#file under: faces: lorenzo

[knotfodder]

"Never seen thee or touched thee, but known thee with all of my heart"

name: Lorenzo Dulcinea Combs nicknames: Lore, Dulce, Enzo dob. age: May 13 (30) gender: Male pronouns: (he/him/his) secondary gender: Omega occupation: florist species: faerie fc: Rafael Silva

+energetic, charming, optimistic.+ -ditsy, scatter-brained, forgetful.-

[musaa34]

“ 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞..“

Draco Malfoy x nerdy reader

A crush on him for four years, he finally takes notice of you

You were seated at the far end of the library behind the main desk, a notebook open beside you, fingers wrapped around a pen, hair tucked behind one ear as you read. It wasn’t your job to be here, really. But the library woman trusted you. You practically lived here, her favorite little unofficial assistant.

So when she had to step out for a bit, she simply waved a hand and said,

“You know the drill. Don’t let them burn the place down.”

You smiled, gave her a little salute, and went back to your book.

Your peace was short-lived.

Because he walked in.

You didn’t hear him at first. You felt him.

Like the room shifted. The way the sunlight fell changed. Your heart did that annoying little thing—skipped and then sped up like it was trying to keep up with reality.

Draco Malfoy.

His friends had always known—Theo, Blaise, Regulus, and Lorenzo. They knew you watched him when you thought no one noticed. They saw the way your eyes trailed after him in the courtyard, the way you laughed at something else but always glanced back toward him.

They knew.

And your friends?

They were worse.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?”

“Tell him he smells like sin and silk.”

“Trip in front of him or something dramatic.”

You rolled your eyes. Always cool. Always in control.

You weren’t like the others. You didn’t need Draco Malfoy’s attention.

You simply…wanted it.

But he never looked back. Not once.

Until today.

You were scribbling something in your planner when his voice drifted into your space—quiet, low, a little rough like velvet pulled tight.

“Do you know if the librarian’s around?”

You froze mid-sentence.

You blinked once.

Then slowly looked up.

And oh.

He was prettier than usual. It was genuinely unfair.

His platinum hair was styled perfectly, not too neat, just the right amount of effortless. He wore a dark grey shirt under a black sleeveless cardigan, paired with black trousers. His sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

And the cologne?

Paradise. Musky, clean. You wanted to bottle the air.

You swallowed, heart fluttering far too loud in your chest.

“…No,” you answered softly. “She lent me the library while she stepped out. Do you need something?”

He nodded, nonchalantly, voice still low.

“I ordered three books.”

You nodded, trying to keep it together. “Okay, give me a second.”

You stood, smoothing down your knit brown top-snug and soft, paired with matching flared pants. You looked calm, collected, your usual softness wrapped in confidence. But your heart was doing pirouettes inside your chest.

You walked around the desk and moved to the computer. Typing in his last name, you scanned the list with quick eyes.

You felt him behind you. Not too close. But close enough that his scent lingered near your skin. Your fingers paused, then you clicked the request file.

“They’ve arrived,” you said, glancing back at him briefly. “Come, I’ll show you where they are.”

He followed you silently between the aisles, his steps lazy behind yours. Your fingers trailed along the spines of the books before finding the right section. You crouched down, sliding one book off the shelf. Then another.

That’s when he spoke :

“Since when do students work in the library?”

You glanced at him from your crouched position, a little smirk playing on your lips.

“I don’t,” you replied casually. “She just lets me take over sometimes.”

You stood back up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, handing him the first book. And then the second.

You stopped on the third.

You recognized the title.

Your brows lifted.

You turned it over in your hands.

“This one,” you said softly, “is romance.”

His ears flushed.

You saw it.

A little bloom of pink just beneath that flawless pale skin.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, taking the book from you.

“It’s not for me.”

You held back a laugh.

“Of course,” you said, lips curving into a knowing smile. “You strike me as more of a murder mystery type.”

His lips twitched. He was trying to suppress a smirk. Still playing it cool.

“It’s for my mother,” he added dryly. “She’s into all that… kissing stuff.”

You smiled wider, biting your bottom lip gently. “Right.”

You watched him shift slightly, his fingers lingering on the book’s cover. And then, for a moment, his eyes met yours. Really met yours.

No teasing. No jokes.

Just him looking at you like he hadn’t before.

“Thanks,” he said. Quietly. “For helping.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re welcome.”

He paused. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe he knew. Knew that you weren’t just anyone in here. Knew that you had been watching him all year.

He glanced down, thumb brushing the spine of the romance book, then back up.

“You read this one?”

You tilted your head. “Three times.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is it that good?”

You nodded, soft smile returning. “You’d like it. You just have to admit you’d like it.”

His smirk returned, this time genuine. “Noted.”

You stood there for another second, unsure how the air got so thick, how the library suddenly felt warmer.

And then he stepped back, gave you the softest nod, and turned to walk away.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he reached the doors. He paused, hand on the frame.

Then—without looking back—he said:

“By the way… I’ve looked at you before.”

And he left.

Just like that.

[tyunningism]

ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ 2: ʙᴀᴄᴋsᴛᴀɢᴇ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛs !

── .✦ pairing: c.bg x reader

╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead...

Haven’t played the tutorial yet? Return to menu ! tyunningism’s note: dreamt abt desperate gyu and head since forever i need him so bad

Game file size: 7k mb (best read in light mode)

A week after your visit to Taehyun, the lovemeter depletes of your hard work— completely resetting to zero as you prepare yourself for another profusion of system messages and quests following your victory in Taehyun's mission last Saturday.

Huffing, you roll on to the warmer side of your comforter, bathing in the sun's mellow rays as the black gradient of your vision washes in to soft peaches and reds; lulling and nearly guiding you back to sleep.

With aching wrists from your questionable sleeping position last night, you extend a limp hand to your bedside table. Graining of wood invades your touch the more you struggle to find the curve of your alarm clock; hindering but regardless it angers the slump of your body to slug towards it.

11:26 in the morning, Saturday, no system messages at all. It takes you the utmost willpower you have to lift yourself from your bed. Your hair is teased and all over the place as you cross paths with your mirror— a quick shower and pampering yourself a bit will do you more good than stumbling out of the door in this state.

Shoving your towel and change of clothes under one arm you scavenge for Soobin's contact in the other. Is it too early to call him? He probably slept at the earliest at 5 so if the line goes flat, he's off and snoozing.

Spot on! The line goes flat, and you're a second away from stepping in to the pre-steamed shower when you receive a video call back seven minutes later from what you're hoping is an apologetic Soobin.

"Camera off?" He mumