strides.

He walks the same path you've taken like he's on a stroll in the park. His leather punk jacket and clown mask is drenched in warm blood— the blood of your fellow camp counselors, the blood of your dearly departed friends. Even with his casual movements, his entire demeanor sends a shiver down your spine. Heavy footfalls and a bloodied knife makes you run faster than your own feet could take you.

With the moonlight as your guide, the fog blanketing the dense woods, lungs burning, you trip on nothing.

“Fuck!” You shield your chin with your hand to avoid the hard impact. Hands braced, eyes closed, your face meets the moist forest floor. Dirt in your fingernails, grass in your hair, a warm hand flips you around by your shoulder and you scream loudly. The sound echoes around the dark woods, eyes wide, the killer raises his sharp knife to plunge it in your heart.

Your eyes meet the killer's eyes behind the mesh of the mask, gorgeous mismatched eyes greets your own. To your surprise, he winks and your terrified scream falters in your throat. Eyebrows knitted, hands on the villain's broad shoulders, he stabs you in between your ribcage.

“No!” Cold blood splatters out as you try to wrench away the mask from your murderer's face. With your last breath, tears in your fear filled eyes, his name falls out of your lips without a second thought. “Hobie?”

Hobie tilts his head with a playful smile, sticky blood smeared on his chiseled cheek, blue and hazel eyes staring at you fondly.

“Cut!” The director yells, and you audibly groan at your mistake. A bell rings, spotlights suddenly click open, the lights almost make you blind. The crew murmurs around as the director puts his hands on his hips. “The character’s name, darling! Not his real name,” he kneads at his temples. “Everyone take ten!” With one last frustrated groan, he walks away, entering his tent with a stomp and grumbling about changing the villain's name.

“I fucked up, didn't I?” You ask, still under your favourite co-star. “I'm sorry.” Frowning, you ready yourself for a berating.

Instead of a glare and a passive aggressive comment, Hobie wipes your cheek free of muck with his warm thumb. Eyes staring softly, his touch lingers.

“There, I just did the makeup department a favour. Not like you need it anyway.” He flashes his signature smirk, the same smirk that has people falling over themselves just to get a glimpse.

Your heart pounds loudly as he gets back on his feet, leather squeaking, he reaches down to help you up. Taking his hand, he lifts you up effortlessly, not even breaking a sweat or straining his muscles.

“Thank you.” You say fondly. The numerous spotlights above make your heart-shaped eyes sparkle.

“No problem. And you didn't fuck up, it happens to the best of us, yeah?” He pats your shoulder, and you think all the friendly late night talks in your trailer are just that, friendly. “You were doin' good, the best fuckin' scream ever. Thought my eardrums were about to burst.”

“Thank you.”

“Stop sayin’ thanks, I was just statin’ a fact, love.”

You hide your flustered face with a nod, cheeks hot. You make your way towards the wardrobe tent to get changed for the next scene where your character resurrects to help the remaining survivors. You've seen better scripts but money is money.

“Thank—” you correct yourself, chuckling as he follows you. Walking side by side, his hand brushes over your own. Hobie smiles, eyes trained where you're walking in case you unintentionally decide to method act and fall flat on your face. “You did great too, you were really scary.”

He snorts, the sound that fills you with endearment. “With this face?” Pointing at his chin, you laugh.

“I guess that's why they made you wear that god awful mask, no one would run away from you.” You push him playfully with your shoulder. “They'd run towards you instead.”

Hobie ignores all the crew scrambling around on set and the numerous cameras pointed at your back. He imagines that you're strolling at a park after a nice dinner where he bravely held your hand underneath the table.

Maybe it shouldn't remain in his mind, maybe he should just ask you, and maybe you'll say yes.

It's long overdue anyway, after two horror movies together and one comedy special, he thinks it's time to try to star in a romcom. Preferably with you.

Stopping in front of the tent, you look at him. “This is me, unless you need to change too—?” Hobie gingerly reaches for your cool hand, index finger lacing around your pinky carefully like he's able to snap it in half. “Y-yes?” You can hear your pulse quickening, you fear that your hand is sweaty and that his finger would slip away from the moist.

“Have dinner with me? A proper one where we don't eat take out in your trailer.” Hobie fakes a cough that's Oscar worthy to hide his nerves. “If you're not busy.” If you want to, he wanted to add, but he wants to remain suave in front of you. He'll save all his hidden awkwardness during the date. If you graciously accept anyway.

Your smile is brighter than the spotlights above. “I have to wear my best disguise then. Y’know, so we don't end up in a gossip mag in the morning.” Pinky lacing around his finger, you stand closer to him, toe to toe, smiles mirroring each other.

“Let me guess, it's a baseball cap with sunglasses innit?”

You giggle, “yep.”

“Leave it at home, you're not gonna need it.” His heart skips a beat at the realization of your closeness. Hobie now knows why you're the lead in most projects you're in.

Eyebrows knitted together, you tilt your head, eyelashes fluttering in the breeze. “Why?”

“The paps don't know where I live.”

[ourfleur]

「Who Do You Belong To?」 [Johnny Cage x Fem Reader]

Summary: Being in a relationship with someone like Johnny Cage isn’t easy, especially when they have the same reputation he does, always so much attention always on you and your relationship. But maybe you can use that to your advantage, make them all know who this A-lister belongs to.

Tags: nsfw (basically just porn with a tiny plot lmao), semi public sex, au, dom&sub, switch reader, switch johnny, jealousy, possession, pet names (mostly baby)

An: hiii so this is my first time not only writing smut but also posting anything i write lol, i hope its not shit.. i pretty much only wrote this because i had this idea and no one had written anything like it so i wrote it myself.. anywaysss enjoy :3

follow my ao3

3 months. It had been only 3 months since you started dating the “infamous” Johnny Cage. 3 months and yet you were already more famous than 99% of the population would ever be.

You were still getting used to the fame, the constant cameras flashing in your face and the constant attention. You knew so many women would kill to be where you are, in the arms of Johnny, knowing that didn’t make life any easier. Constantly, new drama would stir up, rumours about you or your boyfriend breaking up or cheating on each other. But that… that was bearable. What wasn’t bearable was Johnny's co-star on his new movie. She wasn’t shy about wanting him and when the rumours started circulating of him ditching you for her she laughed it off and played stupid. “Oh really?”, she laughed, “I cannot confirm nor deny anything, it’s up to the fans imaginations.” That bitch made you livid.

This was supposed to be a relaxing day but you spent all of your time on Johnny's yacht reading the nasty and idiotic comments from the media. It was also extremely hard to relax considering the paparazzi was so close by, it seemed no matter where you went you could not escape them. But that revelation gave you an idea.

Getting up off the lawn chair you were lounging on, you pranced your way over to your boyfriend, who was occupied with writing his own movie. Taking the notebook out of his hands as you got on top of him. He was surprised at first but then smirked, eyeing the way your little body looked in that tiny bikini.

“Johnnyyyyy…” You whined while looking at him through half lidded eyes. Slowly, you grinded yourself on his clothed dick. “I need you right now.” You smiled, seeing the way his face contorted as you moved yourself across his lap. You leaned down to whisper in his ear, “I need everyone to understand who you belong to, so do me a favour and fuck me where they all can see.” You felt him hardening underneath you at your words. “Fuck, whatever you say baby.”

You leaned into each other, mouths crashing together in an aggressive kiss. Continuing to grind on each other while making out, only breaking to release some particularly intense whimpers. His large hands running all over your tiny body. Moving your hands down his chiselled abs, you reached the prize. Palming him through his shorts, which elicited the prettiest moans from his mouth.

Finally, you took his cock out, glistening with precum. You ran your delicate hand up and down his shaft, fingers tracing his pretty little veins and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. You raised yourself up, letting him pull your bottoms to the side. You aligned yourself with him and slowly sunk down, making you both moan. You looked out across the water, seeing the many cameras, all focused on you and him. You began moving, listening as he moaned out your name. The way his thick cock stretched you always took you over the edge. You grinded your pretty pussy on him, over and over, not even paying attention to the poor mess of a man beneath you, only staring out at the cameras. Making sure they caught every glimpse of the way you could so easily destroy this big-shot A lister.

“No one else can make you feel this way, right baby?” You purred. “Yes.. fuckkkkk baby yes only you.” You could feel him twitch inside of you while he spoke, he was close. You frowned, “Well that cunt you work with seems to think she owns you.” You pulled yourself off of him, watching him groan with annoyance, his orgasm being denied. “What the fuck? I was close.” Cursing out your name. “Well it’s no fun if we just sit here…” You said, getting off him and leading him to the edge of the boat, your body facing the paparazzi across the water. You bent down in front of him, putting on a show as you pulled down your bikini bottoms. As you did he felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your cunt. You turned back around and moved towards him, arms reaching to grab his hair, suddenly shoving him down on his knees. “Be a good boy and eat me out while your adoring fans watch, maybe then I will let you have what you want.” Your sultry tone doing indescribable things to him.

He started by slowly nibbling and biting at your thighs, hands wrapping around them with ease. You groaned, “Don’t tease me Johnny.” Eyes staring daggers down at him. “Whatever you say…” And with that, he dove right in. His tongue flicking and circling around your clit in ways that could only be described as heavenly. Your hands dug into his hair, shoving his face closer to your aching core. He then moved his mouth down, lapping like a dog at your slick, his nose lightly grazing over your clit, leaving so much more to be desired. Your moans were getting so loud at this point you wouldn't be surprised if everyone on the beach could hear you. “Fuck Johnny, I’m close, you’re doing so good… You look so good on your knees.” Your brain turning to mush as you babble random praises, your orgasm steadily approaching.

And when it hit you were a mess. Moaning out curses and his name, legs turning to jelly. The only thing to stop you from collapsing was his hands, which were glued to your hips. After you finally regained the ability to stand on your own Johnny stood up. Licking the left behind slick on his lips with his tongue. You were about to bark another command at him before he interrupted you. “Agh fuck this. I can't take this anymore.” You were about to question him before he grabbed you, turning you around so he can bend you over on the edge of the boat. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Im fucking tired of this, it’s my turn to ruin you, sound good baby?” His voice sent chills down your spine. You nodded, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. He leaned back and soon you felt his cock between your thighs, gliding along your folds. Then, suddenly, the feeling was gone. You turned back to face johnny only to see him walking towards his chair. He grabbed his phone and then winked at you. “For safekeeping yknow?” He finally was back behind you, stroking himself a bit before finally easing himself into you. He groaned your name, taking you fully. You could hardly contain your whimpers when he started moving.

“You look so good on camera, fuck, you should star in one of my films.” He laughed, now moving at a pace all too slow. “I’ll only star in it if I get to fuck you in it.” You responded, releasing a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He took his free hand and moved it to your clit, rough fingers circling it at an insane pace. The combination of him pounding into you and hitting that special spot inside if you and him rubbing your clit had you seeing stars. With the way you were moaning and the way your cunt was tightening around his cock he could tell you were close. “You’re so beautiful when you’re whining around my cock.” He chuckled. “F-fuck.. Johnny please I'm so close.” You stuttered out. Suddenly he grabbed you by your hair, pulling you back into his chest. He held the phone out in front of the 2 of you while beginning a relentless pace. “Smile for the camera while you come undone babe. This is your glamour shot.” You could barely focus on what he was saying due to the pleasure that was shooting through your body. He moved his hand from your hair to your neck and squeezed a little. “I said smile.” His tone was stern and that was the last straw. The knot in your stomach snapped and you came, making sure to look into the camera and smile, per his request. Your moans were near pornographic as you shook from your orgasm, falling back onto the edge of the yacht. He pulled out of you and you couldn’t help notice, he still hadn’t cummed. You turned around and glanced down to his still-hard cock and then to his face.

“You gonna come over here and fix this or what?” He questioned, smirking while he spoke. “I guess it’s only fair… you have been so good to me today Johnny.” You turned, falling to your knees. Now eye level with his length. You moved your hands to it, gently stroking your boyfriends dick, trying to see what reactions and noises you could get to come out of his pretty face. You brought your mouth to his tip, doing short kitten licks to his slit. You moved your tongue all over his cock, licking and tenderly tracing every vein with your tongue. “Come on.. don’t punish me more than you already have..” He begged, looking down at you with those puppy dog eyes you just couldn’t resist. “Grab your phone Johnny, let’s see if that whore will understand who you belong to after this.” He was taken aback by your request but nonetheless complied. The moment he started recording you were ready to put on the performance of a lifetime.

Never taking your eyes off the camera, you stuffed his cock into your mouth. Johnny quietly whimpered at the feeling of you taking him in his mouth but before he could savour it, you pulled his dick out of your mouth with a ‘pop’. “Don’t try and quiet those moans Johnny, I need to make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” He nodded and you eased your mouth back onto him. Johnny had never seen something more beautiful than you choking on his cock. The way your mouth worked had him sure he was in heaven. His breathing sped up and he grabbed your hair. “Fuck i’m so close, let me fuck this pretty face.” You nodded and he gripped your hair tighter. He was so rough, whimpering and crying out with pleasure while shoving his dick as far down your throat as he could. His thrusts started to become sloppy and before you knew it he was painting your throat white and releasing the hottest groans and praises. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and bent down to inspect his work. “You are so gorgeous, I can never get enough of seeing your little mouth filled with my cum.” He smiled, ending the video and throwing his phone to the side while you swallowed.

Safe to say that the internet was going wild for a few months after the paparazzi released those pictures… and safe to say that his stupid co-star didn’t do shit like that again.

[softlypossessive]

Lately i've had on my mind Lev (haikyuu). I would love to read a model Lev x male actor reader, they met on a photshoot for a brand like ck and reader caught Lev attention (if it's possible smut and you can add your own plot to get to that part, with lev as the top) sorry if a made mistakes, english is not my first lenguage

♡･ﾟ𓏸  Flash, Lights 𓏸･ﾟ♡

♡ Characters: Model!Lev Haiba x Male Actor!Reader ♡ Warnings: NSFW (18+), oral (receiving), rough sex, praise, voice kink, size kink, hair pulling, public risk (semi-public), dirty talk (some in Russian), possessive!Lev, handjobs, top!Lev, bottom!male reader, marking (light), slightly dom/sub vibes, aftercare, reader lowkey losing his mind over how hot Lev is (mood), slow burn into very fast burn, use of [Y/N] ♡ WC: ~4.2k ♡ Notes: Thank you for the prompt—it absolutely devoured me. This is my first Haikyuu fic on this blog, and also my first ever mxm smut, so please be gentle lol. I only meant to write a cheeky little one-shot but then I got carried away and now we’re 4.2k deep and sweating lmao. Russian cameos included because Lev forgets what language he’s speaking when he’s turned on :3 Hope you enjoy this fever dream of hot lights, tension, and absolutely unhinged chemistry.

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

The studio buzzed with the kind of controlled chaos you’d grown used to—assistants darting around like caffeinated wasps, lights humming as they flickered to life, and the sharp clack of a makeup artist’s brush hitting the counter. 

You leaned against a prop table, arms crossed, the crisp white button-up you’d worn to the gig still hanging loose over your frame. 

Today was a big one: a Calvin Klein-inspired underwear campaign, all sleek lines and bare skin, the kind of shoot that’d plaster your face—and a hell of a lot more—across billboards from Tokyo to Times Square. 

You’d done shirtless before. Hell, you’d done nude for that one artsy indie flick last year. Cameras didn’t faze you. People did. 

The call sheet had warned you about a co-star, some model fresh off a European runway, but you hadn’t recognized the name until the door swung open fifteen minutes late, and in he strode—Lev Haiba, all six-foot-six of him, a walking skyscraper with silver hair that caught the light like a damn halo. 

He was late, sure, but the way he moved—long legs eating up the floor, shoulders rolling with that lazy, model-off-duty swagger—made it clear he didn’t give a shit. 

A black hoodie hung off his frame, unzipped to show a sliver of pale, chiseled abs, and those green eyes, sharp as cut glass, flicked around the room before landing square on you. 

“Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the table’s edge a little tighter. “God, please don’t make me pose with him shirtless.” 

“Alright, boys!” 

The photographer—a wiry guy named Kenji with a permanent vape cloud around his head—clapped his hands, voice cutting through the hum. 

“Wardrobe’s ready. Let’s get you stripped and styled.” 

Your stomach dropped as an assistant rolled a rack toward you, black briefs dangling from hangers like a minimalist’s wet dream. 

Matching sets, of course—low-rise briefs with a waistband that’d sit just below your hips, paired with a cropped jacket that’d leave your torso bare. Tasteful, sure, but a thirst trap all the same. 

You glanced at Lev, who was already peeling off his hoodie, revealing a chest so sculpted it looked like he’d been carved out of marble. 

He caught your eye mid-motion, smirking—a quick, lopsided flash of teeth—and you turned away fast, heat prickling up your neck. 

Wardrobe was a blur. You shed your shirt, stepped into the briefs, and shrugged on the jacket, the fabric cool against your skin. The mirror showed a guy who knew how to work a lens—sharp jaw, mussed hair, a body honed from years of fight choreography and late-night gym runs. 

You were ready. 

Or so you thought. 

“Positions!” Kenji barked, and you stepped onto the set—a stark white backdrop, lights blazing, the air thick with the scent of hairspray and hot metal. 

Lev was already there, towering beside you, his own jacket slung open, briefs clinging to his hips like they were painted on. His skin was pale, almost luminescent under the lights, and those long, lean muscles flexed as he shifted, finding his mark. 

“Closer,” Kenji directed, waving a hand. “Chest to chest, let’s feel the heat.” 

You swallowed hard, stepping in. 

Lev’s shadow fell over you, his height forcing you to tilt your chin just to meet his gaze. He smelled faintly of cedar and something sharper—maybe mint?—and his body heat rolled off him in waves, brushing your bare chest as you pressed closer. 

Your hands hovered, unsure where to land, until Kenji snapped, “Lev, hands on his waist. [Y/N], arms loose around his neck. Sell it.” 

Lev’s hands settled on your hips, fingers splayed, warm and firm, and you looped your arms around his neck, fingertips brushing the soft silver hair at his nape. His grip tightened—just a fraction—and you felt the jolt of it low in your gut. 

The camera clicked, but all you could focus on was the way his breath hitched, barely audible, as your bodies pressed flush. 

“Good, good,” Kenji muttered, circling with the lens. “Lev, tilt your head down. [Y/N], look up—eyes locked.” 

You obeyed, lifting your gaze, and fuck—those green eyes were closer than you’d braced for, sharp and piercing, like he was peeling you apart layer by layer. 

His lips parted slightly, a faint flush creeping up his neck, and then—then—he glanced down. Quick, deliberate, straight to your mouth. 

Your breath caught, and his fingers twitched against your waist, digging in like he was fighting the urge to pull you tighter. 

“Perfect,” Kenji called, oblivious to the tension coiling between you. “Hold that—give me longing, give me want.” 

Lev’s eyes flicked back to yours, and there it was—want, raw and unfiltered, simmering in that green stare. 

His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip, and you felt your pulse kick hard, heat pooling somewhere dangerous. You shifted, just enough to brush your chest against his, and his breath stuttered again, louder this time, a soft sound that made your skin prickle. 

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he murmured, so low only you could hear, his voice rougher than it’d been when he’d apologized for being late earlier. 

His thumbs traced slow circles against your hips, and you had to bite back a sound of your own. 

“Years of practice,” you shot back, keeping your tone light, but your hands tightened at his nape, fingers threading deeper into his hair. 

He leaned in—barely an inch, but enough that his nose brushed yours—and the camera clicked again, freezing the moment. 

“Alright, break!” Kenji yelled, and the spell snapped. 

Lev’s hands lingered a beat too long before dropping, and you stepped back, chest tight, trying to shake off the electric hum buzzing through you. 

He didn’t move, just stood there, watching you with that same damn look—half-flustered, half-predatory, like he was already imagining what came next. 

You turned away, grabbing a water bottle from the table, but you could feel his eyes on you still, burning a hole through your back. 

The shoot wasn’t over, but the real tension? That was just getting started. 

The studio’s pulse didn’t slow, even as the main shoot wrapped. Assistants scurried, dismantling lights and coiling cables, while Kenji barked at someone about lens filters. 

The air was still thick with heat, the kind that clung to your skin and made every breath feel heavy. 

You stood under the harsh glare of a lingering spotlight, jacket slung over one shoulder, the black briefs still hugging your hips. Your chest glistened faintly from the sheen of sweat the shoot had worked up, and you were itching to hit the dressing room, peel off the wardrobe, and call it a day. But Kenji had other plans. 

“Oi, you two!” he called, waving you and Lev back to the set with that manic grin he got when inspiration struck. “One more setup—something softer, intimate. Think lovers, not strangers. Can you sell that?” 

You shot Lev a sidelong glance, expecting a quip or at least a smirk, but he just nodded, those green eyes flicking to you for a heartbeat before he looked away. 

His silver hair was mussed now, strands falling into his face, and his jacket hung open, showing off the long, lean lines of his torso. He looked like he’d stepped out of a fever dream, and it was doing things to your focus you didn’t want to admit. 

“Fine,” you said, tossing your jacket to an assistant and stepping back onto the set. 

The backdrop had shifted—less stark white, more moody gray, with a low bench draped in black velvet. Kenji gestured wildly, explaining the pose like it was high art. 

“[Y/N], you’re half on his lap—Lev, one hand on their waist, other arm braced behind. Close, like you’re stealing a moment.” 

Your stomach flipped, but you played it cool, smirking as you straddled the bench, one knee brushing Lev’s thigh as you settled in. He slid into place behind you, his hand finding your waist with a touch that was too warm, too deliberate. His fingers splayed wide, thumb grazing the bare skin just above your briefs, and you felt the heat of his chest radiating against your back. 

You leaned in, almost in his lap now, your shoulder pressed to his collarbone, and draped one arm lazily around his neck, fingers teasing the soft hair at his nape. 

“Closer,” Kenji muttered, circling with the camera. “Lev, tilt your head toward them. [Y/N], turn your face—cheek to cheek.” 

You shifted, your jaw brushing Lev’s, his breath warm against your ear. The stubble on his cheek grazed your skin, a faint rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His hand tightened on your waist, not enough to hurt but enough to make you hyper-aware of every point of contact—his thigh against yours, his chest rising and falling, the faint cedar-mint scent of him wrapping around you like a vice. 

“You’re shaking,” Lev whispered, so low it barely carried, his lips close enough that you felt the words more than heard them. 

His voice wasn’t teasing—it was too intimate, too raw, like he’d noticed something you hadn’t even seen yourself. 

You forced a laugh, tilting your head to meet his gaze, your noses almost touching. 

“Cold in here,” you lied, keeping it light, but your voice came out rougher than you meant. 

His eyes didn’t buy it. They locked onto yours, green and piercing, stripping away the banter like it was tissue paper. His thumb traced another slow circle against your skin, and you swore he leaned in—just a fraction, just enough to make your pulse spike. 

“Bullshit,” he murmured, lips twitching into a faint, knowing smile, and you felt your face heat up, the cocky actor mask slipping under the weight of that stare. 

“Got it!” Kenji shouted, shattering the moment. 

“That’s a wrap—great work, both of you.” 

The crew erupted into motion, but Lev’s hand lingered, sliding off your waist with a reluctance you could feel. 

You stood, breaking the spell, and grabbed your water bottle, chugging it to drown the buzz in your veins. Lev stayed on the bench a beat longer, watching you, his expression unreadable but heavy with something that made your skin prickle. 

The dressing room was a cramped, fluorescent-lit box at the back of the studio, all concrete walls and chipped mirrors. 

You pushed through the door, Lev right behind you, his presence filling the space like he was twice his size. The air was cooler here, but it didn’t do shit to cut the tension. 

Your clothes were piled on a chair—jeans, a worn tee, your usual comfort gear—but you didn’t move for them yet. Instead, you leaned against the counter, catching your reflection in the mirror. 

You looked flushed, a little wild-eyed, and it pissed you off how much he’d gotten under your skin. 

Lev stripped off his jacket, tossing it onto a rack, and started unbuttoning the spare shirt he’d been handed for the last shot. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he knew you were watching. 

You caught his eyes in the mirror, and there it was again—that stare, green and unrelenting, raking over you like he was memorizing every inch. 

“You keep looking,” you said, turning to face him, arms crossed, voice sharp to cover the way your heart was hammering. “What’s the deal?” 

He paused, shirt half-open, a sliver of pale chest peeking through. His lips parted, then closed, like he was weighing his words. 

“Can’t help it,” he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges. 

He stepped closer, closing the gap until he was right in front of you, so tall you had to tilt your head back to hold his gaze. 

You raised a brow, leaning into the challenge. 

“That your line for everyone?” 

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just stood there, eyes darkening, his breath coming a little faster. 

“No,” he said, and the word hit like a punch, simple and heavy, no room for bullshit. 

The air crackled, the space between you shrinking until it felt like gravity was pulling you together. You could see the pulse jumping in his throat, the faint flush creeping down his neck. Your hands itched to do something—push him away, pull him closer, anything to break this fucking stalemate. 

“Stop looking, then,” you said, voice dropping, stepping right into his space, your chest brushing his. “And do something.” 

Lev’s eyes widened for a split second, like he hadn’t expected you to call his bluff. Then something snapped. He moved—fast, no hesitation—his hands grabbing your face, long fingers curling against your jaw as he kissed you. Hard. Hungry. His lips crashed into yours, all heat and desperation, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pressed himself closer, his body a wall of lean muscle pinning you to the counter. 

You kissed him back, just as fierce, one hand fisting in his open shirt, yanking him down to your level. He groaned into your mouth, a low, broken sound that sent heat pooling low in your gut. His hands slid down, gripping your hips, lifting you onto the counter with a strength that made your head spin. 

Your legs parted instinctively, and he stepped between them, kissing you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a way that was filthy and perfect. 

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, pulling back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to yours. 

His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, tugging you closer like he couldn’t stand the inch of space between you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been—fuck, you’re unreal.” 

You grinned, breathless, and grabbed his collar, pulling him back in. 

“Show me, then,” you said, voice rough with want, and that was all it took for the last of his restraint to burn away. 

Lev’s lips were a furnace against yours, all heat and hunger, his tongue plunging into your mouth with a ferocity that made your head spin. 

The dressing room counter dug into your lower back as he pressed himself closer, his massive frame caging you in, his hands—fuck, those hands—roaming like he couldn’t decide where to start. 

One gripped your hip, fingers bruising, while the other slid up your chest, shoving the cropped jacket aside to splay across your bare skin. His touch was electric, rough and warm, and you arched into it, grinding your hips against his, the friction of his briefs against yours sparking a low groan from deep in his throat. 

“Боже, ты такой горячий,” God, you're so hot, he muttered between kisses, the Russian rolling off his tongue like liquid sin, rough and guttural. 

You didn’t know what it meant—didn’t need to. The way he said it, voice wrecked and desperate, was enough to make your cock twitch against the thin fabric separating you. 

You pushed back, trying to keep the upper hand, one hand fisting in his open shirt to yank him down harder, the other sliding up his neck to tangle in that silver hair. But Lev wasn’t playing your game—he was rewriting it. 

His kisses turned sloppy, teeth scraping your bottom lip, his breath hot and ragged as he pressed his chest flush to yours, his heartbeat hammering through the thin layers of skin and cloth. 

Your shirt—or what was left of it—rode up, bunched under your arms, and Lev’s hand slipped beneath, palm flat against your stomach, tracing the lines of muscle like he was mapping you out. His fingers were long, calloused from God-knows-what, and they dipped lower, teasing the waistband of your briefs, making your breath hitch. 

“Fuck, Lev—” you gasped, breaking the kiss, but he didn’t stop, just chased your mouth with his, swallowing the sound like it was fuel. 

“Ты даже не представляешь,” You have no idea, he rasped pulling back just enough to look at you, green eyes dark and wild, pupils blown wide. 

His lips were swollen, glistening with spit—yours, his, who fucking cared—and that cocky little smirk was starting to creep back, cutting through the haze of want. You were losing it, slipping under the sheer size and heat of him, and it pissed you off how much you liked it. 

Grinding harder, you rocked your hips into his, feeling the thick outline of his cock straining against his briefs, and he groaned again, louder, head tipping back for a split second before he snapped forward, kissing you so deep it felt like he was trying to crawl inside you. 

The counter wasn’t cutting it anymore. 

You shoved at his chest, and he stumbled back a step, just enough for you to slide off and spin him around, pushing him against the wall instead. 

The concrete was cool against your palms as you pinned him there, his back hitting it with a soft thud, and he let out a breathy laugh—half-surprised, half-turned-on—that made your blood burn. 

“Oh, you’re feisty,” he said, voice low, but his hands were back on you in an instant, one sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you tight against him, the other tugging at your briefs like he was two seconds from ripping them off. 

You didn’t give him the chance. Hooking a leg around his thigh, you ground into him again, slow and deliberate, watching his eyes flutter shut, his mouth parting on a shaky exhale. 

His shirt hung open, a useless scrap of fabric framing that pale, sculpted chest, and you dragged your hands down it, nails catching on his skin just enough to leave faint red lines. He hissed, hips bucking into yours, and you could feel him—hard, throbbing, fucking desperate—and it was unraveling you faster than you’d admit. But then Lev shifted, and the dynamic flipped. 

He grabbed your wrists, spinning you both until your back slammed against the wall, the impact knocking a grunt out of you. 

He loomed over you, all height and heat, and before you could catch your breath, he dropped—slow, deliberate, sinking to his knees like a fucking predator playing at submission. 

His hands slid down your thighs as he went, gripping hard, and he kept his eyes locked on yours the whole way down, that green stare burning with something dark and filthy. You’d expected shy—some pretty-boy hesitation from a guy who looked like he’d been sculpted for magazine covers. 

What you got was ruin. 

Lev’s fingers hooked into your briefs, yanking them down in one smooth pull, the cool air hitting your cock before his breath did, warm and teasing as he leaned in close. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, voice rough, almost reverent, and then his mouth was on you—lips wrapping around the tip, tongue flicking slow and deliberate, tasting you like he’d been starving for it. 

Your head hit the wall, a low moan tearing out of you as he took you deeper, no hesitation, no warmup—just straight to the back of his throat, his nose brushing your skin. 

His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in, spreading you wider as he bobbed his head, slow at first, then faster, wet and messy. 

The sounds were obscene—slick, sloppy, the faint gag when he pushed too far—and you couldn’t stop the way your hips jerked, fucking into his mouth as he groaned around you, the vibration shooting straight up your spine. 

“Lev—shit—” His name spilled out of you, ragged and needy, and he pulled off just enough to look up, spit dripping down his chin, lips red and wrecked. 

“You sound better than the cameras,” he said, breathless, grinning like a bastard before diving back in, sucking harder, one hand sliding up to cup your balls, rolling them gently while his tongue did things that made your vision blur. 

Your hands found his hair, tugging hard, and he moaned around you, loud and shameless, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls. 

He was relentless—throat tight, lips slick, eyes flicking up to watch you fall apart—and you were, piece by fucking piece, every thrust of his mouth dragging you closer to the edge. 

“Fuck, Lev—don’t stop—” you gasped, and he didn’t, just hummed in response, the vibration pushing you right to the brink.

His tongue swirled, lips sucked, and those long fingers gripped your thighs so hard you’d have marks tomorrow. 

Your hips bucked, chasing the edge, and he groaned around you, the sound raw and filthy, vibrating through your cock until your knees nearly gave out. 

“Fuck—Lev—” you gasped, voice breaking, and he pulled off with a wet pop, green eyes glinting up at you, spit-slicked lips curling into a grin that was equal parts cocky and wrecked. 

“Какой ты вкусный…” You taste so fucking good he rasped, voice hoarse, wiping his chin with the back of his hand as he stood, towering over you again. 

His chest heaved, shirt still hanging open, and his briefs were tented obscenely, the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. 

You didn’t have time to catch your breath—he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the makeup table in the corner, its surface cluttered with brushes and half-empty water bottles. 

“Here,” he said, voice low and urgent, spinning you around so your chest hit the edge, hands bracing against the chipped wood. 

You barely registered the semi-privacy of it—the dressing room door was shut, sure, but the studio beyond still hummed with distant voices, the faint clatter of equipment being packed up. 

Lev didn’t care, and neither did you, not when his hands were on you again, yanking your briefs down to your ankles, leaving you bare and exposed. The cool air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his palms as he pressed himself against your back, his cock—still trapped in his briefs—grinding against your ass. 

He started gentle, like he was testing the waters, one hand sliding up your spine to grip your shoulder, the other guiding himself as he freed his cock with a rustle of fabric. 

You felt it—thick, hot, the tip slick with precum—nudging against you, and he paused, breath ragged in your ear. 

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, a faint echo of that earlier softness, but then you moaned—low, involuntary, desperate—and it flipped something in him. 

“Fuck,” he growled, and gentle went out the window. 

He pushed in, slow at first, stretching you open with a burn that made your jaw clench, but then you moaned again, louder, and he lost it. 

His hips snapped forward, burying himself deep, and you cried out, hands scrabbling at the table, knocking a bottle to the floor with a plastic clatter. 

“You looked so confident all day,” he panted, voice rough against your neck as he thrust again, harder, the table creaking under the force. “Now look at you—fuck, look at you.” 

Your elbows buckled, dropping you to all fours across the table, ass up, chest pressed to the cool wood as he fucked into you, each thrust punching the air from your lungs. 

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet him, and the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, loud and shameless. 

“If I’d known you were like this,” he said, breath hitching as he leaned over you, lips brushing your ear, “I would’ve kissed you on set—fucked you right there in front of everyone.” 

You tried to stay quiet—bit your lip, muffled the sounds—but Lev wasn’t having it. One hand slid around, wrapping around your cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, and you couldn’t hold back the moan that tore out of you, high and broken. 

“I want them to hear you,” he growled, voice dark, possessive, and he thrust harder, deeper, the table rocking with every move. “Let ‘em know who’s wrecking you.” 

Your vision blurred, pleasure coiling tight in your gut, and his hand sped up, slick with your precum, thumb swiping over the tip until you were shaking, gasping his name.

“Lev—fuck—Lev—” 

He groaned at that, a guttural sound, and his rhythm faltered, thrusts turning sloppy as he chased his own edge. 

“Shit—gonna—” he choked out, and then he was cuming, hot and thick inside you, his hips stuttering as he rode it out, hand still working you until you followed, spilling over his fingers with a cry that echoed off the concrete walls. 

He didn’t pull away immediately. 

His chest pressed to your back, both of you panting, sweat-slick and trembling. Slowly, he eased out, a low hiss escaping him as he did, and you felt the drip of him—warm, messy—sliding down your thigh. 

He grabbed a stray towel from the table, wiping you down with a gentleness that felt almost absurd after what he’d just done, his hands steady now where they’d been frantic. 

“Ты в порядке, да?” he murmured, Russian soft and lilting, his lips brushing your shoulder as he pulled you upright, turning you to face him. 

“You’re okay?” 

You nodded, still catching your breath, and he smiled—soft, sheepish, the feral edge gone, replaced by something warm and disarming. His fingers brushed your jaw, then your sweat-damp hair, smoothing it back as he muttered more quiet words you didn’t understand.

“Так красиво, черт возьми,” So fucking beautiful his voice a low hum that settled something deep in your chest. 

You slumped against the table, legs shaky, and he didn’t let go, just held you there, one arm looped around your waist like he was afraid you’d bolt.

After a beat, you smirked, tilting your head to meet his gaze. 

“Next shoot,” you said, voice rough but steady, “we’re faking the chemistry a lot less.” 

Lev laughed, a bright, unguarded sound that cut through the haze, and leaned in to kiss you—slow, lazy, tasting of sweat and satisfaction. 

“Deal,” he said against your lips, and you knew he wasn’t going anywhere unless you told him to.

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

[taintandviolent]

Lizzie I am so fucking down bad for vampires but can we get a drabble of Jerry (Fright Night) a la Nosferatu kiss?

warnings: a little vampire coercion, mentions of arousal, fear kink, a/n: GOD BLESS YOU ANON. I hope this is what you meant!! cos I instantly thought of that hesistant way that Orlok kisses Ellen.... woouuuuffffff. divider by anitalenia.

"Come inside."

It's a simple command, but a weighted invitation. Your neighbor has been lingering at all your threshholds - the front door, the back door, even the side door - for weeks, his presence disgused as simple, unassuming, requests; out of milk, checking to see if your power is out, and so on. Nothing out of the ordinary, but you're smarter than that. You're much smarter than that.

Your fingers twitch at your side as Jerry steps into your space, into your safe little home. There's an energy shift as he does, and every bone in your body urges you to take a step back, but you stand your ground. Jerry knows you're scared - he can smell it, and it wets his appetite and his cock. He takes a few steps, boots thudding against your tile floor as he closes in the distance, a low growl rumbling from his chest. Once he's in front of your, his hand floats, weightlessly, up to your cheek, where it hovers and cups air, almost like he's asking for permission again, afraid to touch you. But you know he's not afraid to touch you. He's not afraid of anything... except maybe sunlight. Which... there is none of, currently. The only light is the moonlight that filters in through your kitchen window. That light illuminates him in a terrifyingly arousing way, chiseling his features and showing the true, bloodless pallor of his skin. "I have quite the appetite..." he whispers, over your mouth.

"So do I." Jerry crushes his mouth against yours in a fiery act of dominance, of ownership, as though you kissing him just signed away your life. Your head rears back slightly as he urges into you, capturing your lips in his own. His fangs prick at the corners of your bottom lip, and you wince; the confirmation you didn't need, but expected all the same. When he finally breaks the kiss, it's with a kiss, and his fingers hover over your mouth, ghosting over the swollen flesh like it's hot to the touch. You know what happens next, and if you didn't, you suspect he'd get you that way anyway.

"You'll be alright," he assures.

You scoff, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "We both know that's bullshit."

But somehow, that's not a plea for him to stop. You've accepted your fate, whatever it may be.

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

tgr live journal - ch 3-4

all my reactions, as they happened. (man I was so far off track at this point...)

(all chapters)

tgr live - ch 3-4

Jeremy's family suck, pardon us while we faint from shock

Jeremy what did you do? was it with a fellow Trojan? who??

BMW? how does that fit in with Jeremy's romantic life?

why am i being sucked into trying to figure it out, it's Nora it could be goddamn anything

ok here we go...

Warren hit someone with one?

Warren wouldn't be able to buy one if he was forced to pay someone off again? the guy? the police (why the police)?

Warren gets a ton of funding from progressive rights groups by using Jeremy as window-dressing despite his own private revulsion?

California has an incentive scheme whereby senators get a new car for every guy their son bonks?? (which still makes more sense than partial deregulation of the electricity market)

ah mothers and their unseverable umbilical cord

Yeah Jeremy, why don't you work things out with the mixed girl

mixed girls: the practical alternative to being gay

why would you bring poor Nabil into this, the fewer names these vultures know the better

Mathilda you're in danger of making Tetsuji look richly nuanced, could you swing by reality at some point

oh yeah, we've been missing some blackmail in our aftg drama buffet. Drugs, presumably. how sordid and unoriginal. But believable, i guess.

Friends and family discount - so Bryson was the dealer?

there's no hope of justice when your parents favour one over another - I know. Kevin knows too

how does it benefit Bryson if Jeremy fails so many times? Does he feel threatened because he knows Jeremy would be better than him?

Is it just pure spite?

the Joshua thing's obviously more than that though. I think we're getting close to the 'regret' Jeremy always talks about.

'if you don't know what you need, how can he ever provide it' - wow that's... kind of a boss line.

I like this butler guy. And he likes Jeremy, so at least someone sees his side of what is probably in all fairness Jeremy's fault.

the truth?

you mean like that thing that shall set you free?

or was 'the truth' just about regularity of therapy sessions?

'what would any of you do' hmm how many people's secrets does this butler keep?

LOL what kind of butler tries to get out of washing a shirt, he's funny

oh

ok so i predicted something like this but that doesn't mean i want to actually sit here and watch Jere screw someone else

grrrrrrrrr now i'm unjustifiably furious and vindictively wanting Jean to do something similar just to retaliate, as I am Aaron now apparently

who the fuck even has yellow curtains

grrrrr i don't think a napkin is getting us out of this one

I mean really, is this all just a game to you?? do you just lean your back against anyone who comes along, you harlot! and what's with all this 'learning French' shit? of course we're going to think it's fucking serious if you're talking about learning a whole-ass fucking language for someone!!! how dare you toy with our feelings in this heartless manner

(pause for breath)

man i am out of practice with this

it's time to break out... the never-fails 100% guaranteed break-up survival song list!! (there's a lot of 80s because they were really into attitude back then.)

'You got nothing i want' - Cold Chisel

'I will survive' - Gloria Gaynor

'The honeymoon is over' - The Cruel Sea

'Untouchable face' - Ani DiFranco

'I never really loved you anyway' - the Corrs

'Don't shed a tear' - Paul Carrack

'Here I go again' - Whitesnake

'Next time' - Marie Wilson

'It's my life' - Bon Jovi

'Don't you worry' - Madasun

'Head like a hole' - NIN

Ok. i feel a bit better now. let's do this, you yellow-curtain-owning dipstick

the best way to explain Jeremy's character is that he crosses his fingers for luck while breaking into his wanker ex's bedroom to fuck him

i've changed my mind Bryson, come back here and set your brother up as evilly as possible

however it's only fair to warn you i will never consider you a REAL villain, my standards in this matter now being impossibly high (like, dude, you don't even have a cool colour scheme), however i'm prepared to overlook your insipidness due to extreme ire

dammit it's only page 46 and i'm already homicidal - usually it takes at least 5 chapters

Nora did you just explicitly name a part of the male anatomy? should we faint or

ok. so. the car WAS to buy off the guy. not my favourite option but anyway

told you those yellow curtains were dead dodgy

AND he calls you Knox

dick

i mean you Jeremy. still mad at you.

you've got weekly(?) therapy, awesome friends, and a notable absence of Moriyama-induced torture in your life. why are you making toxic self-sabotaging decisions then complaining to Jean about how he's coping

Jean's at home trying not to spiral his way into madness while you're running around the swanky part of LA in gold go-go shorts, hooking up with skanks

move to impeach the captain and put Xavier in charge

ah Xavier. the voice of reason. when you've delivered a line as iconic as 'bro my scars are normal, yours are not', you don't need to do anything else for the rest of the series.

I can't help imagining how differently Riko would've approached this kind of betrayal. Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, he would not have worn gold shorts. Secondly, Leo would've been found floating somewhere in that fancy car, identifiable only through dental records.

which is wrong. obviously.

and yet.

wait...

if you're pursuing a law degree why don't you know the difference between age of consent in California vs West Virginia? I don't even live in the US and I knew they'd be different

also how does some knob who lives at home with their weird mom get to pull strings within California's law fraternity?

heh Jean is onto you Jere

but he don't care about your personal life

(that's got to pique your interest surely)

the Foster rose - self-reporting to Cat and Laila? interesting

ha ha now Jeremy has to go for a run (does nobody listen to Rocky Balboa? "No foolin' around, it makes your legs weak")

Cody and the peach awwww

there had better be some artwork of this when i get back onto tumblr, you know the kind of mess that happens when i draw things myself

ok

ok everyone needs to stop what they're doing and go get a peach for Jean

Hockey!!! Nora you little minx don't be telling me this isn't subliminal advertising

and who the hell is Bishop? he had better not have a tattoo of a bishop on his face or there will be TROUBLE

10 years earlier Jeremy would be the centre of a HIV storyline

mmm if you're listing shining examples of straightness it doesn't help your credibility to start with Riko and Kevin

who was the other Raven who never turned to men? just some guy?

also why were the two female Ravens the only source of women? where did the strawberry blonde with the freckles come from? (picturing Riko writing this on the weekly supply request sheet along with 2B pencil lead and handcuffs)

what, is it supposed to be a shock that we officially find out the thing Zane did to Grayson

like it was EVER going to be anything else

Yes! go Derrick - I think you're the first trojan to actually get under Jean's skin

Die in shame for your abysmally short mother, you unlofty scum!

honestly our hero is such a tragic loss for the world of unhinged villains

MALFUNCTIONING CRETIN!!!! Jean I love you can we end the book right there, i'm done

hmmmm musings....

The rebellious defiance of sticking that rose in the window when Jere knows his friends won't approve it's really interesting. It reminds me of getting parking tickets just to piss off his senator stepdad. He likes running around pushing his luck. He liked pushing his luck with matching the Fox's numbers too. Does he like shocking people? Who are you Jeremy? What drives you? What are you serious about?

he's all feeling and sensation, sensation is everywhere

For that matter Jean, what do you want? if you had a free heart, where would it lead you? he only knows the severely practical.

Sense and sensibility?

Jeremy is actually a fair bit like Nicky. Sweet and affectionate and caring but weak in some ways and needing someone very strong.

of course he would take drugs. Of course he would distract himself with something sweet, rather than fight back. Does he need to learn how to fight back?

Jean must seem like Ivan Drago to Jeremy

I get the attraction.

We know Bryson is being underhanded about things but Jeremy isn't shy about underhandedness either, if he feels justified, even if he does stop short of blackmail. From Bryson's viewpoint Jeremy is as much the bad guy as Warren appears to Jeremy.

Assuming of course it IS drugs, and not some prostitution racket or diamond smuggling Jeremy's running on the side.

Maybe Jeremy's trafficking in genetically modified lizards. It would explain a lot, tbh.

I finish this chapter concerned that Jeremy is both a std and a biosecurity risk, and am inexplicably missing Riko.

(< prev, next >)

[nicolettemarionette]

Business with Pleasure

Pairing: Kendall Roy x Reader x Stewy Hosseini Description: Stewy is preoccupied when Kendall comes to him with a pitch. You don't seem to mind the intrusion, though. Words: 1K Rating: SMUT (more under the cut)

Warnings: Cursing, drinking, implied drug use, smut, age gap, semi-public fondling, exhibition, teasing

A/N: A horny reimagining of S1E3 because I'm a slut for Kendall and Stewy ;)

Part 2 up now!

✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦

It's a party; Kendall Roy had attended more parties than he could remember. From lavish galas filled with pissing contests of charitable donations, to tedious mixers spent appeasing disingenuous executives from billion dollar corporations, to ragers mixing copious amounts of recreational drugs and hard liquor. The gathering he finds himself at now resembles the latter - pharmaceutical helpers being handed around like party favours as soon as he steps onto the threshold.

He swallows down the itch to indulge, manoeuvring his way through the coked up crowd. A thick curtain separates him from a private room and the familiar laugh of an old friend. He's prepared, thoroughly confident in his approach as he pushes into the red-lit space.

Then he's unprepared for the sight of you; eyes half lidded, makeup smudged, lips swollen, hand gripping the older man's wrist, fingers hidden under a silky dress, hips rocking of their own accord. Kendall tears his eyes away, clearing his throat, "Stewy."

"Kendall," Stewy doesn't move his arm, despite your cheeks flushing at the intrusion. He merely raises his brows, "Kinda in the middle of something here."

"Yeah, well...we need to talk." It's curt and a clear indication for privacy, which Stewy wilfully ignores, his breath ghosting over your neck as he bends down to breathe in the familiar smell: a luxury fragrance he'd gifted you. Sweet, floral, delicate, just like you.

"Then talk."

Kendall frowns, then sighs exasperatedly, arms crossing over his chest as he looks everywhere but the lavish love seat you're sprawled across. "Okay, so you know how everyone kinda...hates you."

Stewy hums, "Uh huh. No, that's not something I'm aware of. Do you hate me, sweetheart?"

His fingers touch you again, lazily sliding over your pussy, grazing your clit, drawing a soft whimper from your lips. You shake your head pathetically in response to his question, though you're sure it's rhetorical. In reward he applies more pressure, a shit eating grin plastered to his face, corners of his eyes crinkling and the edges of his lips turned up; thoroughly amused as he watches Kendall's gaze going up and down your body so quickly he would've missed it if he hadn't been directly looking at him.

His friend swallows thickly, then states, as loudly and clearly as he can, "Well, people do, hate you. Private equity, getting their meat hooks in, chiselling your profit like uh, like a vampire locust fuck."

"What is this? Is this a roast cos...if you haven't noticed I kinda have shit to do." Stewy punctuates the sentence by dipping his fingers lower, groaning at how easily they slip into your entrance. He always knew you weren't as innocent as you feigned - from the auspicious smile you'd given him the first time he took you, in the restroom at some pompous art exhibition, and now this. He's embarrassingly hard.

The tension in the air is thick and hazy, hanging over you, heat blooming in your stomach with every deliberate stroke of Stewy's fingers against your walls, the man watching only adding to the searing desire. Kendall Roy is an easily recognisable man. You chance a look at him: tall, impeccably dressed, strikingly handsome, far older than you.

Dark eyes meet your own, momentarily, a certain hunger within them, teeth digging into his lips, "Right, well, I'll cut to the chase."

"Okay."

"How about instead of taking us over, you give us four billion dollars; I stay boss, you stop raiding shitty companies for scraps, you invest for once in a blue collar corporation that's currently..."

He trails off at the sight of Stewy's fingers pushing into your mouth. The way your lips close around them, suck them, Kendall definitely isn't imagining your tongue swirling around them. And he's definitely not picturing those lips wrapped around his cock.

His oldest friend gives him a knowing look, waiting for him to elaborate, which he does, stammering out the rest of his pitch, "Yeah, right. You know, it's currently undervalued by some unfounded concerns about its leadership, i.e: the 'Lord Fuckleroy' here. But, you invest, the story twists, happy ending for all." 

Stewy pulls his fingers from your mouth, trailing them down the valley of your breasts, brushing over your pebbled nipples, before ghosting over your thighs, toying with the fabric of your shift. "Obviously, I don't usually take minority stake in a company."

"Yeah obviously, because you're..." Kendall starts, then sighs. It's becoming increasingly hard for him to focus when Stewy's edging closer to your core again, the way your breath hitches telling him he's reached his target again. He folds his arms, "How about for once, you make things bigger? You know, with your old pal?"

Stewy suddenly plunges his fingers deeper than before, curling them and you can't help the needy cry that leaves your lips. He outright laughs, the sound dark and gruff as he shrugs to his 'old pal', "Bro, I can't even begin to think about this. But if I could, to sell it, I'd need boning stock."

"As long as we remain in control."

"Well," Stewy pauses when your hand finds purchase in the expensive fabric of his suit pants, self-restraint wearing thin, his hips chasing your touch, thrusting his fingers harder into you. "Effective control, okay. I'm also gonna need a board seat."

Despite Kendall's attempts to ignore the situation, the nervous rubbing of his neck gives away his discomposure. Still, his voice is strong, "Oh I'd force it on you, dude, for the optics. Shit hot CEO has some hot shit new money for investment. Yeah?"

"I'm not necessarily totally opposed to this notion."

"That's right, and luckily I speak Stewy. And that's Stewy for 'I've got a raging hard on for this." The moment the words leave his mouth he sees a barely suppressed bearded grin.

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle a fucking minority," Stewy gestures to the sizeable tent pitching in the CEO's pants, brows raising comically. 

Kendall grimaces, adjusting his stance, "Oh, uh, sorry. But we're good, right?"

Stewy moves his fingers quicker, focusing on that spongy spot inside that has your face contorting with pleasure, pushing you towards orgasm and then his hand returns from your sticky thighs to pick up his glass. He raises it, "Yeah, we're good."

He rolls his eyes when you whine at the loss of contact, frustrated with his teasing. He takes a long sip of the bitter liquor, then before Kendall turns his back, adds, "But, just a thought. Why don't you...hang back for a bit? Celebrate?"

The insinuation clouds the air and before Kendall can even answer, he's being cut off, "I don't think-"

"What do you think, sweetheart?" His pet name has you in the palm of his hand, half smile on his face. "You want Ken to fuck you?"

You look nervous for a moment, but it quickly fades with the offer of being shared between two of the most powerful men in the city, "If...if he does."

"She's been practically soaked since you walked in. And you and Rava are done, right?"

"We're..." Kendall thinks back to the hurtful words exchanged, the emptiness of his bed. It's been weeks without contact, his sex drive through the wall. "We're separated, yes."

"And the banks not fucking you anymore, so how about you do some fucking of your own," as if he needs anymore convincing, Stewy's fingers are teasingly pulling the thin straps holding up your breasts. "Come on, it'll be just like old times."

Kendall tilts his head, looking past his friend to search your face for a moment, wondering if you're lust drunk or just fucking wasted. Then, he decides he doesn't really care. "Fuck it, yeah."

✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦✦✧✦

A/N: This is my first time writing in a while and this is quite short and probably riddled with mustakes buttttt would totally be up for a part 2 if people want it. Any feedback is much appreciated :)

[denimbex1986]

'If Peaky Blinders made the Irish actor a household name, will Christopher Nolan’s nuclear blockbuster send him into the stratosphere? He talks about extreme weight loss, hating school and why his next character won’t be a smoker.

Cillian Murphy is struggling with what he can and can’t say about his title role in Oppenheimer, the latest Christopher Nolan epic, such is the secrecy surrounding this film. Murphy is under “strict instructions” not to talk about the content. Which is awkward when you’ve flown to his home in Ireland to interview him specifically about playing the physicist who oversaw the creation of the atomic bomb, later detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s not clear who issued these instructions. Nolan? The studio? The US government? All I know is that as well as Murphy being gagged by hefty NDAs, I am not allowed to see it (“bit unfortunate”, he concedes).

So, yes, here we sit in an empty upstairs room of a restaurant near his house in Monkstown, Dublin, working out how to do this. The room is dark, the sun shining through a solitary Velux lighting his features like a Géricault. The only background noise is the low hum of a wine refrigerator. Murphy loathes interviews, looks visibly tortured at points. But he relaxes when I ask if he’s pleased with Oppenheimer. “I am, yeah,” he says. “I don’t like watching myself – it’s like, ‘Oh, fucking hell’ – but it’s an extraordinary piece of work. Very provocative and powerful. It feels sometimes like a biopic, sometimes like a thriller, sometimes like a horror. It’s going to knock people out,” he adds. “What [Nolan] does with film, it fucks you up a little bit.”

Nolan wouldn’t disagree. The director recently told Wired magazine that some of those who’d seen it were left “absolutely devastated … they can’t speak”. Which sounds like a bad thing, but is related perhaps to the thought of the 214,000 Japanese people, overwhelmingly civilians, who lost their lives when the bombs were dropped. Kai Bird, the historian who co-authored American Prometheus, the 2008 biography of J Robert Oppenheimer upon which the film is based, said he was still “emotionally recovering” from seeing the film, clarifying that it was “a stunning artistic achievement”.

Murphy’s portrayal is said to be astonishing (“Oscar-worthy” is the buzz). This is not unbelievable. While Hollywood might not know him as a leading man, this quietly intense actor has long been celebrated in the UK and Ireland, most notably for his nine-year stint as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. When he first appeared on our screens, looking like a renaissance painting of Saint Sebastian – chiselled head contrasting with translucent blue eyes – it was impossible not to be distracted. He appeared first on stage in Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, then the screen adaptation. Then 28 Days Later; Intermission; Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Previous collaborations with Nolan include the Dark Knight trilogy, Inception and Dunkirk, “significant milestones in my career,” he says, adding that Nolan “might be the perfect director”.

It was Nolan’s wife, the producer Emma Thomas, who called Murphy one afternoon at the home he shares with his wife, artist Yvonne McGuinness, and two teenage sons. Nolan doesn’t actually have a telephone, or an email, or computer for that matter: “He’s the most analogue individual you could possibly encounter.” So, Emma said Chris would like a word and passed the receiver, then the director came on the line. “Cillian, I’d love you to play the lead in this new thing,” he said. Murphy tries to recreate his response to this news. “I was lost for words. But thrilled. Like beyond thrilled.” It is characteristic of Murphy that the modulation of his voice barely changes as he expresses this. He was so stunned, he had to sit down. “Your mind explodes.”

In the absence of the three-hour feature, I scrutinise Oppenheimer’s three-minute trailer. It’s a rush of snapshots against the crackling of a Geiger counter. There’s Murphy, short back and sides, lifting 1940s eye goggles; blue and red atoms coming at him fast; orange light; white light; blackout; silence. Massive explosion against the backdrop of space. Overlaid is Murphy’s narration, “We’re in a race against the Nazis / and I know what it means / if the Nazis have a bomb.” There’s Matt Damon looking porky as army general Leslie Groves, director of the Manhattan Project: “They have a 12-month head start.” Murphy, pointing with cigarette: “18.”

He has put back on some of the weight he lost for the part, I’m relieved to see; his skin isn’t quite so taut over his skull and there are freckles over those eagle-wing cheekbones. He was determined to nail the scientist’s silhouette “with the porkpie hat and the pipe”, testing himself to see how little he could eat. “You become competitive with yourself a little bit which is not healthy. I don’t advise it.” He won’t say how many kilograms he lost, or what food the nutritionist told him to cut out. NDA? “Ach, no. I don’t want it to be, ‘Cillian lost x weight for the part’.”

Then again, the hurtling speed at which Nolan worked, crisscrossing the US, made it easy to skip meals. Murphy began to forget about food in the same way he began to forget about sleep. “It’s like you’re on this fucking train that’s just bombing. It’s bang, bang, bang, bang. You sleep for a few hours, get up, bang it again. I was running on crazy energy; I went over a threshold to where I was not worrying about food or anything. I was so in it, a state of hyper …” he gropes for the word, “hyper something. But it was good because the character was like that. He never ate.” Oppenheimer subsisted on little more than Chesterfield cigarettes and double-strength martinis, rims dipped in lime. “Cigarettes and pipes. He would alternate between the two. That’s what did for him in the end,” Murphy adds, a nod to the scientist’s death from cancer in 1967. “I’ve smoked so many fake cigarettes for Peaky and this. My next character will��not be a smoker. They can’t be good for you. Even herbal cigarettes have health warnings now.”

I raise method acting and Murphy tilts his head and frowns. “Method acting is a sort of … No,” he says, firm but with a half smile. Oppenheimer had many defining characteristics, not least walking on the balls of his feet and a vocal tic that sounded like nim-nim-nim, but Murphy didn’t want to do an impression. Nolan was obsessed with the Brillo-texture hair, so they spent “a long time working on hair”. And the voice. The real question for Murphy was what combination – ambition, madness, delusion, deep hatred of the Nazi regime? – allowed this theoretical physicist to agree to an experiment he knew could obliterate humankind. “He was dancing between the raindrops morally. He was complex, contradictory, polymathic; incredibly attractive intellectually and charismatic, but,” he decides, “ultimately unknowable.

“Listen, it’s not like a spoiler,” he says, checking himself before he leans in, “but there are incidents in his early life that were quite worrying; very erratic.” They are in the film and the book, he steers. I suspect he is referring to Oppenheimer’s postgrad at Cambridge in 1926, when he placed a poisoned apple on the desk of a tutor towards whom he harboured complicated feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Arguably, this was attempted murder. But Oppenheimer’s rich New York parents rushed in to bundle him into psychoanalysis. He was diagnosed with “dementia praecox”, a term describing symptoms associated with schizophrenia.

Murphy likes these complex characters; they’re his meat. People that don’t necessarily follow the – yawn – traditional transformative arc of storytelling. Not villains, exactly (although he’s played a few, including Scarecrow in Dark Knight and Jackson Rippner in Red Eye): “Villains are good if they’re well written, but if it’s one note or a trope, then they are dull.” He likes a script to stretch leisurely into all corners of the human condition, “all the shades”. At the same time, you have to understand his exceptional ability to portray interiority, physically manifesting intense human emotion without a word, radiating fierce, consuming energy. Which he does today, actually, when I stray off track.

Although Nolan is usually, shall we say, antiseptic in his approach to romance, Oppenheimer represents a significant shift. He told Wired the love story aspect “is as strong as I’ve ever done”. It features prolonged full nudity for Murphy and Florence Pugh, who plays Oppenheimer’s ex-fiancee, as well as sex, and there are complicated scenes with Emily Blunt, who plays his wife, “that were pretty heavy”. Murphy turns coy: “I’m under strict instructions not to give away anything.”

He asks if I’ve heard of chemistry tests. “They put two actors in a room to see if there’s any spark, and have all the producers and director at a table watching. I don’t know what metric they use, and it seems so outrageously silly, but sometimes you get a chemistry and nobody knows why.” This is a roundabout way of saying his scenes with Blunt and Pugh conjure this magic. His established bond with Blunt (they co-starred in A Quiet Place II) meant “the audience gets something for free”, he says. “You can be immediately vulnerable and open, and try stuff. There were moments where I remember saying, ‘I couldn’t have done that if it wasn’t with you.’”

Murphy, 47, grew up the eldest of four in Cork. His father was a civil servant, his mother a French teacher. They were a middle-class family, musical; his father “can pick up any instrument”, his brother played piano, and they regularly got stuck into “traditional Irish sessions”. Bookshelves were stuffed with literature, the radio often on, the “shitty” TV set not so much. Home life was busy but his parents taught him French and Irish, and sent him to an all-boys academic, rugby-playing private school. “I got all the education” he says, drily.

The story of how much he disliked the Presentation Brothers College, the hard-drinking masculine emphasis, how he found solace playing guitar in a band, is much rehearsed and he says today he doesn’t want “to slag the school off. I hear it’s great now.” Something about this experience seems nonetheless unsettling. He had one friend, who is still his best friend, “so I wasn’t, like, an outcast”. He played rugby for the first couple of years, but abandoned it “because everyone was all of a sudden towering over me.” Was it an unhappy time? He shifts. “It was OK. I was a bit of a messer, like I’d get in trouble and say nothing. It wasn’t the ideal school for me.”

He enrolled in and dropped out of a law degree at University College Cork, which created some friction with his parents (when I ask if his own sons will go to university in Dublin, he says, “Whatever they want”). He continued with the band, his first creative love but the one that got away. When they were offered a contract with Acid Jazz records, he turned it down for a number of reasons, he says, crucially that he didn’t feel good enough. He still writes and plays at home but, no, you won’t be hearing any of his recordings, ever, he says.

It’s a funny thing talking to Murphy. He’s at once garrulous (on the craft, or literature, or ideas) and reticent (pretty much anything else). I sense in previous interviews that he skates over issues close to his heart – such as the expression of emotion in Ireland and the need to teach empathy in schools. But when I try to drill in to these topics, get to the root, he clams shut, emitting energy like a nuclear reactor.

Later, in a different context, he will tell me a truth: “I’m stubborn and lacking in confidence, which is a terrible combination. I don’t want to put anything out that I don’t think is excellent.” But he clearly hates the pantomime of publicity, asking why I am returning to certain topics and repeating lines I’ve read elsewhere. I can almost see him at home with its views towards the Irish Sea, complaining to his wife as they tuck into supper: “Another one, asking the same fucking questions.”

If he could get out of going to Cannes, of standing on red carpets, dressed as is his habit for a funeral, hair shellacked, hands in pockets; if he could turn his back on the coloured-foam mics thrust in his face, he would. He really would. No, it dawns on him now, there’s something even worse than the red carpet; there’s the talkshow rounds. The very word “talkshow” comes out of him like a pain from his ribcage, as if the parcelling out of amuse-bouche anecdotes, offering them up to the forced laughter of that false god of show business, the studio audience, is in itself the most cheapening experience known to mankind.

“I do them because you’re contractually obliged to. I just endure them. I’ve always found it difficult. I’ve said this so many, many times.” Then there’s the double wince of realising that, yes, he’s done it again. He’s laid into the industry that feeds him. His hands raise slowly in surrender. “I want to just caveat this by saying, I’m so privileged. I’m so happy to be doing what I love. I’m really lucky. But I don’t enjoy the personality side of being an actor. I don’t understand why I should be entertaining and scintillating on a talkshow. I don’t know why all of a sudden that’s expected of me. Why?”

There’s an awkward silence. I say that he reminds me of Naomi Osaka, the tennis player who refused to talk to journalists after the French Open in 2021. He says he feels “100%” sympathy with her, “because why should she have to perform?” Then he relents. “But I get it. I get it’s a kind of ecosystem where the film feeds the publicity which feeds the talkshows which goes back and feeds the film, so, like, that’s how it works. I suppose I’m just not good at it. At interviews, at this stuff,” he gestures at me. He says after he leaves me today he’ll be going down the stairs thinking of all the things he’s said and worrying it’s come across all wrong. “Do you know what Sam Beckett said? ‘I have no views to inter.’ I love that. That should be the interview.”

We return to his art, the tension falls away and he’s back to his charming self, charged air evaporating. Since Oppenheimer, he’s also wrapped Small Things Like These, an adaptation of Claire Keegan’s brilliant novella set in 1985 in a small Irish town on the edge of which is a convent and “laundry”. Murphy is a huge fan of Keegan. He remembers reading her 2010 novel Foster on a train and having to pull his hoodie over his face because he was crying so hard. Anyway, he’d wanted to work with the Peaky Blinders director Tim Mielants and they were throwing ideas around in his sitting room when Murphy’s wife suggested Small Things. “No, there’s no way,” Murphy said. “That’s going to be gone already.” But when he called the agent, he found it was available. “I went, ‘No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.’” Murphy pitched the idea to Matt Damon, who has set up a studio with Ben Affleck. “From there it all just happened really quickly.”

Murphy plays Bill Furlong who, funnily enough, is a man of few words. Keegan’s light-touch writing is everything he loves in art – the sense that you are not being bashed over the head by an idea. That’s how he tries to act, he adds. “I’m always trying to cut lines in scenes, because I feel like you can transmit it. Like when you see a person on a train thinking, or driving a car, and you are purely observing someone and feeling the energy that is vibrating from them. That’s the sort of acting I love. In a lot of film and television, they want to cut those bits to go to the action. I like films that pose the big questions and then leave it to the audience.” Perhaps this is at the heart of his reticence in interviews? That he doesn’t feel the need to explain.

He still finds it “nuts” that the last of the Magdalene laundries closed in 1996, that it was illegal to buy condoms in Ireland until 1985, that divorce was made legal only in 1996. He remembers vividly thousands of people still going to see moving statues in Cork when he was growing up. “Crazy. But, like, how far the country has come since then, we’re so socially advanced now compared with where we were. But you must look back. And art is a better way of doing that than reading all these reports [into the laundries].” (Afterwards, he emails me: “The nation is actually dealing with an unresolved collective trauma. Who knows how long this will take to heal, but I feel strongly that art, film and literature can help with that process. It’s a kinder and gentler sort of therapy. I hope that our movie can help with that in its own little way.”)

Because he’s a nice man, because he doesn’t want me to feel bad about our encounter, and because he’s generous and hospitable, Murphy finishes by telling me some of the best places to visit in Ireland. He and his family are staying here for the summer. They’ve had it with air travel and his home town of Cork is only a couple of hours away. He supplies me with other recommendations: a great book he’s just read, Brian, by Jeremy Cooper, oh, and there’s the Francis Bacon studio exhibition I should catch on my way out.

But before I go, what has he learned from playing Oppenheimer? Foremost, he says, that scientists think differently. He knew this already from playing physicist Robert Capa in Danny Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) and hanging out in Cern, home of the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, for research. “I had dinner with all these geniuses. I’ll never understand quantum mechanics, but I was interested in what science does to their perspective.” He sought their opinions on subjects that matter – love, politics, our place in the universe, “infinity, or whatever the fuck. Because they have a completely different way of taking in information than we do. I remember one scientist saying, ‘I don’t believe in love. It’s a biological phenomenon, the exchange of hormones between the female and the male. That’s all. Love is a nonsense.’” Murphy taps the table with his hand. “I couldn’t go along with that, obviously.”

[sanjoongie]

Stress Relief

Submission #4 for Arousal August held by @wooyoungmybelovedhusband and @taehyungisminee

🌴Pairing: The Boyz, Hyunjae x Reader (f) 🌴Au/Trope: enemies to lovers, office romance au, coworkers to lovers 🌴Word Count: 1,321 🌴Warnings: sub! Hyunjae, dom! reader, sex with protection 🌴Rating: +18, MDNI 🌴Synopsis: when your work pays for the office to go on vacation, you may start to see your coworker in a different light, especially when he's been shirtless for a week 🌴Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland thank you my darling betas ~♠Previous | Arousal August Master list | Next😼~

It was the final night of your work vacation. Everyone was celebrating. Your coworkers and bosses were scattered across the outside bar and dance floor. You were sitting at a high table, nursing a cocktail, wondering just how drunk you should get. As you gazed across the dance floor, your eyes fell on the one person you did not want to see: Lee Hyunjae.

You had been ignoring his chiseled body all week--Hyunjae did not need to know that you found anything about him attractive.

Hyunjae was the type of co-worker that you despised. He constantly sucked up to the higher-ups. He managed to wiggle his way out of doing the majority of his workload. He never took his job seriously. Needless to say, he was the complete opposite of you.

Unfortunately for you, Hyunjae locked gazes with you across the dance floor just as he lifted the bottle of his beer to his mouth. He took a swig and slowly smiled upon realizing you were looking at him. You winced and looked away but it was too late. Hyunjae swaggered his way until he was in front of your table.

"Hey," Hyunjae said with all the confidence of a man who knew he had this interaction in the bag.

"Go away, Hyunjae," You muttered, "You'll make my drink taste sour."

Your bad attitude only made Hyunjae smile wider. "Not dancing tonight?"

You blew out some air. "I am not doing this tonight." You hopped off your chair and left the celebrations.

"Wait! Hey, wait!" Hyunjae called after you. His hand grabbed your elbow as you were halfway back to your bungalow.

You looked down at Hyunjae's hand and looked up at him. Hyunjae removed his hand, laughed in embarrassment and began to scratch the back of his neck. "Why do you always make me feel like this?" He said.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, I dunno Hyunjae maybe because you skimp your duties at work and I usually have to work double time?"

"It's not that bad," Hyunjae replied, a pout on his lips. 

"Says you," You scoffed and continued your walk back to your room.

"I can make up for it!" Hyunjae called after you.

"How in the world are you going to make up for all the extra work I had to do because you convinced the higher ups to let you go with them to their golf tournament?!" You demanded, spinning on your heel to look Hyunjae in the eye as he lied to you.

Hyunjae's eyes descended to the floor suddenly. "I can fuck the stress out of you," Hyunjae muttered. 

A sharp bark of laughter pulled from your lips and Hyunjae's eyes shot upwards. "In what world do you think I'd let you fuck me?"

Hyunjae's eyes bounced around, still avoiding your direct gaze. "But it would help."

You threw your hands up to the sky. "I dunno how you thought that line was gonna work."

You started walking again and Hyunjae let out a frustrated noise. "I'm being serious! I can help you out! I promise!"

You stopped walking and Hyunjae banged into you from behind. He wrapped his arms around your upper arms to steady himself against your body. He tilted his head, lips near your ear. "I know you hate me. But I didn't know you were suffering because of me." Those hands on your upper arms skimmed down. "I can make it up to you," He repeated.

"You want to get into my pants because I'm the only one in the office that isn't wrapped around your finger," You insisted.

"Babe," Hyunjae drawled into your ear. "I've wanted to get into your pants the day I started at the office."

You rolled your eyes and sighed. "Don't call me Babe. Let go of me, please?"

Hyunjae did and took a step back. "Can't believe the first time you begged me was to get me to let you go."

You let out a sarcastic laugh turning around. "Oh my god, Hyunjae."

Hyunjae looked hopeful. "I don't think I've ever seen you laugh because of me."

"Will you leave me alone if I admit you've looked great this week?" You try desperately to get Hyunjae out of your hair.

It backfired. Hyunjae bit down on his lower lip. "You liked what you saw?"

"Hyunjae, please," You said in exasperation. 

"I really like how you sound when you beg me," Hyunjae admitted. He chucked your chin up with a bent forefinger.

You didn't flinch at his close proximity. "Oh, please, Hyunjae, fuck me harder," You said in a sugary-sweet, mocking voice.

The worst was that Hyunjae's pupils blew upon hearing your words. He wasn't lying when he said he liked the way it sounded when you begged him. You clucked your tongue in annoyance. "Really, Hyunjae?"

Hyunjae licked his lips nervously but his eyes were a bit fucked out. "It's literally all I want."

Unfortunately, or fortunate depending on how you looked at it, nothing turned you on more than when someone was into you. So you took Hyunjae back to your bungalow and fucked him. 

You were straddling his hips, rocking against him. Hyunjae was a moaning mess under you, completely pussy drunk. His voice was rough and high, bucking his hips into you, searching for more than what you were giving him. 

"Hyunjae," You said in a tone that demanded his obedience.

His eyebrows frowned inwards. "I can fuck you good. Your pussy is so wet and so tight, let me fuck you."

Hyunjae's hands traveled up from where he had been clinging to your hips to squeeze your tits. "What's wrong, Hyunjae? Doesn't it feel good, the way I'm riding you?"

"So fucking good," Hyunjae moaned, sitting up, regretfully letting go of your breasts.

You exchanged a slow, sultry kiss as you rocked against him still. "You want to stop?"

Hyunjae let out a whine, locking his hands against the small of your back. "No. I just wanna fuck you. I want to hear you say my name like you need me."

A smirk curled your lips. "Mmm, Hyunjae, just like that," You whined.

Hyunjae rolled his hips upwards. "Fucking you good?"

“You fuck me so good,” You continued in your over-the-top porno voice but it just flat did it for Hyunjae.

His strokes became erratic and his voice started to sound urgent. “Fucking you so good, you’re such a slut for my cock. Fuck the stress right out of you, gonna make you come and take care of you. Fuck fuck fuck!” His hips stilled for a moment as he unloaded inside the condom, face contorted in pleasure.

The dirty talk didn’t do it for you, but Hyunjae thrusting into your g spot with enough force to seduce an orgasm out of you sure did. You threw your head back and gasped, moving your hips and riding out your orgasm. 

Hyunjae had collapsed slightly, head cushioned by your chest, and you tapped his shoulder to let you get off him. However, he locked his arms behind your back again and stopped you from moving. “Don’t move. I said I wanted to take care of you.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes again. “Don’t go soft on me now, Jae.”

A small, shy smile pulled at his lips as he lifted his head at your words. “Did you just shorten my name? I kinda like that.”

“I will kick you out of my room right now if you don’t stop,” You deadpanned. 

Hyunjae was back to pouting again. “Let me take care of you!”

“Fine, but I’m leaving you a bad rating later because you pout until you get what you want,” You said in exasperation. 

“A bad rating?” Hyunjae protested.

“Will you just go and get me some water already?” You shouted at him.

“Whatever you say, Babe,” Hyunjae couldn't help but poke.

“I said don’t call me Babe!”

Mandatory Deobi tag: @starlitmark

~♠Previous | Arousal August Master list | Next😼~

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Danger Force Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 1

Episode 4: Villains' Night (SMUT)

Season 1 Masterlist

Click for vibes

*Just a lil smutlet to start us off. I know it's short, like 1500 words, but I've been trying to be a bit more concise. Like, do people want to read 30,000-word chapters? Probably not, so I'm economising. And I'm like exhausted. I am genuinely so tired, but I want to get this out so you guys can enjoy it. 

First, we have this meme I saw on Tumblr and edited to fit our doofus and sweet girl cos this is so them-coded:

SECOND! I was messing about with ChatGPT, and when I asked it to try writing some DF fanfics, it instead summarised the show and well...let's just say AI doesn't watch Nickelodeon. 

I love this summary. I vote that we change the show so Schwoz has laser hands. 

Anywho--smut is starting. Don't read if you're anti-filth or young. I will not be held responsible for anything. Soy inocente. 

He really was a sight for sore eyes. 

Ray Manchester was hot. No questions. End of story. He was God-like: made from chiselled muscle, supple, golden skin, and gorgeously floppy hair with a face made by angels. In uniform, out of uniform, tight t-shirt or no tight t-shirt, he was handsome, and the world knew it. He knew it. But there was only one person who he truly loved to hear it from. 

He closed his eyes and groaned, hips snapping to bury himself deeper, floof falling into his vision with each punch of effort. His nose scrunched, lips pursed, eyebrows rumpled together, biceps bulging near his ears; he looked good like that. More than good. Really fucking hot as a shimmery sheen stuck to his wrinkled forehead, gasps falling from his mouth with each...heavenly...movement. 

And if he was in heaven, there had to be an angel. And there was. 

She was perfect--but when wasn't she? She cried out for him so sweetly, pressing her palms to his clammy chest and abs, rolling her hips into his; he couldn't ask for more, yet he did. Begged, even. She was sweating too, warmed by the close heat of the room and the mid-morning sun streaking through windows. Another morning where they'd lost themselves in the moment. 

How long had they been at it? Two hours? Three? Maybe even four? He'd lost count, merely remembering that he'd woken up to his sweet girl staring at him--admiring, as she excused. She looked so pretty, snuggled up in his embrace, kissing along his neck before he could rub the sleep from his eyes. He knew he wanted her, but he didn't know how much. 

Once wasn't enough. They had a break after the second. Now, they just had to fuck once more. He didn't care if it was a school day, if someone had already knocked on their door once, or if it was quickly approaching lunchtime - his wife was beautiful in the yellow light, and he was insatiable. 

"Fuck, doofus!" And so was she. 

(y/n) smirked as she panted rapidly, exhausted without leaving her bed, but that was okay. Her legs could ache, her arms could feel like jelly, and her pussy could throb, but she wasn't stopping. Not for the world. Not when she had a God beneath her, bound and broken from her swivelling hips. 

Ray was so hot - a sight for sore eyes, especially when he submitted to her like this. Experience had told him that giving her a little confidence and room to experiment got him off quicker and harder than anything else, so he relented his dominance and penchant for rough play and gave her some space. 

His arms were slung over his head, wrists tied to the headboard with a red tie stolen from his closet when he was resting from fucking her through the mattress. She looped the material around him before he could protest, and seeing her straddle his abs was more than worth it. (y/n) loved looking down and seeing her husband smirking back at her, his thick torso laid before her like a goddamn feast as she guided him to her cunt. 

Everything was slower this time from lack of energy, but no less passionate. She rode him like a queen, swirling her pelvis, skin slapping skin as she left red crescents on his chest with her nails. She was glad to take the third round, giving him time to lie back and enjoy himself as his previous releases made everything slick and easy, smeared down her thighs and his. 

"So good for me, doof..."

"Feel so good, precious girl." They gasped together, sharing a breathless brush of a kiss when the heroine bent in half to reach his lips. Hot air passed over her lips as Ray fought to hold her hips, make her move faster, squeeze her tits--anything. He wanted to feel his wife fully; was that a crime? 

But she pulled away, grinding against his lap, enjoying how his cock rubbed against her walls. She wanted to enjoy the final moments of their lovemaking, fingertips exploring every ridge of his abdomen and pecs as he whined underneath her. He rarely allowed her such luxuries, letting her suck and nip on his neck and collarbones, clenching when he moaned at her sharp teeth digging in. 

"Being so good for me, Ray..." she moaned, hunching over and smooching his shoulders as he growled, aching to hold her. 

"Yeah? 'M good for you, sweet girl?" He replied softly, hating how well she tied the knot, but her praise softened the frustration. As much as he wanted to hold her, have her spread underneath him, and do it his way, this was perfect. He lived to please her, and gaining her praise was deeply satisfying, seeing how she smiled softly upon taking in his toned, tanned body. 

He was gorgeous, sighing, groaning, moaning, succumbing to his fate, knowing he existed for her. 

"Mm-hmm. Earned this for being such a good boy last week..." she grinned, gently stroking his abs to calm him down when she flashed back to those traumatic events. 

Miriam and Percy were gone, and so was Ray's beloved hair. Instead of the chocolate floof, all (y/n) had to stroke and admire was his gleaming bald head, which felt weird under her lips when she kissed his head affectionately. Understandably, he was distraught, hiding in her embrace. No one could see his baldness, but thankfully, a salve from Schwoz quickly saw the floof growing again. 

She breathed a sigh of relief - she needed something to pull when he was fucking her through the mattress. 

"And sucking me off the next day wasn't my reward?" Ray grinned, bucking his hips into hers as he recalled how brilliantly sweet she was that night. Following the world's longest nap, he sobbed after glancing in the mirror; she rubbed his back and assured him it was fine. She loved him with hair or without, and he didn't complain when she got down on her knees to prove it. 

God, that was a good night, sagging against the wall in the Man's Nest while she slurped and choked on his cock. It was a little weird to look up and see him with a buzz cut, but she could just close her eyes and let him use her - a cocksleeve for his enjoyment. And he didn't worry about it all night, bruising her body with his sheer passion, leaving them exhausted again but utterly satisfied. 

"I could stop if you don't want this..." (y/n) teased, body thrumming with hazy, soul-shattering pleasure. Planting her hands on his stomach, she doubled her efforts, slamming her cunt on his throbbing cock when Ray's gaze darkened. 

If he could, his hands would be on her hips, throwing her underneath him, keeping his precious wife where she belonged. Her pussy was his second home, his second favourite girl, and she took him so well. How could she even hint at stopping? 

"Don't you fucking dare."

"Love you, doofus," the heroine giggled as she kneaded her chest, giving her husband a show as she rolled her nipples between her forefinger and thumb. His half-lidded eyes watched with hungry, wanting to take her tits in his hands and mouth--to love her properly. But he relented, an agonisingly warm softness blooming in his heart when she spoke those words so reverently, honest and true. 

"Pretty girl...fuck, I love you more than anything," the hero promised, tugging at his restraints, desperate to take her in his arms and fuck her properly. He wanted to love her, feel her, and push himself in as deep as he'd go until he was permanently one with her- until it took. 

That damn tie was too tight, making (y/n) giggle as she leaned down again to kiss him, hips writhing and bucking together to chase a nearing high. It would be intense and soul-shattering, but they needed it, burning with love, lust, and longing as her lips clumsily trailed across his cheek. She lightly bit his jaw, breathing hotly into his ear, sucking on his earlobe before whispering...

"Cum with me."

He wasn't one to refuse his wife, swearing he'd pull the stars from the sky if she desired them. But this was easy, squeezing his fists together as they stilled and groaned. He filled her easily, pumping endless ropes into her awaiting pussy as (y/n) screamed, wondering which number that one was. Maybe three or four - thoroughly fucked by her doofus as she collapsed onto his chest. 

Everything was hot. The room. Their bodies. The man she married. She didn't dare move, scared of pulling away and spilling the precious cum coating her walls, so she nuzzled into his damp skin, kissing his chest. Ray was equally fucked, wrung-out and smug when he rolled his hips, fucking himself deeper, and pulled another gasp from her lips. 

They never cared about the world in those quiet moments after, connected on more than a physical level. It was a man and his wife, a woman and her husband, and no one else. Nothing else mattered, not even when the door creaked open, and a fuzzy little head poked around the corner. 

"The kids are waiting downstairs. When you're ready. After the smoochy-smoochy...so...hurry up!"

Poor Schwoz. He'd been waiting over an hour to approach them, straying closer to their door, only to hear such unholy noises escaping through the cracks. He backed away and came back, backed away and came--an endless cycle of trying to say that Danger Force was waiting downstairs, but he was terrified. 

Seeing his boss hazy-eyed and tied to his bed was one thing: arms slung above his head with a band of red silk keeping him still. Hearing one of his oldest friends shriek and seeing her pull a wrinkled sheet up to her chest was another. But, almost certainly, he'd never recovered, nor would he ever be able to wash the imprinted image from behind his eyes. 

Schwoz was mortified. (y/n) was horrified. But Ray? He was fucking delighted. 

*And we're safe again. Enjoy the rest of the chapter! I actually really like this episode (especially since DF as a whole is a bit shit :)

"We are so late!" (y/n) hissed as she and Ray raced to the school, barely rubbing the sleep from their eyes. It was true; they were so late, oversleeping and rolling around the sheets until the sun was high and well past mid-morning. Well, not that the doofus cared, strolling behind his beloved wife with a dorky grin. 

He was happy--annoyingly pleased with himself for discombobulating such a perfect and precious girl. Her Miss Danger uniform was haphazardly thrown on, slightly rumpled and creased from their sprint to the tube. At the same time, he casually buttoned his tunic and zipped up his pants, leaning over her when they paused to go downstairs. 

For someone who'd done nothing but keep her in his bed all morning, he was surprisingly touchy, wrapping his arms around her, smooching her neck as (y/n) flicked through a file - everything the kids needed to learn today. She wanted to focus on some minor, simple missions that didn't involve fire, explosions, or death, but that wasn't easy when her husband wriggled into her arms like a needy child. 

"Doofus, I'm trying to read!"

"Can't a man love his wife?" Ray cooed, arms draped over her shoulders as she tried to shuffle along the corridor, which was much more difficult with the man-baby weighing her down. 

He pawed at her tummy and arms, hoping to hold her tight and retain her warmth and happiness away from the world--and that wasn't easy with a cup of coffee in his hand. He needed the caffeine after such a...rigorous start, although he was confident that his precious girl would end up drinking most of it. 

As much as he...vaguely liked the children, they could be so annoying, and that morning, like every other morning, he wanted her all to himself. Was that so bad? They never got a day off together and only recovered from last week's exhausting mission. Those little demons were knocking on his door again, banging on about learning. It was so overrated...

"The man has been doing that all morning," (y/n) sighed, subconsciously leaning into his affections since his lips felt so ticklish on her neck... Despite everything, she loved the attention, taking the hand off her hip to intertwine their fingers as they walked along. 

"And I love you, my pretty wife..." He smiled, hunched over in what must've been an awkward position to walk since his chin was resting on her shoulder. They stopped, hovering in the closet as the kids' voices grew louder on the other side of the wall. It made the adults freeze, instinctively pulling away from what Schwoz would call the "smoochy-smoochy". 

God, he was still embarrassed, walking around with red cheeks and wide eyes, avoiding the couple like the plague once they shouted back to him and left their bedroom. No one knew where he was now, making (y/n) and Ray wary of where the fuzzy weirdo would pop up next, which made the hero grumpy. If it weren't for him, they might have gotten that day in bed...

"I know, Raymond..." she replied softly, petting his head when he hugged her close, wanting the quiet, solitary moment to last forever. "I love you too."

"...You don't think they'll miss us for another half hour, do you?"

"Yes. Definitely. And if you come near me again, doofus, I won't be able to walk." He pushed his luck, drifting his touch down her back toward her butt, only for his wife to stop him. 

As much as she liked the thought of that...she was tired. Aching. Slightly sore. It was nothing her super-regeneration couldn't handle. Still, they had things to do, so no matter how much Raymond pouted, she stood fast, chastely pecking his cheek when his fingers narrowly escaped skimming her ass. He'd have her beneath him all day if it were up to him, and that was more of a vacation thing, not a mid-week, school day thing. 

"You know how to flatter a man, sweet girl," Ray grumbled, sighing but squishing her cheeks together as he captured her lips. True to his word and her request, he refrained from turning it dirty, humming appreciatively at her taste before pulling away to straighten her pretty uniform. Had he told her how gorgeous she looked that day?

"Mm-hmm. I know how to flatter you. Come on..." she giggled, taking his hand as her ears warmed under his soft, gooey-eyed stare, guiding him to the door. 

With the file perched open in her hand, they entered the room, smiling brightly as they faced the bored, dejected children. At last, the teachers had arrived - a mere three hours late - and they headed for the lectern, acting like everything was perfectly normal, even as four sets of eyes scrutinised their every move. 

They were scattered around the room, Mika fiddling with something, Chapa dozing at her desk, wearing a cowboy hat, Miles eating a snack, and Bose working through a box of doughnuts. They'd run out of things to do whilst waiting for the adults, having heard nothing more from Schwoz, save that they were busy and on their way. Whatever busy meant. 

"All right, simmer down, everybody! Let's cut the chatter!" Ray told the kids firmly as he took the thick file from his wife's hand and dumped it on the podium, ready to read what juicy crimes they had today. He wanted to command the room and avoid awkward questions, but he only worsened things like usual. 

"No one was talking..." Mika replied flatly, wondering what the guy was talking about--except for being high and mighty like normal. She looked up from the blaster she'd been inspecting and eyed the couple suspiciously, wondering why (y/n) looked so tired after a relatively quiet night. Few emergencies, no criminals, very little to do - what had they been doing?

"Yeah, man. No chatter to cut," her brother agreed, smirking slightly when (y/n) nudged her doofus, pouting and begging for a sip--or rather, gulp--of his coffee. And like the soft idiot he was, Ray gave it to her, acting like her thirst annoyed him, yet he brought the cup to her lips. What a simp...

"Hey, (y/n/n)...You get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning? Your hair's all weird..."

"Oh, she got out of bed this morning, only it was Ray's side!" Chapa hissed snidely to Miles, earning a few giggles around the room as they knew something of the truth. It didn't take a genius to work something out, and they gagged and groaned at the thought of their teachers doing snuggly, cuddly things in bed. 

Their chuckles and rude toilet humour comments made the woman glare, dryly raising an eyebrow over her stolen coffee while subtly patting her hair. Perhaps it was a little frizzy, ruffled from being Ray's pillow princess, and the hero wouldn't have any slander. If those jokers really wanted to know, he liked seeing her like that...she looked so very naturally beautiful. 

"Well..." he said sharply, speaking above whatever they found so funny when (y/n) returned a trickle of coffee. "I kinda had my heart set on telling you guys to cut the chatter, so... Can we come in again? And, maybe, hear some chatter?"

"I didn't realise we were here to meet your needs..." Miles retorted, slowly chewing his jammy doughnut and swirling the liquid in his polystyrene cup. He matched the man's glare, knowing he was fond of his wife, being the simp he was, but they were just poking fun... It wasn't their fault they'd landed themselves in a real-life rom-com. 

"Well, guess what? You are," Ray told him, equally biting as (y/n) clung to his beefy arm. His uniform made him look so handsome; how did he look so...put-together?

"Then, we can do that!"

"Great. We'll come in again. Let's go, doofus!" She smiled at them before ushering her stubborn lover out of the room. As he sipped whatever coffee she left him, disappearing into the closet, the kids erupted into forced, vociferous chatter, talking loudly across the room as if they were more interested in their dealings than schoolwork. 

Behind the door, the couple waited a few seconds, counting ten seconds specifically as Ray swept his wife into a breath-taking kiss. His free arm curled around her waist as he held the file close to his chest, although he'd rather it was her. Still, (y/n) stepped closer until their navels touched, seemingly starving for that bubblegum mint until they had to pull apart. 

In another beat, they reentered the room, following a smooth rhythm as if they hadn't shared a secret tryst behind the wood, falling into the racket without another word. Although, maybe one final fleeting glance at each other. 

"All right, calm down, everybody!"

"Let's cut the chatter!" (y/n) shouted with her doofus, unaware of his game's point. Still, he seemed satisfied now, sauntering back to the lectern with the faux exhaustion of an overworked teacher. But the kids didn't stop, suddenly lost in their conversations. They weren't mindless rabbles anymore but excited chats about whatever teens talk about. 

"Hey! The doofus said to cut the chatter!" She told the kids, feeling her husband press himself against her back as he smiled gently. She was so hot when she took charge, commanding the classroom with such wit and intelligence...he was in awe. 

"All right, M-D. What ya got for us today, Cap?" Bose asked, placing his feet on the desk as the children took their seats, simmering down to politely play attention like good students. 

"What we got is a big, steamin' bowl a' crime chowder. So, grab your spoons--let's eat!" Ray grinned, particularly proud of his metaphor, especially when his sweet girl giggled and gave him one of her pretty smiles. He was such a dork, slamming the thick file down so he could read out the crimes; only Mika had been busy...

"I digitised all those papers for you and uploaded them to the smartboard," she told them as her friends barked like excited dogs, earning a pleasant grin from (y/n) when she turned and noticed all the information on the screen. Whilst it made their lesson plan redundant, she supposed it was easier, knowing everyone could see the details rather than them reading it out. 

"Aw, thanks, Mika!"

"Oh, well...what am I supposed to do with these?" The hero asked with a pout, holding the stack up since the papers were now useless. He turned to his beloved wife, seeking her judgement since she was usually so wise in these situations, even if the solution was obvious - he just wanted an excuse to gaze into her eyes. 

"Recycle them, doofus?" (y/n) suggested, removing a speck of non-existent dust from his uniform, fingertips trailing down his chest as she smirked. Ray broke into a huge grin, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles as he chuckled--like something was funny. 

It made her frown, wondering what amused him so much when she was just trying to be helpful. He didn't like seeing such an ugly expression on her face, making him smooch harder, but he couldn't help it - such a silly suggestion.

"Absolutely not, darlin'! You're so cute..." 

"Throw them away?" Bose proposed, still reclining as the man cooed over his wife. He liked that idea much more, lighting up the room with his pearly grin since that made much more sense. Just throwing them in the trash would require less effort, and everyone knew recycling was a myth.

"Better! 'Scuse me, sweet girl..."

"What?!" The heroine gasped, frowning deeply as her husband scooched past and dumped the stack of papers into the regular trash can, utterly ignoring the waste paper basket beside it. They fell with a hollow thump, much like (y/n)'s heart, as she sighed and shook her head, spotting Mika's similar reaction - those girls lived in a world of goldfish. 

"Burn 'em?" And it only got worse with Chapa's suggestion, egging Ray on because who didn't like fire? 

"Best!" Ignoring his wife's facepalm, he grinned as he pulled the laser remote from his belt and zapped the documents. Instantly, they burst into flames, the warmth and glow spreading through the room, bouncing off the walls rather cosily, and the girls supposed it could've been nice if it didn't fill the place with an ashy, burning smell. 

"Seriously, doofus?" (y/n) sighed, watching the flames lick the air as Mika helpfully went to fetch her a fire extinguisher. The man perched himself on a small cabinet, taking her into his arms as he set her on his knee and pecked her cheek affectionately. 

His grin was infectious, pulling at her lips as she stood between his parted knees, mirthfully shaking her head. He was an idiot, but he was her idiot, looking too damn handsome for his own good as the kids admired the flaming spectacle. 

"Recycle them! You're so funny, sweet girl... I'm so glad I married you," Ray murmured, gaze flickering to her lips before finding them. They smiled into it, feeling the ghosts of their wedding rings on their fingers, where they would be under their gloves if they weren't in uniform. 

Meanwhile, Mika found that fire extinguisher, unlocking the plastic housing on top as she brought it over to (y/n). Even if it broke apart their clinch, the blaze needed putting out, so she abruptly separated from her husband with an awkward cough. 

Despite often losing herself around Ray, acting like a schoolgirl crushing on the hottest guy on the football team, she tried to refrain from jumping him whenever the kids were around, even if she wasn't always successful. So, as he plucked a pencil from behind his ear and bizarrely dropped it into the flames, she chastely pecked his forehead one last time before turning to her little helper. 

"Okay, crime time..." Ray announced, clapping his hands and getting on with teaching once he lost his wife's warmth - the fire was no match. Mika returned to her seat once (y/n) had the extinguisher, watching as the man began his so-called lesson while she blasted the fire with the white smoke, smothering the flames. 

"Somebody stole a garden gnome off some old lady's front yard..."

"Oh, come on, doof. We can do better than that..." (y/n) commented as she breezily hobbled past, thinking they were above dealing with petty crimes like teenage misdemeanours. They had to leave something for the cops to pick over. 

"Let's see...somebody hit Scary Gary in the head with a garden gnome--Oh. Actually, those two might be related," Ray hummed, seeing some connection, but it still wasn't spicy enough to be worth their time, practically sending the kids off to sleep on their desks. 

One quick squeeze later, (y/n) extinguished the fire, making a mental note to find a replacement trash can later since that one was all melted and smoky. She walked back to where they stored the thing, noticing how her husband's eyes slid down her spine when she brushed past him, obviously lingering where her skirt met her thighs. 

"Get to the good crimes!" Chapa suddenly barked, snapping Ray out of his daydream of soft skin and thick flesh, remembering that he was teaching. Thank God for the podium...

"Okay, gimme a sec, gimme a sec..." Ray muttered sheepishly as (y/n) returned to his side, flicking through dozens of petty offences, some more tedious than others. "Somebody stole all the books from the Swellview Library. Pfffft!"

"STOLE BOOKS FROM THE LIBRARY?!" Honestly, the couple didn't think it was such a big deal, heads jerking up in alarm when Mika abruptly pushed her chair back and slammed her palms on her desk, glaring menacingly. 

If looks could kill, whoever made the mistake of nicking those books would be dead, even though they thought the kids wouldn't care. After all, kids don't read these days... But she wasn't the only one; terse looks penetrated the smartboard from all of them, including the kids they assumed wouldn't care. Mika, bless her, was a little nerdy compared to someone like Chapa...

"Someone's gonna fry tonight!" But even she was furious, looking slightly ridiculous in her black Stetson, fists sparking with scarlet electricity because she apparently cared about the library. Although, (y/n) would bet she'd never stepped in it once. 

"Are you guys serious?" She asked, exchanging a confused glance with her husband when he paused over the next crime. It was almost laughable, swearing they were pulling their legs - Captain Man didn't read unless it was with his head in his sweet girl's lap as she dictated one of her romance novels whilst playing with his hair. 

"Of course we are!"

"Libraries are a treasure trove of infinite knowledge!" The Macklin Twins replied in wonder-filled voices, more enchanted by a simple library than anyone would've ever thought. Mika was understandable, and Miles and Bose were perhaps a little far-fetched but interested in books, but Chapa? That was a surprise. 

"And adventure!" Bose couldn't help but add, grinning cheekily as he mystically waved his hands. He wasn't bright, but there was a book for everyone - and he loved the picture ones. 

"What?" Ray scoffed, glancing at all of them, but he didn't see anything to suggest a prank or elaborate joke. 

"Stealing books from the library is not just a crime against one person," Mika explained, looking at the adults like it was apparent, a weird, determined grimace on her face. She wasn't just thinking about glorifying crimes; she saw the bigger picture, and so did her brother. 

"It's a crime against the whole community!"

"And it will not stand!" Chapa bellowed, ripping the cowboy hat from her hand and slamming it down on her desk in a rage. By then, all the kids were on their feet, staring at their teachers, who still couldn't quite believe it. Were these the same kids who begged them to take them on incredible, exciting missions? The ones who were so eager for danger they caused a city-wide crime high?

"Okay, please tell us there's some sick turn coming," Ray said tentatively, barely able to focus on how his wife squished his bicep because he hated libraries. So dull and tacky. He preferred to defer those calls to his underlings, hopefully, the police, but they didn't laugh, call their bluffs, or shout sike! Their glares were steely and resolute, nails digging into palms at the thought of whichever scumbag stooped to stealing books. 

"Only thing comin' is vengeance."

"And adventure!" At least Bose was cute, still caught up in his musings on adventure - a stark contrast to his friends' harshness. 

"Because we love the library!" Miles insisted, almost teary-eyed at the thought of losing such a precious building. It was ridiculous to see him get so emotional, rowdily banging his fists in protest, and (y/n) saw that they were getting nowhere. She wasn't thrilled about it either, except maybe she'd pick up another cheesy novel, so she fluttered her eyelashes at her lover, knowing he'd need convincing. 

"Well, doofus, the crime's already in our shopping cart. Let's just hit checkout," she sighed, pointing at the screen in what was supposed to be a fun, quirky way to get the kids engaged in choosing their missions. She thought it was cute, giving Ray her brightest smile, squeezing his huge arm, even if he returned a bored, joyless face. 

"God, sweetheart, we're surrounded by nerds..." he groaned, but how could he refuse her when she looked so pretty? Glancing back down at his PearPad, he hit the library crime tab, pulling open a page about the brief information they'd received, and it still didn't sound fun. "All right, give me a second to read the details..."

"Okay, let's see... Okay, look! They didn't steal all the books. They left like ten copies of that one," the man pointed out when he saw the crime scene photo - a quick snapshot of one of the shelves, which still had a few novels propped up in the middle. He didn't see the fuss until one of the kids looked closer...

"Hey, what book is that?" Miles asked, squinting at the screen because he swore he'd seen it before. It looked so familiar, and it wasn't until Ray zoomed in that they all realised something tragic. Hilarious, but tragic--well, it was if you were its author. 

"It is...Oh. My. God." Sitting there on the shelf, much to Ray's bitter disappointment, were ten copies of his book. His autobiography. Dozens of pages about his favourite subject. Himself. Thousands of words about Captain Man's life, hopes, and dreams, how he became a superhero, what he did in his free time, how he scored a beauty like Miss Danger, and it was all there for the citizens of Swellview to read. Because some philistine left it behind--probably on purpose. 

All the colour drained from his face before a deep scrape poured back in, and he slammed the tablet on the lectern as his wife and students bit back chuckles. It was a bit funny - the irony of it all - but (y/n) tried not to show it, instantly smushing herself into his back as the hero stared at the humiliating insult, jaw clenched and eyes hard. 

"Is that you on the cover?" Chapa asked, even though it was unmistakably Captain Man. He had the mask and everything, looking all smug with a stupidly long title since he could never stop bragging. Yeah, it was definitely his book. 

"Yes."

"And they left it there?" Mika asked, too, trying to remain sympathetic and kind, but it was hard. The situation was funny, not that anyone could tell Ray that. 

"Yes."

"All ten copies, doof?" (y/n) cringed, stroking his back to try and be comforting, but it didn't really help. Nothing could soften the blow of being so deeply insulted by some two-bit criminal, and Ray wasn't the type of man to take such abuse lying down. All he could do was stare at the floor and try not to cry in front of the kids, knowing they were already amused - they'd never let him forget the day a bad guy made him sob. 

"Yes."

"They literally stole every book in the library except yours?" Miles sniggered, rubbing salt in the hero's wound. He was intentionally mean, seeing the irony more than he did. Still, it burned Ray's soul, making him want to bury his face in his wife's neck or hide under their bedsheets until a millennia had passed. Anything to avoid the shame. 

"Someone's gonna fry tonight!" Ray snarled, his face screwed up in anguish and fury. No one, save his pretty girl, knew how hard he'd worked on that damn book - and literacy wasn't his strongest suit - angering him enough to make him want to squish something small. So, he did. 

His fist came down on the plate of doughnuts from Miles and Bose's little picnic earlier, finding the squelch of the pastry under his hand deliciously satisfying. The brutal blow made it look like a pancake, squeezing the jammy filling out like some kind of sugary cannon, and unfortunately, Bose was its target. 

A sticky, red blob hit him in the neck as Chapa cheered, ecstatic about gaining permission to electrify some no-good hooligans. Yet, she quickly frowned when her friend stumbled back. The jelly trickled down his uniform, clinging to his skin, but (y/n) barely reached for a tissue when the colour drained from his face--like he'd taken a fatal jam bullet to the torso. 

"I'm hit!" He groaned before collapsing, playing every bit the wounded soldier as Chapa looked down on him in disgust, wondering what all the fuss was about. 

"Relax, it's just--"

"This is the end for old Bosey..." the boy sniffled breathlessly like the wind had been knocked out of him, even as Mika and Miles gathered around his near-corpse, trying to soothe his grievances. "Confession time! I'm the one that stole that garden gnome."

"Well, Holmes, another case solved," (y/n) joked, smiling up at her husband with a dorky grin as Bose relaxed against the floor, going all floppy like he'd breathed his last. 

Ray giggled with her, nuzzling their noses until he found her honeyed lips - an entirely inappropriate reaction for such a sombre moment - if the kid had croaked it. No matter how long he kept his eyes closed or how much his tongue lolled out of his mouth, he wasn't fooling anyone. Certainly not Chapa, who watched in utter disdain. 

"Dude, you're fine. That's jelly," she retorted dryly, and miraculously, Bose's hand, stiff with rigor mortis, curled up to his neck to dab at the sticky substance. He licked his fingertips, lips twitching upwards when the pleasant sweetness caressed his tastebuds, and Bose decided death wasn't on his list so soon--not when the jam tasted so good. 

"So it is! Raspberry, if I'm not mistaken!" He grinned, looking as vacant as ever as they all sighed. 

Still, he wasn't as weird as the trash can, sitting quietly and innocently while it spontaneously bursting into flames without much warning. The fire came out of nowhere, spooking the group since (y/n) had definitely doused it with the gas. Weird - what kind of gag was that?

"Uh-oh! Hot can!" Ray remarked as he watched the bin smoulder, forcing his beloved wife to retrieve the extinguisher with a long, tired groan. 

"That thing does not want to stay out!"

"This wouldn't have happened if you'd just recycled like a normal person, doofus," (y/n) grumbled as she lugged the metal cylinder across the room, fully intending on emptying the damn thing if it meant the fire would be put out. And, of course, as she worked, the others laughed, thinking it was hilarious that their trash can defied physics or whatever--since they didn't have to work to stop the place from burning down. 

"We also wouldn't be laughing, darlin', so I mean..." Ray replied sassily, cackling with his fellow hyenas as the woman paused before the blaze, pondering her next move. 

With one hand on her hip, she narrowed her eyes at her husband, knowing he wouldn't find it funny for long when she played her trump card. Her sharp glare made the children shrink back a little, more scared of her than they were of the idiot in the red and blue spandex, dampening their spirits as Ray batted his eyelashes. 

He was an idiot, but at least he was a pretty idiot. An adorable idiot, worthy of an empty threat, as (y/n) smirked and jutted her hip out, never leaving his eye. 

"You'll be laughing tonight while sleeping on the couch."

"No, sweet girl!" Now, that gave them something to laugh about. 

~The Man's Nest~

Upstairs, the team had assembled to track down their prey now that they'd caught the scent. 

They were looking for a scumbag who wasn't below stealing books from children, old people, and every other vulnerable person in the city, but that didn't really narrow it down. Who knows what lowlifes were lurking in the shadows? 

The kids didn't really want to find out, looking to their teachers for guidance as they loitered around the room--or, in Bose and Miles' case, stretched together on the floor, foot-to-foot to really pull those lower back muscles. Luckily, though, whoever this jerk was, he'd made the mistake of forcing Captain Man's hand, making the man his enemy, and God, the guy was angry. 

Not even (y/n) could soothe his temper, quietly observing his pissed-off pacing around the room as he imagined he would beat the crook's ass one hundred ways. No one messed with his book and got away with it, no one made him look like a fool, and no one, not even some smart Alec little bastard, stole all the romance novels before his precious wife got to read them all. 

What would she do in the bath if she didn't have a book?

"All right! Who's ready to break some teeth?" He growled as he twirled a rope-like weapon in his hand, threatening to whack someone's eye out if he wasn't careful. 

"Always!" Chapa replied immediately, squirming eagerly on the couch because that sounded like her type of fun, and it wasn't often she was allowed to truly release some anger on the criminals, no matter how scummy they were. Something about morals--whatever (y/n) thought they were. 

"Ready in a bit!"

"Just gotta do a little stretching first!" Miles and Bose added, still in their shared teddy bear pose as they leaned forwards and backwards, enjoyed how their spines cracked and relaxed with each gentle stretch. Still, it made their teacher impatient, sticking out his bottom lip and practically stamping his foot as they remained on the floor instead of following orders. 

"But I want to break teeth now!"

"We don't even know whose teeth to break yet," Mika argued from her seat at the mini-supercomputer, flicking between PearPads as she researched who it could be. Still, there were a lot of bad guys in Swellview. It could've been any of them, and she didn't know where to start. 

On the other hand, Ray was particularly smug, stomping over to her with his arm roughly thrown around (y/n) 's neck, presenting her to the girl with a proud smirk--and not just because he got to marry her and she didn't. 

"Wrong! I just uploaded a list of the most likely suspects. Tell her, sweet girl!"

"Um, Mika, if you'd just..." (y/n) smiled awkwardly as her doofus nudged her encouragingly, if a little impatiently. As he crowded her, seeking affection, the girl humoured her, tapping the screens a little until she found the list the mad had made. 

It was long--really long, and not very specific, including names ranging from the big baddies like The Toddler and Doctor Minyak to those not even worth their time like Jeff or Mr Nice Guy. Hell, even Chapa was there for some reason, much to the heroine's frustration. This was why she didn't let her husband write the shopping list--he'd come home with God knows what. 

"Doofus, this is literally every criminal in Swellview." She frowned, squinting at the list and gulping at the thought of roaming the city to find them all. Surely, the books were above The Toddler's usual crime habits. Yet, Ray just looked pleased with himself, squeezing her in his embrace since he knew how much she loved his updated uniform and how much bigger it made him feel. 

"Yeah! Plus, a couple of people I just don't like."

"They're scattered all over town! It's going to take us ages to get through them all," she added, giving him a sceptical glance, but he just shrugged. 

"Well, we better get going. We got a long night ahead of us, and I want to be back here, watching a movie on the couch with my wife by two. Hope you're wearing your teeth-breaking pants!" The hero growled, taking his pretty girl by the hand and turning toward the door, hoping to burn through the list so they could enjoy a quiet night together—fat chance. 

"One of those dots is me!" Chapa called out, standing up when she read her name on the screen. Her face contorted in anger and offence, knowing that her boss had counted her amongst the scum - robbers, criminals, those he didn't like. But honestly, Ray wasn't ashamed, not even when (y/n) quirked her eyebrow at him in a mini-glare. 

"Well, where were you last night? Huh?" He asked accusingly, snarling at the girl as he doubled back and marched up to her. "Out stealing every book in Swellview except mine?!"

"Calm down, doofus..." (y/n) soothed him, wincing slightly when his relatively calm tone turned cruel and sharp. She knew he was upset, but she wouldn't let him be nasty, noticing how a pang of hurt passed Chapa's face, utterly disgusted at such an accusation. 

"I don't steal books! I'm not a monster!" She bit back, folding her arms and staring at him from the couch. He wasn't a harsh man by any means - his wife would vouch for his deeply ingrained kindness - but his tendency for rudeness genuinely wounded the girl. Did people really see her as someone who'd stoop so low?

"We'll see..." the man muttered, admitting defeat for now as he turned his back on her, petting his wife's head like she were a cat. They slunk away, Ray content to let his lover fuss over him since she was so good at distracting him, and that allowed the kids to think with interruption. 

"I got a better way to find the criminal," Mika said, eyeing the couple as her friend pecked her husband's nose, bringing a sickly saccharine smile to his face - so adorable, it was almost disgusting. 

"Better than spending six to eight days walking all over town, collecting criminal teeth to get that sweet, sweet coin from the Tooth Fairy until we randomly happen upon some random criminal that admits to stealing the books? I'd like to hear it!"

"You've got to stop watching those True Crime shows, Ray..." The heroine shook her head, knowing he was getting carried away again and letting his inner child run rampant. Still, Mika brushed over it--in the right while he was in the wrong as always. 

"Well, you know that place, The Beatin' Dungeon?" She questioned smugly, and the couple instantly had flashbacks to happier times. 

It was months ago, making (y/n) smile at the thought of her last family reunion and how her then fiancé--which was so weird to think about--nearly worried himself sick without her in his arms. It was so bad that he needed a pick-me-up, growing bored with his day-in, day-out fights against the same-old criminals, so he signed up to fight some loser. He never thought he'd find common ground with The Toddler, but it was almost magical - Henry Hart's work, of course. 

Just thinking about the kid made their smiles sour, and the woman made a mental note to try and call the kid whenever she had a free minute--just to see how her babies were doing. God, she missed them, sharing a brief, teary glance with her soulmate, and she knew he was thinking the same. Happy times...

"I barely know where I am right now..." Bose replied honestly, not jokingly, bringing them back to reality, and four new kids needed guidance. They had a job and quickly moved on from memory lane as the boys stopped stretching and got on their feet. 

"The Beatin' Dungeon is this place where villains and heroes get together to fight each other for fun," (y/n) explained, leaving out the bits where her doofus failed to secure a decent opponent despite being Captain Man. It wasn't her style, a little crude and brutish to brawl for fun, but others thought differently...

"Sweat! When do we go?" Chapa asked excitedly, hopping off the couch with an eager readiness to start breaking faces; a fight club was precisely her idea of fun. 

"Tomorrow night. It's Villains Only Night," Mika replied, giving the girl a confident smirk after researching the supercomputer, unlike Ray, who was all action and had no brains in her eyes. Yet, the man wasn't entirely clueless, rolling his eyes and scoffing when he heard her glorious master plan. 

"So?"

"So, we get Schwoz to make up some bad guys costumes..." Miles supposed, seeing what his sister had planned, although they'd need to find the genius in whatever hole he crawled into. He was still strangely mortified for some reason...

"We head down The Beatin' Dungeon..."

"And adopt a rescue dog that we bring home and say, in a way, he rescued us!" Bose finished, happily concluding his friends' scheme, although he'd gotten a little lost. They all looked at him with tired, if slightly bemused, expressions, wondering how they could be angry at those dimples, even if he were such hard work. Still, though, (y/n) perked up at the news of a puppy...

"So close..."

"Was he?" Miles murmured to Chapa as they both cringed, clueless about what went through that boy's head. Surely, it had to be filled with cotton wool; grimacing at his simpleness as Mika awkwardly carried on. 

"Or...we hang out and see if any criminals are bragging about stealing books from the library," the girl suggested, glancing at Ray and (y/n) for permission, and whilst the man looked slightly bitter for not thinking of something so clever, his sweet girl grinned and nodded. 

"Sounds good to me!" The woman exclaimed as Miles and Chapa agreed, keen to go somewhere dark and dangerous--to mingle amongst the criminal throngs and intercept their enemy in his den. They loved the thrill of it, especially if it meant wearing a weird costume. 

"Hold up, wait a minute, let me put some Captain in it!" But Ray had other ideas, sticking his cheesy grin in the mix, even if it made the kids' faces fall. 

"I don't know what that means..."

"Me neither." Mika and Chapa remarked dryly, giving the hero a confused look as he swaggered like a testosterone-fulled peacock. Instead, they looked at (y/n), hoping she'd translate whatever he was saying since she spent every waking minute with him--loved him, even his...more annoying parts. 

"He thinks he has an idea..." she told them, hovering by her husband and squishing his beefy arm, curling around her waist and bringing her flush against him. Something about him looked extra handsome from that angle - perhaps extra tall, broad, or rugged, looking down at her gently before giving the kids a stern gaze. 

"Also, about that puppy..." She fluttered her eyelashes and raked a palm down his chiselled chest, using all her tricks to try and persuade him that Bose might be onto something there. She'd always been a sucker for cute puppies, even though they were perfectly content with Colin the rabbit. 

"We're not getting a dog, sweet girl," Ray told her firmly but kindly, following up with a sweet kiss on her pouting, honeyed lips. He wanted to give her the world, but that sounded like hell, cleaning up after another animal with all the younglings crawling all over their home. It broke his heart to say no, but (y/n) didn't take it personally, satisfied with the kiss for now, even when he pulled away. 

"Aw..."

"It means..." Ray said to Danger Force as he tried to move on, stumbling slightly when his wife reached onto his tiptoes and planted a clumsy smooch on the stretched expanse of his neck. He gulped, shivering at the ticklish sensation as Chapa and the boys grimaced, with only Mika thinking their affection was mildly romantic as the heroine pulled away with a besotted expression. 

"It means it's up to me to point out that nobody ever goes to Villains Only Night. Check out their Fakebook page," he told them, tapping on the PearPads before finding a sad, lonely social media account with little to no followers or traffic. It was just saddos on bar stools, drinking their sorrows away as they waited for something fun to happen, not that it ever did. 

And was that The Lawn Ranger Ray saw? God, seeing that weirdo again sent shivers down his spine from the mere thought of his loser aura. 

"I thought of that, and I have a solution!" But Mika had it covered, grinning at the sceptical hero as his arms shook around his sweet girl with smug laughter. There was no way...

"Pfft! A better solution than spending six to eight days walking all over town, collecting criminal--"

"Yes, doofus! We're not going through that again," (y/n) interrupted, clamping her palm over his mouth so he couldn't repeat his rant. His lips pursed against her, pecking her sensitive skin, making her giggle, but at least he shut up, going limp and soft in her arms because who was he to talk back to his beloved wife?

"We just have to offer something else that everyone loves," Mika said like it was simple, and even Ray couldn't agree with that. 

"Like face painting!" And for once, Bose was helpful, and no one could say they saw something wrong with the lighthearted, childish, and harmless. Even villains loved the face painting, so the girl quickly typed it into the Fakebook page, advertising the new activity for all to see. Meanwhile, Chapa and Miles rambled about their favourite designs, something about cute squiggles on their eyes and cheeks. 

"Wait a minute--that's not gonna work!" Ray remarked as he embraced his wife, but the replies flooded in when Mika sent the post. Dozens of criminals, villains, and general scumbags instantly commented their support, pledging they'd attend Villains Only Night for the face painting - the most brilliant idea yet. 

"It seems like it's working, doof..." (y/n) whispered to her lover, giving him a soft smile since he'd been proven wrong - his worst nightmare. Still, he wasn't a sore loser...too much. 

"Fine! But where are you gonna find somebody to paint faces, huh? For free!?" He asked, sneering at Mika since he didn't want to fork out for such a simple mission, not when he could spend that money on something much more deserving, like his wife. 

But Miles had other ideas. Getting to his feet, the boy threw his head back, inhaling deeply before he released an ear-shattering bellow--loud enough to make everyone jump, and the walls felt like they were shaking. 

"SCHWOZZZZZ!" He screeched to the heavens, and low and behold, the fuzzy little coconut appeared. He'd been hiding in an alcove in the ceiling, strapped snuggly in a harness so he could read Ray's beloved book in peace without any more incidents. God, it was still burned into his eyelids, a faint blush dusted over his cheeks as he descended from whichever nook or cranny he'd been avoiding his boss in. 

"Yes?"

"AHH!" Everyone jumped, yelping when he dropped down out of nowhere like a goddamn bat, making (y/n) cower into her doofus' arms as he frowned. So, that's where the little weirdo had hurried off, licking his wounds because he couldn't knock. 

"Can you paint faces?" Miles asked calmly, despite how rapidly his heart pounded. 

"Yes." Schwoz nodded - one of his many hidden skills, although he wasn't sure why the boy wanted to know. He'd had enough shenanigans for one day. 

"For free?" Mika questioned further, smiling brightly at the genius, even though she wasn't sure why he wouldn't look in her direction. He wouldn't even glance toward Ray and (y/n), knowing he'd turn a deep red if he made eye contact, so he stared straight ahead, at one of the kids, or at the propped-open novel in his hand. 

"Yes."

"We need you to go to The Beatin' Dungeon tomorrow night," Chapa instructed him, and the guy readily agreed, hoping to get back to his book. It wasn't like he had much else to do. God knows he didn't fancy wandering the Man's Nest halls again after what happened a few hours earlier, so he nodded casually. Sometimes, it was just nice to be part of something, and painting faces sounded fun. 

"Ho-kay!" He smiled before tapping a remote control in his pocket and rising into the rocky crannies above their heads to read in peace. It was like he couldn't wait to leave...and why did he look so pink?

"You gotta make us some bad guy costumes, Schwozie!--Please!" (y/n) added, calling after him despite how awkward it made her feel. Ray had no shame, smirking at how shy his nosy handyman was when he openly nuzzled his wife's hair, but at least she had the decency to use her manners. If he was embarrassed, she was mortified, remembering how he must've gotten the full show for ten seconds before they realised what was happening. It made her face feel like lava...

"Ho-kay..." his meek response shouted back, burying his burning nose into the pages of Ray's early career before those horrifically vivid memories returned. 

"And you gotta let us adopt a dog!" Bose shouted, nudging (y/n) as she giggled and nodded enthusiastically, much to her husband's exasperation. Two against one was hardly fair...

"No-kay!" 

"Fine! But if I steal another garden gnome to fill the void inside me, it's your fault!" The boy snapped harshly before whipping around and storming out of the Nest--throwing an utter tantrum, much to his friends' confusion. 

Well, at least Schwoz was on his side, even if he'd spent the morning burning bed sheets and scrubbing the walls, floors, tables, and chairs. Who knows what had been defiled? He certainly didn't want to think about it. 

~The next day~

Sometime later, Schowz had forgotten about his blushes. Of course, he'd never forget the embarrassment, avoiding eye contact as he dashed around the room, but he had a job. He couldn't prepare their covert mission if his eyes were on the floor, so he soon jumped to it, fiddling with God knows what as the kids ran riot around the room. 

They were bored, numbingly so, almost bored to tears by the time he was nearly ready, prodding and poking (y/n) as she patiently waited for their disguises to be finished. Schwoz's unique gumballs took time, but finally, they were ready, making Miles bound up to Bose as the long-haired boy relaxed in the chair near his mini locker. 

"Bose! Get over here! Schwoz is giving us our bad guy costumes!"

"Swet! We bad guys now?" He asked, quickly standing up and following his friend as he tossed his headphones into Chapa's chair since he didn't need them anymore. 

The girls gathered around, too, having sat around the couch table, nattering about this and that--mainly gossiping about what Ray was like behind closed doors. Even the surly girl couldn't help but lean in close when Mika asked if he was a sweetheart. However, she regretted her choice when the heroine gushed about her ever-loving husband and all the beautiful things he did for her - supposedly. 

"No, we're still good. We just need to look all mean and evil," (y/n) explained, petting the boy as he smiled pleasantly, looking slightly confused. As if they'd ever stoop so low...the thought of all those dark and angsty clothes and rude attitudes made her nose wrinkle. 

"So, we can go undercover to Villains Only Night at the Beatin' Dungeon..."

"And find whoever stole those books from the library," Mika and Chapa explained, even though they'd run through this fifty times. It was like he never learned or didn't listen, or perhaps he was just a bit slow. 

"Okay, cool! I just came up with a great bad guy persona for myself..." Bose noted as Schwoz slowly came over with a tray of five glowing gumballs, all coded with whatever outfit he'd assigned for them. It had taken him hours to perfect his craft; the kid's suggestion was late and awkward. "I want to be...Bad Bose!"

"That's definitely bad, but not in the way you're thinking," Mika retorted, trying to spare his feelings, even as they chuckled at the terrible name. It made him happy - Schwoz, on the other hand...

"Oh, I'm not thinking at all. That's my secret..."

"It took me all night to make these bad guy gumballs, so the rule is you get what you get, and you don't get upset," the genius told them, barely glancing at the woman, but he stared at the children. They were more likely to complain since (y/n) didn't have a single argumentative bone in her body, not after he'd seen more of it than he ever wanted to. 

Danger Force argued otherwise, building up their expectations for their big night, and their costumes had to be good. If Schwoz had given them something awful, he'd hear about it. 

"No frowny-making, no head-shaking, no bellyaching, no offence-taking. You just chew and blow, and off you go!" He said curtly, hoping to get some peace and quiet whilst they were out - a chance to get the trauma he'd witnessed out of his head. He strolled along the lineup, handing each superhero a gumball with their assigned persona, and they all peered at the funky candy suspiciously. Would they really be satisfied with what he'd chosen? 

There was only one way to find out: swallowing the gumball and chewing quickly before blowing their bubbles. Much like when they transformed into their super-suits, the costumes materialised them, ranging from creepy to cool to downright weird. Everything was dark, sharp, and dangerous, with thick makeup and crazy wigs shielding their identities whilst giving that criminal aesthetic. They definitely looked like criminals - it was almost scary. 

"Nice..."

"What have you done to me?!"

"Love this!"

"I look so angsty..." There were mixed responses, with Chapa and Bose loving their new looks, while (y/n), Chapa, and Miles weren't so impressed. They walked the path of righteousness, and looking so evil wasn't their style, especially when the boy's outfit looked so...kooky. Like some kind of psycho hillbilly, Miles looked ridiculous in a bright red shirt and overalls with a silly little brown cowboy hat and, worse, a long, frizzy, coarse beard, which was so long it went down to his knees like a hairy waterfall. 

"You are Weird Beard...because your beard is weeeeeeeeird," Schwoz giggled to himself, tugging on Miles' thick, glued-on facial hair, much to the boy's annoyance, especially when he heard the mockery. It tickled his face and pulled on his skin, not to mention how it caught between his legs and nearly made him trip, so indeed, he could've come up with something better than that. 

"Dah-dah-dah--what did I say?" But he couldn't complain when Schwoz shook his finger in his face, angered by how he threw his head back and groaned loudly. 

"I mean, I love it," Miles replied dryly, looking less than in love with his costume, but what could he do? He'd just have to look like some hick in his country-style clothes and ignore how much he hated the weird, irritating beard. 

"Good!" Schwoz smiled before moving on to Mika, who looked particularly frantic with her hideously malicious-looking costume. 

(y/n) had never seen her in something so dark and creepy, what with her all-black, all-denim jeans and jacket covered in strategically placed barbed wire. It wrapped around her legs and looped around her waist before crossing her chest in an intricately dangerous design that would scratch anyone who came too close. It even snaked into her hair - a tall, crazy wig that stretched to the ceiling, thanks to three cans of hairspray. 

Her makeup consisted of smoky eyeshadow, black lipstick, and delicately painted tattoos, spooking everyone who saw her, including herself, and she freaked at the thought of being so...mean. 

"Why is mine so scary?!" She asked Schwoz in a panicked voice, feeling miles away from her usual bright, cheery, approachable attire. 

"Because you're a villain--The Mangler!" He told her like it was obvious, having said that they needed to look scary, so he made her look terrifying. Honestly, some people were so ungrateful...

"I know, but does it have to be this scary? What if I was something like...The Pretty Bad Pony?! Or just...The Pretty Pony?--" She rambled, praying for something pink, glittery, and girlish, but Schwoz ignored her. He brushed past without another word, leaving her disguise as it was since she was meant to look devilish, not like a My Little Pony. 

"You're The Mangler! This is your mangling stick..." he told her firmly before passing over a disgusting-looking lump of wood. It was like a snatched plank of wood, so splintery and rotten that he needed to wrap a bandage around the end to protect her soft little hands. That and the other end was riddled with rusty nails and more barbed wire, which would undoubtedly give anyone tetanus if they were scratched or pierced by the macabre shards of metal. 

"Is this dried blood?" Mika gulped as she inspected her signature weapon, only to feel the sticky, smelly substance smeared on her fingertips, and she knew blood when she saw it. Where and what had he been doing with it?

"Yes, it will dry eventually." The thought could make her vomit, but he quickly smiled at Chapa, who didn't look too different in her terrifying clothing. 

"You are El Stabador..." he explained, gesturing to her black jacket and breeches, which looked like an emo matador costume with brassy buttons and smart, patent leather shoes. But there were metal spikes on her shoulders, half a demonic skull face painted on her face, and her hair had been styled and sprayed into a spiky quiff. So, coupled with her usual terrifying scowl, she looked terrifying, much to her delight since everyone always insisted on looking so cute and cuddly. 

"¡Claro que sí! Y mi destino es--" She grinned, calling upon her inner Latina since these were the clothes of her ancestors, not that Schwoz gave two shits. He quickly looked at Bose, who had to be the strangest out of the kids, wearing something that could've only come from the genius' diseased imagination. 

"And you are a Yerban Santa Claus, who takes to us from kids, then punches them," he described to the overjoyed boy, who loved his freaky getup. 

He got to wear a thick, furry suit that made him look like half-man, half-bear, except for his wild, bushy wig, which protruded two curled horns. His face looked hideous, changed into a horrifying snarl, thanks to thick white face paint, arched eyebrows, and a prosthetic nose. No one could ever see through the disguise, and he even freaked (y/n) out a little bit as she hovered beside him. 

"I can do that. Do I get a bloody stick?" 

"Yes!" Mika nodded quickly, instantly offering him her mangling stick before it made her sick, and it nearly took off Bose's fake nose as she waved it under his chin. 

"Watch where you wave that thing, guys..." (y/n) remarked as she jumped back, scared to take a nail to the eye as Bose twirled it through the air like a magic wand; only she'd need more than witchcraft to patch up whatever damage that thing did. Her costume was cute yet creepy, a subtle order from Ray since he didn't want his sweet girl to be too far out of her comfort zone, so Schowz had gone down a classic horror movie route. 

"(y/n), tonight, you will be Doll Face..." Schwoz told her without meeting her eye, a faint blush dusted on his cheeks as (y/n) clutched a morbidly gory teddy bear dotted with blood and gouged slightly to look extra scary. It was like something from a slasher film, and she felt like another person as her palms sweated in her black gloves. 

But that was her whole aesthetic as a frighteningly creepy little girl, clad in her gothic, lolita dress, knee-high mesh stockings, heeled boots, and a black wig, plaited into two braids that hung beside her drawn, gaunt face. Her lips were painted a deep red, and there was a teardrop and a heart stained on her skin for a toy-like effect, completing her possessed dolly appearance. 

"Hopefully, never again..." she muttered as she smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her skirt, ignoring how Schowz skedaddled away before he could look at her too much, cheeks flaming with mortification. God, he needed to get over himself; what did he think married couples did when they had a few hours to themselves?

"Okay, time to head to The Beatin' Dungeon..."

"Hang on, we're missing our resident doofus." (y/n) stopped everyone before the genius could shove them out of the door because, as much as everyone thought he was an idiot, she knew his strength and experience would be invaluable as they entered enemy territory. And, speaking of the devil...

A loud, shrill, cawing sound came from the hallway across the room, seeming like a bird with a sore throat was trapped behind the steel door. Of course, it was just Ray, who was over the moon with how ridiculous and bizarre his specially designed disguise was. 

He'd made it himself, but that didn't come as a surprise as the door slowly ascended to reveal his...bird costume. Like some kind of feathered Batman, he had a thick, dark hood over his head, which cast a shadow over his masked face since he didn't want to risk anyone recognising him. His nose was made to look like a hooked beak, matching the long, greyish-black feathers stitched onto his sleeves to give him a bird-like appearance. Well, a bird wearing a brown waistcoat and slacks, that is. 

"Oh...I forgot about Ray," Schwoz grumbled as the man dramatically revealed himself, much to (y/n)'s, even though she didn't like how creepy everyone looked. She skipped over to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders, uncaring of his need for dramatic flare since it had been a whole hour since they'd rolled out of bed, and that was the last she saw him. 

But, as much as she wanted to embrace him, hold him close, and kiss him, Ray was a little too into his new role. 

"Ray no longer exists. He's been re-hatched...as Hawkfist!" He growled in a throaty voice, looking effortlessly cool and mysterious with his makeup and hood, but his name, attitude, and vibe...they were tragic. And (y/n) pouted as he boldly stood before her, brushing away her arms when she went for a hug so that he could pose and scowl like some wronged vigilante with a tragic backstory. 

"Doofus!" She complained, looking petulant in her childlike attire as she stamped her booted foot and crossed her arms to the backtrack of his shrill caw-caw! He was so busy trying to convince everyone that his outfit was cool that he didn't think twice about his beloved wife, not even as she pursed her lips and frowned, scuffing her heel against the ground. 

"Hatched? So...you were once an egg?" Miles questioned flatly as the children stood there with Schwoz, unimpressed and unresponsive, save that they felt a little sorry for (y/n) as she pouted, jilted and lonely. 

"I guess," Ray replied, having not really thought anything through except he wanted to be mysterious and foreboding. 

"And if you're re-hatched...that means you hatched twice?" Chapa added with a slight smirk when she realised how stupid his character was and how he stumbled when they pointed it out. There was no arguing with him, but God, he was so easy to wind up. 

"If that's what I said, then yes," the hero sniffed, trying to stay calm under pressure, but they kept going. 

"Do hawks even have fists?" Mika asked, folding her arms as she ridiculed him without mercy--anything to make him antsy since he upset her friend when all she wanted was a little affection. Perhaps that was petty, but that outfit was awful, clearly something from his mind and not Schwoz's.

"This one does."

"So, who were your parents?" Bose furthered, prompting the hero to become properly annoyed with their incessant questioning when he really didn't know the answer. 

"I don't know! A hawk and a fist--why don't you guys shut up?!" He growled defensively, hands still clenched by his face, although he didn't feel as epic now. If anything, he regretted his costume choice, wishing he'd gone with something that made more sense, but it was too late - the mockery didn't stop. 

"Because we have a lot of questions about...this," Miles retorted, vaguely gesturing to all of him--the entire weird ensemble. 

"There's no time. To The Beatin' Dungeon! Caw-caw!" Ray declared, desperate to avoid the awkward situation as he clawed the air and shrieked that awful shriek. 

It was loud enough to deafen everyone as he flapped toward his sweet girl, suddenly overcome with the need to hold her in his arms after an hour apart. He'd had his moment of glory, and now, he focused on her, beak-like face turning into a smile as he went to embrace her and find those honeyed lips. Yet, to his surprise and almost disgust, when his hands found her hips, she pushed them away and stubbornly stuck her nose in the air. It was a shock to all who watched, not just the baffled hero. 

"Sweet girl? I wanna kiss..." he mumbled, leaning in again with hooded eyes and a voracious hunger, but (y/n) was in the mood to play. Even if it was slightly childish, she wanted to teach him a lesson for leaving her hanging, no matter how much she craved his lips against hers. 

"Sorry, Hawkfist, but I only kiss my husband," she replied firmly, but there was a hint of teasing behind her tone. His face fell in disappointment and confusion, which slightly tugged on her heartstrings, but she stood fast, even when those big, warm hands rubbed her hips suggestively. 

"But that's me...we got married." Ray pouted, hugging his beloved wife closer as he reflected on his life's best, most precious day. He waited years to make her his, so to be denied what his heart truly desired was devastating. 

"You said Ray no longer exists. I suppose that makes me a widow, right?"

"Never." His reply was instantaneous and absolute, his grip tightening on her skin as his brow furrowed. He'd never leave her, and he wrinkled his nose at how she so obviously teased him, looping her arms around his shoulders and grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Of course, their wedding rings would still sparkle if they wore them under their costumes, and he hated how everyone poked fun at his choice. 

"I'll kiss my doofus," (y/n) declared, withholding her lips when he tried to lean in again by using her fingers as a barrier. He kissed her palm instead, making her tummy tingle, and the children rolled their eyes at how disgustingly affectionate they were. She was adamant that she'd kiss the man she married, her beloved Ray, especially when he did that silly voice. 

"That's me."

"He doesn't speak like that. Do you need a lozenge or something?" She retorted upon hearing his husky, Hawkfist tone, thinking it sounded like he had a sore throat, even if the slight possessive note made her gulp. She loved whenever those baritone notes of his hit her ears, how he teased her, and how he whispered such loving words, none of which was the same if he kept playing the role. 

"I want a kiss, sweet girl..." the hero demanded sternly, now craving her honey more than ever, although it still eluded him that he'd unknowingly ignored her first advances. He wasn't a patient man, but (y/n)? She had all the time in the world. 

"And I want my husband, so I guess we're at a stalemate."

"Guess so..." He shrugged, settling for a mere peck on the forehead when she flat-out refused, giving a steadfastly stubborn and challenging look as he gazed down at her. Still, he noticed how her eyes fluttered shut when his lips met her skin, and that was enough to tell him of her love and how this was just a game. Perhaps it would make everything sweeter in the end, but nothing was more precious than her...

"You'll want one soon, though, pretty girl. Caw-caw!" With one final shrill - since he couldn't get what he wanted most - Ray took off with a slight pout, skipping and flapping his wings as he headed to the door. It was pretty comical to watch, given that he was a grown man prancing around like a child. Yet, when he ran toward the mountainside without slowing down, it was painfully obvious what the doofus planned to do. 

"Wait, Ray, you can't fly, you big doofus!" His beloved wife cried after him, and it delayed him a little. She was the only one he'd ever wait for, but even so, in his pouty, doofy state, Ray didn't have his thinking hat on. 

"Ray can't--but Hawkfist can! Caw-caw!" He growled determinedly, keen to show them his costume's brilliance, but it couldn't work miracles. For all his talents and prowess, not even Captain Man could sport wings and fly, not even to impress his sweet girl. 

"Raymond! That's the mountain! Don't be a doofus all your li--oh my god!" She yelled, yet it was too late. Ray was too far gone, leaping through the doors without a second thought for safety or his friends' advice. No, it was a great idea...until his indestructible, if squishy, body took the first blow on the steep, craggy rock face. 

The first cries of pain reached their ears, and it was more than (y/n) could bear, forcing herself to hide her face in Schwoz's shoulder. 

Damn, their embarrassment; she hated the thought of her doofus rolling down the mountain like a bouncy ball, no matter his indestructibility. He smelled like engine oil and paint - like every handyman she'd ever met - and it was oddly comforting, especially when he kindly wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulders. Chapa found it hilarious, struggling to smother her giggles in front of her friend, but (y/n) only heard her lover and his anguished cries. 

Remind her never to withhold his kisses again, although she'd definitely kiss his boo-boos better. Anything for her doofus. 

~The Beatin' Dungeon~

This place never changes...

(y/n) thought to herself as she immersed herself in the dark, dirty, dangerous converted warehouse that was The Beatin' Dungeon. It had everything a villain could want: spare rooms for evil rendezvouses, a grungy, rundown bar, plenty of fighting gear, and enough space for criminal misdeeds. 

They could whisper and plot anything in the shadows without worrying about the cops infiltrating the premises. No one got past the guards at the front door, who scrupulously turned away anyone they deemed a goody-two-shoes. No superheroes would pass the threshold on their watch, allowing their villainous colleagues to gather in their swarms on the inside. That is, if six supers didn't sneak in...

God, she remembered everything about The Beatin' Dungeon as she stuck to Ray's--or Hawkfist--side, dodging every mean, ugly mug that glared her way when they navigated through the swathes of people. She barely liked parties as it was, but this was way beyond her depth - pretending to be evil, enjoying it even, but he commanded their chitchat effortlessly. 

Ray was a natural, probing and interrogating every asshole who dared to get in his path as the children followed his lead. With a hand on the small of his wife's back, the hooded hero and Doll Face mingled politely, trying to dig deeper whilst keeping an eye on Danger Force. There were three very simple rules: don't hit the bar, don't get caught, and don't die. (y/n) didn't think that was much to ask as she briefly hugged each kid and sent them off, stressing to her doofus that it was like sending lambs to the slaughter--into the lion's den. 

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I don't think this is a good idea. I mean, look, that woman's looking at Chapa funny--I should go over there and knock her out--You know what? I'mma knock her out--"

"Sweet girl..." A calm, reassuring voice broke the heroine out of her ramble, and she glanced up to see her husband giving her a warm gaze. It didn't look right with his sharp makeup and dark hood, but those crystal blue eyes looked the same, looking at her with so much love as he called out and stroked his hand up and down her lower back. 

"Everything's fine. Just stay cool...and don't use our real names."

"Right, sorry...but are you sure? El Stabador--" (y/n) bit her lip, trying not to let the place's stench throw her guts up, but her worry sorted that. The girl stood next to a particularly cruel-looking woman near some barstools, much further away than Miles across the room or Bose, who hovered near his teachers. Boy, she didn't look happy when Chapa accidentally nudged her elbow, thus slipping some of her drink. 

"She's fine, darlin'. If any of the kids can handle themselves, it's her," Ray told her with a chuckle, noticing how the girl didn't even look bothered, giving the villainess such an intense glare that she looked away all sheepish. 

He knew he wasn't supposed to be too affectionate in public like this; after all, no one knew Hawkfist and Doll Face were married, and he didn't want any connections made, just in case. But it was damn tricky pretending to not be in love with her, especially when she worried in that pretty little head of hers. It was in her nature, yet even he couldn't help but keep four eyes on each child in a hole such as this, peering over a buffet table as his wards chatted with the scum he fought to keep behind bars. 

"True..." The woman nodded, pinching a tortilla chip from the table to nibble on as Ray and Bose exchanged a subtle glance to check in on each other. 

They nodded slightly, not wanting to get caught knowing the other, but Villains Only Night had been a dud. No one was particularly interesting, and there was only so much face-painting the man could sit through. 

"You guys look weird!" (y/n) hissed when they nodded slightly too much, looking too manic, even for a villain's gathering. 

"Stop it!" Ray ordered Bose sharply, ignoring the weird kid by storming off with his beloved wife in tow. he was too stupid to cause too much damage, and knowing Bose, he'd blow their cover, so they sought refuge in another corner, passing Chapa on their way. 

There were a few familiar faces here and there, some they'd faced in the past, but primarily the criminals they'd fought with Kid Danger when they last visited. None would be glad to learn that Captain Man and Miss Danger had brought their little protégés to the party, not when they clearly weren't invited, so they kept their eyes low and pretended to flirt like enamoured strangers. 

"Hello? Hi! Can I have everyone's attention, please?" A loud yet pleasant voice yelled above the room's buzz, belonging to a smiling man standing on a stool. He looked nice enough, beaming at his villainous friends in a bloodstained white apron and cap, looking almost friendly, but (y/n) knew better. 

He was The Butcher, and for all his niceties, he held some dark, disturbing secrets. 

"For those of you that don't know, I am The Butcher, and I just want to give everybody a big thank you for attending Villains Only Night!" He announced to rapturous applause, although someone was a little trigger-happy. No sooner than he'd finished speaking, a fire-propelled axe whizzed past his face, narrowly missing his nose as a fresh-faced yet utterly psychotic girl giggled. 

"Whoa! Simmer down there, Betty Blades!"

"I throw rocket blades!" She grinned like it was something to brag about, her sinister, crazy-eyed expression making (y/n) snuggle closer to Ray's side. That toothy snarl made her shiver...and they were supposed to be friends with these people. 

"And we love you for it!"

"I don't..." she muttered under her breath, only heard by her husband as he squeezed her hip and brushed his lips briefly against her temple. Still, glancing around the room, she couldn't see anyone else disagreeing; the villains loved her little blade-throwing trick. Now that she could look properly, no one looked like a book thief. This would be challenging...

"But tonight is about our evil community coming together to say, hey! We're bad people, but we're still people," The Butcher added warmly, much to his counterparts' delight. They'd toast to that, cheering and clapping his words with reverent enthusiasm, and the incognito heroes mimicked them quickly, no matter how much they disagreed. 

"And we must give a big thank you to our free evil face-painter!" Everyone glanced off to the side, where Schwoz stood by a tall chair in his dastardly disguise in a shady, quiet little corner. 

He had a client in the seat, creating a masterpiece on his face without anyone suspecting his true identity; no one would know Captain Man's handy was under that chocolate bubble afro and eyepatch - even the kids failed to recognise him with that beard and those flared jeans, too. He was supposed to look like some painter, not that they'd ever heard of him, but he looked happy at the villains' applause. 

"Now, what I want everyone to do is to talk to three villains you haven't talked to before because an evil stranger is just an evil friend you haven't met yet! So, go out there, be on your worst behaviour, and have fun! But not too much fun, okay?"

It made Ray sick, sneering at all the happy crooks around him. He spent all his adult life trying to lock these scumbags up, and here he was, frolicking amongst them as they made buddies over beers. He was almost glad when that Betty Blades girl nearly took off The Butcher's head again, slicing the air with another deadly, flying blade. He didn't care; if anything, she made his job easier, but of course, the morons laughed it off like it was nothing. 

"Betty!..." Someone kill him. This was excruciating.

~

And it didn't get any easier. Following the crowd, the heroes and Danger Force split up to mingle amongst the gathering, making friends and glad-handing with people they'd typically punch in the face. It was difficult, but they managed by gritting their teeth and getting on with it, telling themselves they needed intell to find the book thief. 

Ray stuck with his sweet girl, not wanting to leave her alone for a moment in such a dirty and dank place, so she accompanied him to meet several minor and emerging villains, most of whom weren't much of a threat. It was challenging for them for a different reason - no kissing. Apparently, it wasn't dignified or wicked, so, much to the man's disappointment, there was a strict hand-on-small-of-back policy in force, and he was lucky. 

Soon, the couple found themselves talking to two familiar faces, who, according to their sticky name tags, were Lizard Boy and Lizard Girl, twins who thought the best aesthetic was to look like two reptilian freaks. They were peculiar characters dressed to look almost identical with their green, scaly skin, flickering tongues, catlike eyes, smooth heads, and odd mannerisms. They were creepy the last time, and (y/n) still hated shaking hands with the slimy individuals. 

"No, no, I love the name Hawkfist..." Lizard Boy said awkwardly as he and his sister chatted with the new villains in town, flicking their tongues through their drinks. There was something familiar about them, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as they went through the usual formal introductions. 

"'Preciate that..." Ray replied gruffly, hand never straying from Danger Force's waist as Chapa loitered near them. She was only there because they wanted to keep an eye on her. Still, she supposed watching Ray struggle with his disguise was entertainment enough, smirking as everyone they met gave wobbly smiles upon hearing the terrible name. 

"But do hawks have...fists?" Lizard Girl asked, proving El Stabador's point as (y/n) cringed into her punch. That had to sting...

"Yes!" 

"I told you no one would get it," Chapa told her teacher knowingly as he threw his hands up into the air in frustration, fed up with telling every asshole he came across that it made sense. His pretty girl tried To comfort him, bless her, hugging his arm a little too closely to be considered anything less than a girlfriend. Yet, the twins didn't notice, thinking it was sweet to see young, evil love, even if that Danger Force was more sweet than sour. 

"I told you to shut up!" The hero yelled after the girl as she sauntered off to go and find her friends--or at least someone more interesting than a guy in a fucking bird suit. She didn't look back as she walked away, leaving (y/n) to babysit her husband and exchange small talk in an even more awkward situation, the Lizards looking anywhere but their new acquaintances. 

"What about Nighthawk?" Lizard Boy suggested - anything to move the conversation on now that creepy little girl had left. 

"Look, you don't think there's a day goes by that I don't regret naming myself Hawkfist?" Ray replied harshly, wishing he'd never bothered and stayed home, where he could be in bed, snuggled up with his precious wife if it wasn't for those goody-two-shoes kids and their big ideas about libraries. But the suggestions kept coming...

"Or maybe Hawk-ules?"

"Oooh, 'cause you're a hawk, but you're strong!" The reptilian twins said excitedly, flexing their arms as Ray pondered the suggestion. It sounded much more inventive and cool than he'd imagined, and although he'd introduced himself as Hawkfist all night, he changed his mind in the blink of an eye. 

"Okay, love that...New name! I'm Hawkules now! New name! Hawkules! That's me..." 

"Oh, doofus..." (y/n) sighed under her breath as she watched him scribble the new persona on a fresh sticky label in his chicken-scratch handwriting once anyone nearby had heard his announcement. Hearing his shrill screech as he slapped it onto his breast to replace the old one made her cringe even harder, flashing the villains a nervous smile to try and smooth things over. 

"He does this a lot..."

"Oh, it's fine!" Lizard Girl smiled at the cute villainess, sensing she had great potential lurking behind that innocent schoolgirl-like smile. She was probably utterly heinous beneath that goody-goody exterior if her creepy costume was anything to go by. 

"You two are so cute together! How long have you been dating?" 

"I beg your pardon?" The question caught (y/n) off-guard, forcing her eyes to snap to the crinkled ones belonging to the other woman, who meant no harm.

"You and your boyfriend... He is your boyfriend, right? Or...are you single?" She and her brother were genuinely curious, but this was dangerous territory, straying too close to reality for comfort. Neither hero missed how the Lizard Boy looked Doll Face up and down, a slight smirk to his grin, and it didn't take a genius to work out what he was angling at, much to Ray's fury. 

Still, she couldn't stand there and say nothing. That would make her look weird, yet it was precisely what she did, her face a picture of terror as the Lizard twins kept smiling. 

"She's my girlfriend! Definitely my girlfriend. My girlfriend...right...babe?" Ray exclaimed gruffly as he thankfully stepped in to save his wife's embarrassment, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close as he grinned. Another move from Captain Subtle, but it got that scaly bastard to back off, pecking her cheek for good measure, even though his pet name didn't seem right. 

He never called her babe, not once, not ever. It was too simple and common, and his sweet girl was more than just some high school boy's babe. She was more than that, so he called her things infinitely more precious, but they couldn't know that. This was Doll Face, girlfriend of Hawkfist--or Hawkules--not (y/n) Manchester, his wife. 

"Huh? I...I mean, sure, honey, we're boyfriend and girlfriend. We've been dating for ages," the woman agreed hastily once her brain processed the confusing sentence because he made it sound like he wasn't even talking to her. She hated that - babe - but her smile stayed bright and pleasant as she hugged her gory teddy bear. 

"So cute! How did you meet? It's not easy to find love when you're wreaking havoc..."

"Oh, yeah, totally..." (y/n) nodded, tensing when her new friend placed a cold, slimy hand on her bare forearm. Still, she ignored it to focus on creating her false narrative - her and Hawkfist's love story in another life. 

"We met...on the job."

"Oh, really?" Lizard Boy blinked in surprise, still feeling disappointed that the cutie was a taken girl. Still, he could deal with it, not wanting to get on the wrong side of the temperamental man before him. Yet, it was rare for villains to date so openly, given the dangers that came with the job, and it wasn't like their personas made them approachable people. 

"Yes! I was robbing a bank and in strolls this lil' beauty. She put the money in the bag and stole my keys before driving away in my car...Took my heart with her." Ray sighed wistfully as he finished his elaborate recollection, so impressive and detailed that even (y/n) believed him a bit, snuggling into his side a little more as the villains melted and cooed. 

But it wasn't like he had to pretend; his sweet girl made it so easy for him to love her that he didn't need to fake his adoration. It came straight from his heart, so he only needed a few white lies. 

"Wow... that's so...romantic."

"Isn't it?" (y/n) exclaimed through gritted teeth, thinking her doofus sounded so effortlessly enamoured that it was almost stupid--almost unbelievable. Villains didn't get happily ever afters, at least not in her books, so she had to make it more realistic, smirking at her so-called boyfriend as she thickened the plot. 

"Too bad Captain Man stopped me in my getaway car. I would've never gone back if that...little spandex bastard hadn't foiled my plans." 

Ray's eyebrows twitched into a frown as she openly sullied his good name, but he had to remember this was all make-believe. It cast his mind back to the day they first met when he didn't make an excellent first impression, and he felt lucky to press his lips to hers in a much-needed kiss. 

Meanwhile, the twins hissed and growled as a sour taste settled on their forked tongues at the mention of that man, having met him on one occasion during a brief ceasefire. He was so full of himself. That, and he made every villain's life miserable with Miss Danger constantly on his back - did those two ever take a day off?

"Captain Man! God, I hate him."

"Me too." They grimaced together, breaking the happy couple out of their smooch because Ray couldn't bear that. It was one thing to joke around, but he hated any slander of his beloved alter ego. Did those two even know how hard he worked with Miss Danger by his side?

"Same here. He's just so...dumb and silly. What a doofus, am I right?" (y/n) agreed hesitantly, not wanting to offend her husband. Still, she couldn't swear her allegiance to Captain Man out in the open. They'd tear her limb from limb, and even as she tried to insult him, a stubborn little grin fought its way onto her face, which she worked to try and make sinister. 

"Yeah!"

"Hey, uh, I know we all hate Captain Man, but you guys read his book? It's a pretty great read..." Ray probed sneakily, much to his wife's exasperation. Of all the places to try and pitch that goddamn novel, this had to be the worst, among dozens of criminals who'd never look at anything affiliated with the hero, let alone read it. 

"That dummy wrote a book?" The reptilian guy frowned before laughing cruelly, deepening Ray's hatred as he met his icy gaze. First, he flirted with his wife, and now, this? This asshole was crossing the line. 

"Some say it's a real page-turner," (y/n) commented vaguely as she tried not to gush about the hero or condemn him to spare everyone's feelings. But you could practically cut the tension with a knife, making her shiver as she squeezed her bear tighter and peered at the Lizards from behind her braids. 

"I can't remember the title..." the girl muttered, having never read the book since it was beneath her, but she remembered it from somewhere. And God, it was so sucky to everyone who sadly bought it from the bookstore...well, everyone except Ray. 

"Uh, yeah, it's something like, uh...Man, I Feel Like A Hero, colon, One Captain Man's Journey Of Self-Discovery, parenthesis, A Captain Man-isfesto, asterisk, The True Story Of The Boy Who Became Captain Man, end parenthesis, exclamation point....or something like that."

"That's oddly specific," (y/n) retorted sarcastically as Ray finished his uncanny recollection of the hero's book - so damn detailed that he nailed it down to the punctuation. It was hardly a smooth move, and the heroine could see the surprise on the criminals' faces until they recovered and politely smiled. Luckily, they got away with the small outburst, but Ray didn't half push it. 

"Oh, yeah! We read it in our evil book club. No one made it through chapter one!" Lizard Girl giggled with her brother as Ray watched with a flat, unimpressed expression, utterly disenchanted with their disrespectful mockery as his poor girl had to cringe and bear it. 

"I think you mean Cap-ter one," he replied tersely, but that made them howl more. 

"Oh, that's right! He called the chapters Cap-ters!" (y/n) subtly comforted her husband as the villains giggled to each other, exchanging insults about the hero, not knowing he was glaring at them like his eyes could burn holes in their heads. She squeezed and rubbed her hands against his bicep, hoping he'd see sense and let them have their fun; after all, they were the ones who'd probably put them in jail one day.

"That's so stupid!" 

But Ray couldn't think like that, not when he'd spent too many nights writing that book, burning the candle at both ends when he should've been going to bed with her. He poured his blood, sweat, and tears into it and refused to let them smear all his hard work. So, rather childishly, he slapped the plastic cups out of their hands, glaring at them before his sweet girl's elbow. 

"You're stupid! Caw-caw!" He hissed, to which the Lizards raised their fingers in an elegant, if weird, pose, and the couple turned away, dragging (y/n) 's bear behind her. He'd rather speak to anyone but them, heading toward Schwoz's face-painting corner, only the hero came face-to-face with someone he'd rather forget. 

"Hey there!" Much to Ray's annoyance, a chubby, overly chummy man greeted them. He couldn't help but roll his eyes and groan upon seeing that thatch of grassy hair, leafy green waistcoat, and a t-shirt bursting at the seams since it was pulled tightly over his bulging tummy. The Lawn Ranger: some loser who matched with Captain Man on some superhero-villain dating app, only to be a total catfish. 

He was the bane of Ray's existence, and even though he wouldn't recognise him as Hawkules, he didn't want to deal with him. 

"Doofus, that was rude..." (y/n) noted as Ray tugged her to the bar, hearing Mika on her way past a small group of chattering villains. Like the good girl she was, she was probing about the book thief, casually asking around about anyone who might know their identity, but her doofus wasn't so keen. 

"I don't like him, sweet girl..." he said with a huff, barely watching Mika's excellent work as he placed his hands on her hips and bent down to kiss her gently. She hummed against his lips appreciatively, enjoying his peppermint-bubblegum taste as she cupped his face and pulled her doofus closer. 

No one around them offered any argument, knowing that a few more frisky miscreants were getting it on in the shadowy corners. Ray got her all to himself for a moment, hugging his beloved wife to his chest while his wandering hands explored her curves. He missed her after being so cruelly denied earlier, pecking her lips a few times before pulling away. 

"He's annoying, granted..." the heroine muttered into his mouth, slightly breathless as they rubbed noses and panted. "But you're above being mean, Raymond."

"Don't you mean Hawkules, Doll Face?"

"You're my doofus, doofus. And I don't like being mean or evil. Feels...wrong." She pulled away, wrinkling her nose in mild disgust because hearing him call her that felt wrong. 

She imagined the creepy villainess schwoz had invented for her was rude and malicious, leagues away from Miss Danger so no one would recognise her. And he wasn't the masked birdman he pretended to be; instead, he was the man who kissed her with such affection and reverence like she was a China doll, not some sinister plaything. 

And Ray agreed, smiling as his touch circled her lower back, dangerously dipping to squeeze her butt through the flouncy material of her gothic dress if she didn't immediately bring it back to her waist. With warm and flushed cheeks, they kissed again until the man's lips bore her lipstick, standing them scarlet so (y/n) had to rub his mouth, laughing at the smudged mess, not that he cared. 

"That's because you're too sweet for this villain shit," Ray told her firmly with a squeeze of her hips. "Don't change, darlin'. I love my wife exactly the way she is."

"I love you too..." (y/n) grinned, heart fluttering upon seeing his smile, and she sorely wanted to say, fuck everything, let's go home. What were they doing? Revealing their true, loving, married selves for all these villains to see; they could be at home right now, cuddled up in their pyjamas and matching rings, but no. They had to kiss out in the open, and who knows who was watching?

"Ugh, can you guys get a room?" A disgusted voice came from behind the couple, forcing them to break apart to see a disgruntled girl glaring at them - mainly Ray since he was the ringleader. 

Chapa looked positively nauseated as she joined them, looking more terrifying than usual in her El Stabador costume, and witnessing their revolting love and PDA didn't help. Her lips were curled up in revulsion, arms crossed tightly across her chest, and her hip jutted out as she sneered, daring Ray to make one clever comment about how he should be able to love his wife openly--or some such bullshit. Seeing him eating (y/n) 's face made her want to puke, and she was poised to remind them of their mission. 

"We were minding our own business until you came along..." Ray replied arrogantly, keeping his sweet girl in his embrace while returning Chapa's glare with aching only cold eyes. 

"Look, I'm pretty sure you won't find the book thief at the back of her throat!" She hissed, heating her friend's face further as she thought about how far Ray went - perhaps too far to be considered decent in public. God, those hands made him like an octopus...touching everywhere. 

"There's no harm in trying!" He bit back, creating a furious tirade of back-and-forth biting comments between them since Ray didn't feel accountable to anyone, nor did Chapa. 

"We have a job to do!"

"She's my wife! I'll kiss her if I wa--"

"Both of you, shhhhhhh!" (y/n) suddenly hushed them, pressing a hand over Ray's mouth before shaking the girl's shoulder. They quickly quietened down, albeit with furrowed brows, as the heroine turned in her husband's arms and stared at something - or someone - in the crowd around them. And, for some reason, she wouldn't stop staring, craning her neck to peer over shoulders through gaps and over heads until she could hone in on a particular conversation. 

"Huh? Sweet girl? I'm trying to---" Ray muttered, sad to lose her attention. He tried to spin her back around, convinced that whatever had enthralled her was nothing compared to his kisses. And whilst that might have been true, this was important enough to whack his chest and silence him again lightly. 

"Shhhh! Listen!" She ordered him insistently, pointing weakly to the group where Mika was chatting with some lower-league criminals. None of them were fascinating, neither infamous nor notorious, so the heroes didn't recognise them, barely sparing them a glance until one began bragging about his exploits. 

"...She was just wondering who stole all those books from The Swellview Library."

"Oh, yeah. That was me!" A pasty, nerdy-looking guy boasted, earning chuckles from his listeners, save for Mika. He didn't look like much, hardly the stuff of nightmares in his faux leather jacket, thin-framed glasses, and a pink and grey, splotchy scarf. If anything, he looked like a feather could knock him down, but Ray had seen all villains in his time. But it was rare to find one so cocky at such a young age. 

"I mean, I didn't take all the books. I left Captain Man's stupid one behind!" The nerdy villain, or Steven to his friends, laughed, much to Ray's fury, as he and (y/n) watched silently from the sidelines. Chapa couldn't help but giggle a little - a death wish - still thinking it was hilarious, although the hero's glare soon sobered her up. 

But this was dangerous for Mika, who found herself surrounded by crooks who wouldn't think twice about hurting her if they thought she'd betrayed them. She was more than an arm's length away from her teachers. Help might come too late, yet she'd asked too many questions...

"So, why'd you wanna know?"

"Oh, I just wanted to shake your hand! Because it's such a really good crime to steal books that are already free," the girl congratulated Steven through gritted teeth, squeezing his hand a little too tightly as she violently shook it - nearly knocking the glasses off his face. It took all her strength to smile sweetly, pretending his blatant disrespect and vandalism didn't bother her. 

"I mean, how do you even read all those books?"

"Oh, I don't read any of them," Steven revealed with a mischievous grin, unwittingly torturing the books-smart girl even more. It was more than her job's worth to grin and bear it, although he had to be the biggest jerk she'd ever met. 

"Oh, you don't even read them?! What do you do with all those free books you steal?" She asked hoarsely, peeking behind Steven to see Ray (y/n) and Chapa waiting with bated breath for a chance to step in. She was reassured that they were so close, but the woman fidgeted, counting at least three villains between her and the kid, including Betty and her rocket blades. 

'Oh, I burn some..." the lowlife listed, each terrible misdeed another blow to the girl's heart. What a selfish bas--

"I shred some..." It was like sacrilege, ebbing away at Mika's resilience as she glared at Book Thievin' Steven. She couldn't help it, wanting to punch him or at least shout to the rooftops about how he was the lowest of the low, the scum of the earth, the dirt underneath her boots - literally the loser in school who peaked in fifth grade. But by some miracle, she held her, fists clenched and shoulders shaking as the guy rambled on, bragging about his exploits like they were something to be proud of. 

"Super!"

"But most of the time, I just tear out the pages one by one and use them to wipe my--" Nope, she couldn't take it. That was the last straw. The one that broke the camel's back. The final fuse to Mika's temper. In a fit of fury, she lurched forward and super-screamed with all her might, creating a sonic wave strong enough to blast the speccy-four-eyed freak off his feet. 

He flew across the room, legs kicking in the air, until he perched on a ledge above the main floor, winded, startled and pale as he stared at The Mangler. Or whoever she claimed to be because villain attacking villain? That was not on at Villains Only Night. Mika gulped as she realised her mistake, staring at Steven wide-eyed as he clutched his sore torso before locking eyes with her friends across the room. Not good...

"Face. I was gonna say my face!" He grumbled, frowning at the girl, but she had more significant problems as those who'd witnessed her superpower - every villain in the room - swarmed around her. 

"It's ShoutOut!" The Lawn Ranger cried. Even he, with his mushroom-addled brain, could see through her disguise after pairing her painted face with that superpower, sending shockwaves of murmurs through the evil crowd. 

"Who?"

"She's not a villain. She's in Danger Force!" Everything happened so quickly, and in a flash, Mika faced the expertly sharpened edge of The Butcher's meat cleaver. His expression twisted into a snarl as she tried to remain cool and composed, but a bead of sweat ran down her forehead when she gulped, knowing there was little use in denying it. 

All the girl could do was stay calm and pray for her friends to save her, gaze flickering to them around the room to see their anxious, staunch faces. Well, some of them were helpful and brave; others, not so much. 

"I'm out of here! Byeeeeee!" Schwoz whimpered, pulling a grapple gun from his belt and using it to leap to safety in the rafters. Panic really does expose a man's cowardice, but in fairness, there was little he could do - especially with that eyepatch. He wasn't a fighter nor a great negotiator, so it was best to return to the Man's Nest and leave the work to the professionals. 

Still, the backup would've been nice, and Mika would rather have a friend to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her as the small army of criminals and evildoers closed in. Brandishing their weapons, they stuck their ugly mugs close to hers, intimidating her from all sides as they wondered how best to deal with her. Her hands instinctively curled around her throat to protect it, nervously swallowing when she saw all the knives, blasters, and other devices designed to end a person's life in the blink of an eye. 

After all, only an idiot would wander into The Beatin' Dungeon during their night...

"We have to do something--we have to do something now!" (y/n) worriedly whispered to Ray and Chapa. Thankfully, no one heard her panic as the villains bickered about how to make ShoutOut pay for her insolence. She fought her heart's desire to march over there and take down any asshole who dared to touch a hair on her precious baby's head. It was reckless and stupid, almost doomed to fail, but she refused to let anyone hurt the girl. 

She'd never lost a kid on her watch, and she didn't intend to start now, a sentiment shared by Ray as his warm hands laid across her shoulders, squeezing gently as he tried to formulate a plan. He'd never show it, but losing one of them would devastate him, not that he'd let anything happen to Mika. 

"Everything will be fine, darlin'. Look, she's okay..." the man reassured her kindly, watching as the villains manhandled the kid to stand facing the wall while deciding what to do with her. He despised how roughly they treated her, practically shoving her through the brickwork. Still, Mika didn't struggle, pressing her blazing cheek to the chilly wall as her captors argued. 

"For now! I swear if Betty Blades starts to get stabby, one of those rocket blades is going right up her a--"

"Relax, (y/n/n)! We can't blow our cover," Chapa told her calmly, motioning for the heroine to stay low and blend in. They'd be no help if they were also suspected, but she got it. She'd rain hell in furious bolts of lightning should they hurt her friend. 

"We just need to think! Besides, it's not like they know what to do with her..." She was right, turning to glance around the rowdy group as they threw psychotic and downright cruel ideas at The Butcher, none of which fitted the crime, but they were satisfying. 

Boiling, garrotting, gouging, purging, disembowelling; all were beastly enough to make (y/n) wanna puke, but no one could make up their mind. Each criminal thought they were better than the other, nearly brawling amongst themselves until their mild-mannered yet menacing leader spoke up. 

"Okay, okay! Now, we've all got lots of evil ideas about what to do with this member of Danger Force that snuck into Villains Only Night," The Butcher yelled above the racket as Miles and Bose tiptoed over to their teachers, looking to Ray and (y/n) for guidance. There wasn't much room for manoeuvring amongst this lot, and even The Lawn Ranger, with all his loserness, wanted in on the action. Sort of. 

"Let's throw grass in her face!" He suggested after courteously raising his hand, only to receive a harmony of groans and eye-rolls. Maybe if she had hay fever, but...

"No, Lawn Ranger! We're not going to--"

"Let's throw grass on her shoulders!" He exclaimed, and even when they turned him down again with exasperated sighs, he didn't stop. The grass was his thing, which was what made him the crappiest villain in Swellview. "Let's throw grass on her head!"

"Okay, it can't be grass every time, buddy," Steven told him gently, not that it soothed the leafy man-baby. Even as he placed a friendly hand on his grass-covered arm, The Lawn Ranger pouted and shook him off, desperate to show his prowess. 

"It comes from the Earth, man, it's good!"

"You know what they should do is get a bunch of battery acid and some steak knives..." Chapa proposed quietly as she, Bose, Miles, Ray, and (y/n) stood at the back of the crowd, pondering their next move as they bickered. That grassy freak bought them some time, but the girl couldn't help but think about what she'd do if she switched to the dark side. 

"Stop!" Miles scolded her, nudging her ribs before he had to her anymore of her idea to melt his sister to death or whatever she had planned. "Honestly, we're not trying to come up with ways to hurt her!"

"We need to save her! What are we gonna do?!" Bose worriedly asked, seeing no way through the horde of angry villains. Yet, Ray, being his usual cocksure self, didn't shrink before a challenge. Oh no, he thrived under pressure, flashing them his signature smirk before his handsome features melted into what was quickly becoming recognisably Hawkfist's scowl. 

"Relax. Hawkfist has a plan."

"Doofus, didn't you change your name to Hawkules? Amongst other things?" (y/n) frowned, barely keeping up with her husband's frequent name changes after she stopped kissing him and focused on Mika instead. He changed his character like a girl changes clothes, ending up with half a dozen sticky labels stuck to his vest. Some were scribbled out until he settled on his latest fancy. 

"Oh, yeah. I changed it again. I'm now The Talon-ted Mr Hawkley." He grinned at her, thinking himself oh-so-clever as he dove past her and wrenched a soft, doughy snack from Miles' palm. He could've swiped one from the dessert table, but that wasn't cool for someone in a Birdman costume. So, he took the doughnut, shrieked and flapped off, but not before smooching (y/n) 's cheek loudly, much to the children's displeasure. 

"Caw-caw!"

"I do not feel comfortable about this plan..." Miles sighed as they watched the hero boldly approach the squabbling villains without backup, forethought, or weapon. They had no idea what he'd planned--if he'd planned anything at all, but they couldn't make a scene, not when he shoved his way through the throng. 

"Oh, Ra--I mean, Hawk-Whatever--don't be a doofus all your life!" B (y/n) called after him, tiptoeing closer to the other villains with the kids tentatively covering her back. 

They couldn't help but get closer, wanting to see the man's big plan, although their better instincts told them to run and hide because it would be a disaster. What was the doughnut for? 

"Quiet! Quiet!" The Butcher shouted, acting as crowd control, not that it worked. The villains kept yelling louder and louder, inching forward as they bayed for ShoutOut's blood - just a little drop for good measure, which they only saw as fair payment. 

But Ray was fearless, elbowing the miscreants out of his way since he'd faced things far grander, far scarier, and far weirder than they were. He wouldn't call any of them truly great villains, hardly Doctor Minyak, The Toddler, or Frankini. Still, they had strength in their numbers, not that it bothered him. He had a pretty lady watching his every move. He didn't have room to slip up. 

"All right, everybody--let's cut the chatter!" He bellowed, and surprisingly, what didn't work on a classroom of tweens beautifully commanded a warehouse full of creeps and crooks. The villains fell silent, vastly boosting his ego as he smirked and preened, making his wife roll her eyes. 

"Nice..." he added huskily, unknowingly causing (y/n) to flutter in her tummy when a minuscule smile tweaked his lips. So damn handsome, even in that ridiculous outfit. 

"All right, The Talon-ted Mr Hawkley will deal with this girl."

"Who's that, Hawkfist?" The Lizard Girl asked, mirroring the confused expressions around the rooms upon hearing the new name. He'd changed it so many times that no one could keep up with whoever he was now, still caught up on his first - and most memorable - nickname. 

"Me!" Ray replied gruffly, utterly fed up with those two reptilian weirdos and how they always seemed to hang around him like an unwanted bad smell. 

"I thought you were Hawkules--"

"Ugh, moving on! I'm gonna scratch this girl, and she will bleed!" The hero sneered, brandishing the sharp talons stitched into his gloves and prompting panic and terror in Mika as the villains cheered. The children glanced at (y/n) worriedly, concerned at the mention of blood. But she couldn't help them, looking just as antsy at her husband's risky plan as everyone else while the girl shivered. 

"Okay, ShoutOut. Get ready to feel my talon punch!" 

"Shouldn't your talons be on your feet?" The Lizard Girl butted in again, being pedantic when Ray was trying to be cool. He turned to her with a vicious snarl, rolling his eyes at every little interruption. 

"Oh my God, whatever! Just let me do this--shut up! Caw-caw!" With no more rude interruptions, he spun and gently raked his fingers down Mika's back. 

It felt more like a massage than a relentless attack, nails slightly digging into her skin. Still, not to the point of pain, but to any onlooker, it appeared like he was cruelly clawing at her body. The villains cheered and egged him on, and Mika quickly followed Ray's lead, pretending he was hurting her as he growled and moved his talons faster. 

"Oh, no! I'm being scratched, yeah!"

"Get her, Hawkules!" The Lawn Ranger shouted, much to Ray's displeasure, as he briefly paused his so-called assault to give him an icy look. God, he hated that guy. 

"That's three names ago. Try to keep up!" He snarled before returning to his work, ignorant of the loser's attempt at an apology. Still, Mika played her role very well, faking her cries of pain and pretending to curl into the wall to shield herself as much as possible. It was brutal to watch, and the criminals loved it, roaring and applauding Hawk-guy's work, even as Danger Force loitered on the sidelines. 

"I'm definitely bleeding!" She gasped as Ray snuck his stolen doughnut under his jacket's wing, squishing the sweet pastry over her costume until the red jelly filling was smeared across her back. He took inspiration from Bose's stupidity, and when she collapsed from the agony, it really looked like he'd torn her skin to ribbons - scarlet dribbles everywhere. 

"Oh, but I am so very defeated!" The girl remarked flatly as she weakly lay on the floor with Hawkfist looming over her. His fingers were covered in jelly, all sticky and dripping in a morbid sight, which was a bit confusing for the throngs of evildoers around them. No matter how much their feathered friend hyped up his dirty hands and defeated foe, they'd never known one of Captain Man's protégés to go down so quickly. 

Still, if he could make a swift exit, no one need know any different...

"Okay, then, I'm just gonna take her back to my lair and feed her to my baby birds," Ray growled to the villains, bending down to grab Mika and drag her home. The kids didn't want to know who the baby birds were, but they waited patiently, eager to leave, when Betty Blades piped up, a suspicious snarl on her lips. 

"Wait a second!"

"What?" Ray asked nervously, having no choice but to let Mika lay there as the psychotic brunette marched up to him and swiped her bony finger through the red mess coating his fingers. 

Everyone grimaced when she brought the apparent blood to her lips. Still, Betty frowned when the strangely sweet and oddly delicious flavour hit her tongue. It wasn't metallic or gross but tart and sugary, crinkling her eyebrows at the deception. 

"It tastes sweet..." she remarked, much to her comrades' confusion. 

"Of course it does! The taste of victory is always sweet!" The hero remarked with a voice full of confidence, acting as if her discovery didn't phase him at all. He played it off well, but one glance at his sweet girl through the crowd and (y/n) saw the panic behind his eyes, knowing that his big plan was slowly unravelling. 

"Yeah, but that's just jelly."

"What?" He scoffed, acting innocent and dumb as the villains around them laughed slightly, thinking it was some big prank. But Betty narrowed her eyes at him, sensing something was wrong with that perfect smile - perhaps too perfect for a supervillain. 

"Raspberry, if I'm not mistaken."

"The Talon-ted Mr Hawkley must've used that doughnut!" The Butcher pointed out with a sinister smirk, causing everyone to gasp as they saw the squashed, empty pastry on the floor next to ShoutOut's limp body. They glared at Ray, not knowing whether to deem him an intruder or a phoney. Still, either way, the man was stuck between a rock and a hard place - very much in no position to convince them otherwise. 

"No, I didn't!"

"But you did, though. Right before you fake-scratched her."

"And un-stuck her from the wall," The Lizard Twins hissed, folding their arms coldly as Ray struggled to think of a witty, believable comeback--and his sidekicks were no help. They couldn't get to him even if they wanted to, and honestly, a twinge of fear settled into his gut. 

"Are you even a real villain, bro?" Some guy in the crowd asked, which was a bit rich, given that Ray didn't even recognise him. He could say the same in return, even if it was suicidal. 

"What does this say? Huh?" He replied curtly, pointing to one of the many sticky labels on his chest. Yet, because he didn't look where he was pointing and had so many name changes, he accidentally chose an old one that didn't last very long since it was a bit...lame. 

"I have no idea."

"You kept scratching out your villain names and giving yourself new ones."

"Does one of them say, Hawklate Milk?" Betty Blades asked with a slight, mocking smirk, and the man quickly covered the unfortunate label, licking his finger and rubbing it to try and remove the ink. 

"Maybe..."

"That's dumber than Captain Man's book!" The same nobody from earlier remarked, and that was his last straw. Ray couldn't handle any slander toward his books if Mika couldn't cope with pointless crimes. It infuriated him more than their constant interruptions or snarky comments, making him stamp his foot like a child and jerk his arms. He'd show them who the losers were, aching for genuine respect since that stupid bird suit obviously didn't command any. 

"All right--that's it! Where's my damn gum?" He shouted in annoyance as he plodded off around a corner, patting down his pockets to find where he'd carefully hidden his gum. They all brought some, just in case, even if it was risky in case one of the villains found them, and (y/n) didn't miss a beat when she saw her doofus disappear into the shadows. 

Placing a hand over her well-hidden tube, feeling it through the lace of her dress, she turned to Chapa. While her husband was more than capable of kicking dozens of villains' butts, she didn't fancy him taking on every asshole The Beatin' Dungeon had to offer, so, lowering her voice, she whispered to the girl as she tiptoed away. 

"Keep them busy. We'll be right back..."

"What?! What are we supposed to do?!" Chapa whispered harshly, nervously glancing around, praying no one heard their snappy conversation. Luckily, the delinquents in the room were too distracted to truly pay attention, allowing the heroine to weave her way to wherever Ray disappeared cautiously. 

But the kids didn't want her to leave, suddenly feeling much smaller and weaker without the mighty Miss Danger. Yet, she didn't stop, throwing them a bright smile as she slipped past some pink-haired weirdo. 

"Just get Mika to safety! We'll handle the rest!" (y/n) grinned, not looking back as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Bose clueless and Miles and Chapa very disgruntled. 

"Oh, you make it sound so easy!" Ignoring them, she crept past the oblivious villains toward Ray's hiding place, hoping they wouldn't do anything too reckless while transforming. As she slipped into the nook, she could hear The Butcher bellowing more incoherent orders. Still, she didn't bother deciphering them when she spotted a very angry doofus muttering himself, patting down his tunic with too much aggression. 

"Doofus?"

"Sweet girl..." The man turned around upon hearing those dulcet tones, the tension and fury melting from his body when he saw his beloved wife standing there. Her face was so pure and innocent, so it wasn't his fault when a sudden urge to sweep her into a spontaneous kiss swept over him. 

He gathered her in his arms, holding her shoulders tightly as (y/n) gasped, allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth in what was interrupted by that sparky brat before. A sigh mingled between them as her arms slid around his neck, pulling their navels together until every inch of their bodies touched. It was hot and passionate and undoubtedly the wrong time and wrong place, but neither cared, forgetting their mission, friends in a second of love and lust. 

But it didn't last. As much as her head was spinning, her heart was burning, and her tummy was fluttering, (y/n) snapped to her senses when she felt his fingertips creeping under her skirt - a little too eager to say they weren't at home. There were dozens of villains just a few feet away - his composure and boldness surprised her. 

She abruptly pulled away from her lover at the peak of his assault, grasping the wrist hiding between her thighs and staring up at him with darkened eyes and swollen lips. Had it really been that long since they had a moment to themselves?

"What's taking you so long?!" She panted before suddenly realising how tightly she gripped his arm and jacket. Ray smirked at her dishevelled state, having quietly known that his sweet girl would follow when he walked off, although he hadn't planned on losing control like that. It was her fault for being too damn hot. 

"I can't find my gum!" Ray replied smoothly, holding her waist when she released his wandering hand. It was true; he'd been trying to find the damn thing when she walked in, and he swore that it was gone--vanished--stolen--God knows what. He couldn't find it; only (y/n) knew better. 

"You mean this gum?" She cocked an eyebrow as she waggled a glowing tube under his nose - the same gum she'd felt when her hand slipped down to his butt when they were kissing. He'd shoved it deep in his back pocket, which wasn't particularly safe, making him smile sheepishly as he took it with red cheeks. 

"Oh, yeah..." The hero nodded, taking the glowing gum as she shook her head and smiled. Such a doofus...but even if he was embarrassed, he couldn't help the rush of affection in his chest when she tenderly kissed his neck to hide her amused expression. 

"Have I told you how beautiful you look today?"

"Several times."

"Well, it's true," Ray remarked, grabbing her chin and tilting it up so he could see her eyes when she bashfully looked down with hot ears. 

He bent down again, capturing her lips much more gently this time, moving slowly until her mouth opened, allowing his tongue to slip in again. Seconds or hours passed - neither knew how long - until they were breathless and grinning like idiots, feeling like their dark yet cosy corner had gone from frigid to unbearably scorching. God knows what was happening in the main room, a thought that slipped through (y/n) 's mind as her beloved doofus grasped and squished her ass in his large palm. 

"Ray?" She asked quietly, weak and throaty as their lips brushed together again before he found her neck, forcing her head to tilt back. What was her point again? Everything went out of her mind as he suckled and nipped on her skin, pushing his face closer when he hummed against her throat. 

"Hmmm?"

"Those villains insulted your book. Aren't you gonna punch them?" His lips froze over a fleeting mark, not even bothering to darken it into staying for a few more seconds. 

Suddenly, Ray remembered his purpose, hands momentarily squeezing her flesh a little too hard as his muscles remembered their strength, and his brain recalled why he was so fucking mad in the first place. Right before this temptress walked in, he was hell-bent on revenge... And he still wanted to show those losers that he was superior. 

"God, yes..." the man growled, pulling away to stare darkly into her pretty eyes, smirking in satisfaction when she shuddered at the sight of him. There she went again, seducing him without even realising it. 

"One more kiss, though..." (y/n) was helpless to stop him, not that she wanted to. 

She pulled him in by his collar until their noses brushed under that stupid hood of his, drinking down his taste as he rocked against her body. Everything would make later that night so much sweeter, going deeper and deeper until their lungs burned and begged for mercy, although Ray swore he could survive on her honey-like taste alone. 

"Okay...come on. You've had your fun," the heroine told him firmly, physically having to rip herself away from his unbearably hot body; otherwise, she would've let him have his way right there in the corridor. Pressing his gum tube into his palm, she fumbled to bring hers out of the only place she could've stored in a dress with no pockets - the built-in bra. 

"Don't even..." she told her husband sternly as her fingers dipped past the neck and pulled the warm glass cylinder out from between her boob. She wasn't stupid, knowing that Ray's eyes were glued to her cleavage, aching like a virgin teenager for even the tiniest glimpse of her bare flesh - like he hadn't seen it all before.

"Fun? Well, that was mildly entertaining, darlin', but I'll show you a good time when we get home," he rumbled gruffly, popping a gumball with a flushed face when she caught him staring. It wasn't his fault; she was just too hot, and he was such a her man, utterly in love with all of her features, some finer than others. 

"Don't you always?" The woman threw the flirtatious comment over her shoulder with the candy she popped into her mouth, chewing slowly as they laughed. A warm hand took hers as Ray mimicked her movement, turning the gum all sticky and squishy before they blew their bubbles and transformed into their costumes. 

It felt good to be Captain Man and Miss Danger again, grinning and checking each other out since their uniforms were infinitely better-looking than those angsty disguises. She was beautiful, and he was handsome, looking like the perfect pair as he brushed her hair behind her ear and pecked her lips one last time.

"God, I love you..."

"I know..." And (y/n) grinned the whole way out of the room. 

Of course, they couldn't sneak out the way they'd come in; any observant villain would put two and two together and surmise that Hawkfist was Captain Man, etcetera. So, they took the long way, routing around the back of the warehouse until they could approach from the other side of the room. They had the element of surprise on their side, Ray going first with his sweet girl hot on his heels as the sound of angry voices grew louder. 

It was a tremendous racket like a thunderstorm in a tin can, and when the heroes peeked out from the door they tiptoed through, they could see Chapa and Bose looming over The Butcher. He lay on the floor, unconscious, after the girl was forced to defend herself with her superpower because Bose couldn't keep his mouth shut. Miles and Mika were nowhere to be seen - hopefully safely back at the Man's Nest like the heroine instructed. 

"It's Volt!" The Lizard Girl hissed, pointing directly at Chapa as she took an uncharacteristically timid step back. She didn't know what to do now that she'd revealed her true identity, feeling like a million eyes were staring back at her and Bose - but they weren't alone. 

"All right, you jerks!" Ray chose his moment wisely, jumping into action with his beloved wife before anyone could harm a single hair on his sidekicks' heads. He stormed over to the group of baffled villains, all of whom were utterly stunned to see the snarling hero in their lair - with Miss Danger looking equally pissed. 

"Anyone wanna make fun of my book now?" They were the wrong people to ask, boldly throwing insults about his sloppy plotline, poor spelling, and awful pacing as (y/n) quickly checked over the children, cupping their cheeks before pushing them behind her back. 

They'd done beautifully, but now it was time to let her and Ray fight, and boy, he was mad about the brazen mockery of his treasured novel. Glancing at each other, the couple rolled their eyes and sighed, knowing that some things never changed, but at least they could get revenge for a genuinely terrible evening. 

"I hate you all," Ray sighed as some randomer pressed play on the stereo system, anticipating an epic brawl. 

The villains felt pretty confident, sizing up the admittedly bulky hero and his pretty, if puny, wife, and decided they were no match for them. They were hideously outnumbered, even if they cracked their knuckles and stretched their backs, calmly waiting for the oncoming storm--well, they could have it. Anything to avenge their fallen comrade and find justice for invading their territory. 

"Get 'em!" Betty Blades screeched, and that was when all hell broke loose. 

A tall man flung himself at Ray first, easily a couple of inches taller than the hero. Still, he repelled him quickly with a swift punch across the jaw before elbowing him in the throat. As he fell to the floor, a blonde, cruel-looking woman snuck up on the hero with all the agility and feline wickedness of a cat, moving to pounce and dig her claws into him if it wasn't for (y/n) anticipating her move. 

She saw the attack in her mind, moving perfectly in time as her eyes shimmered like pearls, allowing her to grab the bitch by her shoulders before she could lay a hand on her doofus. Curling an arm around her neck, she held her still long enough for Ray to boot her in the stomach, a pained groan leaving the villainess as she crumpled to the floor, clutching her abdomen. 

Another swathe of villains approached, teaming up three against two as the couple backed up toward the bar until their elbows brushed, trying to keep all eyes on their foes. Suddenly, a thick, rusty, iron chain wrapped around Ray's neck from behind, causing (y/n) to gasp and break focus for a split second to glance upwards and see an evil man sneering at the struggling hero from a concrete ledge. 

"Captain Man!" She cried, feeling her heart lurch when her husband scrambled for oxygen, even though she knew he'd be fine. That's when the three cornering them made them move, storming forward while the man was weak. 

They targeted Miss Danger, who recognised one as the guy who fought Henry once - Kyle or something - so she knew he meant business. She blocked one of his punches, holding his fist in her hand before uppercutting his chin with the other, sending him stumbling backwards. But she couldn't take on three at once, not when the men had arms as thick as her thighs and infinite strength. Hence, as she dodged a few more blows from a guy in a red jacket, Ray ignored the stinging agony around his throat and kicked out at anyone who dared lay a finger on her.  

He snarled at those who hurt her, growling lowly at how they pathetically tried to keep him from her side. Finding a break in the waves of attackers, he lurched forward, pulling the villain above him down against the concrete so his face was in range for a damn good pummeling. A swift punch to the nose rendered him out like a light, loosening his grip on the chain so the hero could steal it and breathe freely again. 

"You okay, sweet girl?" Ray asked breathlessly, catching her in a brief, free moment as chaos reigned around them. Bose was unconscious for some reason, and Chapa was terrorising Betty Blades with her lightning, but still, the doofus looked at her like all was right in the world. And if she was okay, then everything was. 

"Never better--doofus!" The woman grunted, her smiling vanishing when the guy who swung the first punch returned for round two. This time, he aimed for her, throwing his body weight into the blow as (y/n) ducked, giving her husband space to block his arms with brute raw strength. 

Before they knew it, the blonde was backing, stunning (y/n) with some fancy flips as she cartwheeled and twisted her way across the floor--what was wrong with walking? She didn't have time to help Ray as he took a swipe to the cheek, slumping winded against a barrel before taking on Kyle one-on-one. 

For someone so high and mighty, he went down with a single punch as Miss Danger cat-slapped the woman with the back of her hand, smirking satisfactorily when she sharply kicked her shin with the metal toe of her heeled boot. That was for trying to hurt her husband. In the blink of an eye, the couple found themselves back-to-back in a circle of villains, taking on whoever stepped into the ring. Others watched from the sidelines, egging their friends on. 

One guy in a red jacket swung at (y/n), only to receive a straight left to the nose as Ray punched Kyle in the gut, wondering why Henry had struggled so much with him before. A swift kick in the face and he flew into the buffet table, sending cheese puffs and plastic cups everywhere as he cried for his mama. 

Meanwhile, his pretty girl smirked at the catty lady, expertly ducking and weaving every time she tried to claw out her eyes, predicting every swipe with seconds to spare until she caught her arm on the final blow. It was too easy to shove her off her balance, watching with a giggle as the acrobatic woman fell face-first into a cardboard box with her legs kicking in the air. 

But there was no time to get cocky; out of nowhere, some lunatic charged at Ray, rugby-tackling him with his arms locked around the hero's waist as they tumbled through a wooden door, making even the most hardened, desensitised villains wince. Some fled for their lives, too weak or cowardly to take on the fearless crimefighters, and (y/n) noticed how The Lizard Twins were among the fleeing monsters. Whilst she was sad to miss the chance to fight them, she scoffed in amusement - some bad guys they were. 

Some were smarter than others, though, knowing when to leave a party, and Book Thievin' Steven was no exception. He knew when he was beaten, seeing how the heroes effortlessly tipped the scales until the crowd thinned, leaving only the roughest, toughest of villains fighting. And he was neither of those things, more like a delicate flower than a bloodthirsty fighter, so he turned to run...only to run into Volt's arms. 

"Oh, no!" She smirked, and with Bose's help, they twisted his hands behind his back, taking him as their prisoner since he was the thief they'd come to apprehend. He didn't put up much of a fight, whining like a little bitch as the children meanly slapped his wrists in handcuffs, barking orders to be silent or else. 

He should've counted himself lucky, given that the people he'd been bragging to all night had to face Captain Man and Miss Danger. The couple showed no mercy; when Ray tossed his attacker through the remaining splinters of the door, (y/n) was there to meet him with her flying fist. 

There were barely any villains left standing, only the stubborn with wobbly legs and bruised faces still fighting. When one got to his feet, all the hero had to breeze past him and flick him on the nose to knock him out, more intent on reaching his sweet girl than bothering with a loser who didn't know when to give up. 

"Boo!" He grinned when he saw her sneak up on The Lawn Ranger, shouting into his ear so the leafy weirdo practically jumped out of his skin when he realised how close the heroine was. He'd spent the entire fight cowering behind the bar, all too happy to let someone else be his shield, but now he was out of options - except one. 

"MOMMY, COME HELP ME!" The so-called criminal screeched, glancing from the woman with her hands on her hips to her hulking husband, who threateningly flexed his biceps as he stomped toward him. 

Ray wasn't interested in The Lawn Ranger, not even sparing him a glance as he ran for the exit with a wet patch on the front of his pants. No, he wanted the asshole on the kedge, who, despite all his friends falling like dominoes, remained on the high ground, knowing he had the advantage over the heroes if he stayed there. 

While (y/n) picked off the stragglers on the floor, Ray bunny-hopped over the bar, risking everything and clambering up to where the villain waited with bared teeth. Hunched over with a thick metal pipe in his grip as a makeshift weapon, the man held his nerve until he had the fearsome Captain Man towering over him, and all he had to do was bellow to make the guy pee himself. 

Shrieking like a terrified child, the metal pipe clattered on the floor concrete as the villain took the intelligent option and dove through a boarded-up window. He'd rather have a broken arm than any of the wounds the hero would inflict, leaving Ray gloating and smiling victoriously until he turned around to grin at his beloved wife. And what he saw made his vision fade to red. 

In the time Ray had climbed up to the rafters, (y/n) had battled a handful of weakened villains. None were exceptionally challenging, running away when they knew they were beaten or collapsing when she swiftly overpowered them. But one guy was annoyingly tough--too stubborn to go down without a fight. 

She'd punched him. That didn't work. She'd kicked him. He didn't even flinch. She even tried kneeing him in the groin, but apparently, he had balls of steel. He had, too; only those with some severe nerve had the guts to wrap their hairy hands around Miss Danger's throat. It all happened quickly; one minute, she held her own, blocking all of his rapid jabs, and the next, one hand came out of nowhere. It squeezed her airways too tightly to be comfortable. 

She gasped, but no sound came out, nails scratching at his wrist as her tummy fizzled and popped with nerves, eyes sliding in her doofus' direction. Fighting for air, she kicked out at the man, weakly tapping his shins as her toes brushed the ground, threatening to lift her off her feet entirely when Ray finally noticed. 

If there was one line a villain shouldn't cross, it was this one; they could hurt him all they wanted, but Miss Danger? She was off limits, so this asshole had to pay. 

With his jaw clenched and teeth gnashing, Ray glanced around at his surroundings, knowing he had to get down there--and fast. He didn't want to risk the bastard spotting him, so he quickly set his sights on a chain by his elbow, unhooking it from a post before giving it a few tugs to check its strength. 

As (y/n)'s eyes rolled back, he took his chance, swinging like Tarzan until his stretched leg collided with the guy's face. His body contorted and flipped from the sheer impact, separating him from the gasping heroine as he crumpled at her feet, setting her free. Her fingers rubbed at her sore throat, blinking back tears as Ray gracefully landed and glared at the knocked-out man, secretly wishing no one was looking so he could rain down a little more pain. 

"Keep your dirty hands off my wife..." he snarled to deaf ears, panting as heavily as (y/n) as he stomped and loomed over the limp body. One second, he was all rage and testosterone, making the onlooking woman gulp as he stood there with his chest heaving and fists clenched. But the next, he turned to her, all doe-eyed and smiling, lightly stepping over and taking her into his arms like she was made of glass. 

"Sweet girl, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Captain. Thank you for saving me..." (y/n) replied breathlessly, placing her palms against his chest as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, smiling sweetly. His hands tightened on her waist, humming throatily as he kissed her lips, slightly chapped from the fight, but he didn't mind. 

"You can thank me later tonight," he whispered in her ear, lightly nibbling her earlobe as she breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed into his embrace, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. 

As if by magic, his hands glided over her back, soothing any soreness or ache from the battle, turning her into putty until she'd do anything he said, practically purring as he nuzzled her hair. She was safe; that was all Ray could think of, letting his anger melt away because he couldn't feel anything but love when he held her, swearing he'd found heaven when--

"Captain Man! Miss Danger! We got him."

"We got the book thief!" Two chirpy voices interrupted their bliss just when Ray was about to taste that sweet, sweet honey again. Annoyingly, (y/n) pulled away with warm cheeks, shy to see Chapa and Bose standing across the room, watching every moment as they held Book Thievin' Steven by his arms, preventing him from escaping. Those little...it was like they didn't want him to love his wife.

"Guys! Great job!" The heroine praised them, clapping her hands and nudging her doofus to at least smile as she noticed his irritated grimace from the corner of her eye. He was such a grumpy pants, moody because he didn't get a kissy--as if she wouldn't smother him with them when they got home. 

But Ray begrudgingly conceded, offering the beaming kids a brief, proud smile as Steven groaned, wishing he was anywhere but the same room as the lovey-dovey couple. While Miss Danger was hot, it made him want to puke when he saw her...canoodling with Captain Man, turning that old stickler into a lovesick puppy - a bigger moron than ever. Of all the people to capture him, it had to be them - the gratingly in-love it-couple of the city. 

"Now, let's see who he really is!" Bose exclaimed before roughly grabbing the criminal's chin, yanking and tugging his skin like his skin would peel away like a mask, revealing another man underneath. But this wasn't some slapstick cartoon, making Steven wince and yelp as the boy pinched his cheeks, much to his friends' amusement. 

"Ahh! OW! My face!"

"BrainStorm, buddy...there's no mask," Ray told him gently, an arm wrapped around his wife's waist as she giggled. She couldn't say the thief didn't deserve it. 

"Okay, so, what do we do with him?" The boy asked innocently, releasing Steven's cheeks with a disappointed pout as the man struggled against their hold. Still, the question made everyone stop and think, imagining plenty of suitable punishments, some stronger than others. Of course, Chapa and her vividly diseased imagination came up with the best ones. 

"I have ideas..." She grinned at her teachers, waggling her eyebrows suggestively as her captive gulped. He wasn't stupid; he knew Volt was the least reasonable of the younglings Captain Man had recently taken under his wing. But surely, they wouldn't let him suffer, would they?

Would they?

~

Oh, they would. 

Out of everything Steven had imagined for their cruel torture, this had to be the worst. He could've been hung, drawn, and quartered, but Miss Danger didn't like the mess. They could've ripped out his fingernails and mailed them to his mother, but ShoutOut thought that was too morbid. They could've banished him to the North Pole, but Volt said that was too babyish. 

They bounced ideas around like a beach ball until the fiery-tempered girl suggested something utterly brilliant--borderline evil for those goody-goody lot. He begged them not to do it, pleading, praying, screaming he'd do anything else. They could brandish him a thief for all to see, and he swore never to steal again on pain of death. But no, his sobs fell on deaf ears. 

Book Thievin' Steven needed to be taught a good, hard lesson, Chapa told her friends as she fastened a thick, corded restraint around his chest, having already bound his hands behind his back. After fleeing The Beatin' Dungeon, Danger Force, Miss Danger, and Captain Man brought the man back to the Man's Nest, sitting him on a chair in the middle of the room as the wicked girl cooked up their revenge.

It was simple, really; she'd had Schwoz prepare most of it, setting up a TV near the villain as it played a cosy recording of a crackling log fire since they didn't have one of their own. Across from that, Ray was all tucked up and relaxing in a ratty, worn armchair. It looked disgusting but was deliciously comfortable with its aged cushions and leather upholstery. He wasn't allowed to change out of his uniform, sitting by Steven and the fake fire with the pièce de résistance in his hand, waiting for the torture to commence. 

"Please, don't..." Steven sniffled as Volt ensured his bonds were pulled tight and secure, ignoring the tears in his eyes as Ray flicked through a copy of Man! I Feel Like A Hero!

Oh, yeah. She went there. If there was one thing villains hated, it was Ray's book - the thing that put fear in their hearts more than death, destruction, or torture. This was worse than hell but a win-win situation for the hero. He waited patiently for his sweet girl to appear after she'd slipped away to change into something more comfortable, eager to snuggle up with him as he read to her like they did in bed every night. 

That was where Chapa's secret weapon hid. 

"I'll do anything!"

"Settle down, buddy. You're gonna be here for thirty-two Cap-ters, an epilogue, an alt ending, and a whole section at the end where I teach you whole to draw a cartoon version of me," Ray told Steven with an excited grin, having turned to page one. There was a lot more to get through, striking terror in the thief's chest as he turned to Chapa in one last bid for mercy - he couldn't bear the thought of listening to the hero droning on and on and on...

"No, no, no, no, please! Please! Please!" He sobbed, not that the girl cared. Rolling her eyes, she turned her back on him, smiling briefly at (y/n) as she entered the room in her pyjamas before returning to where the other kids sat at the couch table. 

"Steven, my guy, there's no use in trying. Just sit there and take it like man," the woman advised him as she sauntered up to her doofus, looking utterly adorable in her silky pee-jays, save for the mask still stuck to her face. It was Miss Danger at the end of her day, looping around the armchair to smile at her husband, who finally tore his eyes away from his beloved book to see something far more precious. 

"Hey, doofus...did I miss anything?"

"Nope, you're just in time, sweet girl, and you're even wearing my favourite shorts..." Ray cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice, giving her a knowing look before uncrossing his legs to welcome her into his embrace, tapping his thigh with his free hand. After such a long day, he wanted his wife as close as possible, especially when her legs went on and on and on for days in those booty shorts. 

"Why don't you take a seat right here?"

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," she giggled, eagerly placing herself on his knee and leaning back into his chest. Her legs draped over the arm of the chair as her hand hovered behind his head to play with the tufts of his hair, wriggling in his embrace to get comfy. 

There was no better spot in The Nest, in her opinion, tucking her face into the crook of his neck and placing a kiss there as Ray grinned, finally at peace now that he had her where he wanted. He put the book between them, resting it in her lap as he found his place again, murmuring some incoherent sweet nothings as Steven looked on in horror. 

Aw, hell, no, he couldn't watch this. 

"First! The introduction, written by me," Ray gloated, turning his chin slightly to find his wife's lips as she rolled her eyes. She knew this would be just one big boast battle for him, already knowing the life and secrets of the mighty hero, but she didn't mind. Nowadays, it was a luxury to spend so much quiet time with him, humming appreciatively against his lips to create a disgustingly unmistakable smacking sound. 

"NOOOOOO! You can't expect me to sit here with these two...lovebirds! I'm gonna throw up!" Steven wailed, screwing up his face when he saw the couple locking lips--practically eating each other's faces. Where was Captain Man putting his hands?! They slid from her ribs to her waist and even curled around to cup her butt, pulling Miss Danger further onto his lap as he...groaned. Oh, God...

"Hot chocolate just tastes better after you catch a bad guy," Chapa sighed as she ignored the wails across the room. 

The book was bad enough, but the real torture lay in forcing Steven to endure the couple's handsy, undying love and affection. They lived through it every day, seeing kisses, pinches, pats, and advances that scared their poor, pure minds. If they had to see it, so did he - a just punishment for such a heinous crime, and everybody won except for Steven. 

"Everything does," Bose agreed, sipping his rich, sweet drink before taking a bit bite of the styrofoam cup. It was a wonder that he was still alive, making his friends wince in shame and confusion as he happily munched on the bland, chewy plastic like it was tasty - did he think it was food?

"Honey, don't..."

"Just let him..." Chapa sighed as Mika tried to warn the boy otherwise. Still, she knew it was useless - practically survival of the fittest by now. So, she reached for the thermos pitcher in the middle of the table as Miles eyed it hungrily since he apparently wasn't allowed any for the most trivial reasons. 

"Can I get a little hot chocolate?" He asked the girl politely, only to receive a curt look as she stood up and took the thermos away. 

"Did you catch a bad guy?"

"I saved ShoutOut," he replied as Mika smiled brightly, thinking that such a noble deed deserved a reward, given that it was arguably the other half of a hero's job. Stop a bad guy and save someone - wasn't that the job description?

"So, you caught a good guy?" Chapa hummed pedantically, toying with her friend for the sake of being difficult - mainly because the smoochy-smoochy sounds from that armchair were grating her nerves. 

"Okay, that's not fair," Mika told her, acting as the voice of reason like always, but Chapa didn't listen. She merely sipped her hot chocolate and stiffened her upper lip, wanting the sweet, chocolatey goodness all to herself after nearly getting hounded by a group of vicious villains. 

"Tastes pretty fair to me..." she sniffed, causing her friends to argue about how mean she could be sometimes. 

(y/n) had said it once, but they'd say it again; if she wanted to have friends, she needed to be friendly, although none of it got through to her. The rowdy conversation soon broke the tranquillity of the Man's Nest, forcing the happy couple by the fire to stop kissing - even the notion - and sigh. How were they meant to subtly tease each other--or torture Steven if they couldn't hear themselves think?

"Hey, let's cut the chatter back there!" Ray yelled to them, his cheek smushed against (y/n)'s forehead as the room fell silent, much to his satisfaction. He'd finally perfected that line, settling into his comfy chair with his wife in his arms as he turned to the book's first words - the children's prompt to get up and leave.  

And so, it began. 

"Cap-ter one--The Beginning," he read aloud, ignoring the thief's sobs as the kids quickly scattered, not wanting to hear another line of that drivel or witness how their friend kissed up his neck. 

"It all just kinda Captain'ed... My father was an irresponsible scientist, and it was Bring Your Kid To Work Day."

"Heh, I got that joke there, doofus," (y/n) giggled, utterly bored of hearing her husband's founding story for the billionth time, but she loved the little pun. He was so dorky and adorable, giving her that doofy grin as she stroked his cheeks, thankful she couldn't see Steven behind her. She could hear his whimpers and groans, but it spurred her with her open affection, knowing that this was supposed to be a punishment, and when in Rome...

"You liked it, sweet girl? Well, there's plenty more where that came from..." Ray grinned, leaning down to kiss her again, laying it on thick for their guest as he turned his nose up at the tongue action. 

"Oh my God, can't you guys go do that in your own room?!" He shrieked in a panicked voice, legs flailing when Miss Danger freely rolled her body against her lover's, whispering something filthy in his ear as her hand trailed down his chest. Thank God Chapa was dozing far away on the couch with a cowboy hat covering her ears... It made him blush just picturing it. 

"We already did," (y/n) replied over her shoulder, making her and Ray giggle like children as Steven audibly gagged. He'd wondered where they'd snuck off to when they first arrived at this hell hole. Still, now he had sick images in his mind, and now that he thought about it, the heroine's pyjamas were crumpled when she walked in...

"Twice." Oh, God, kill him now. Hell hath no fury like a doofus hath love for his sweet girl.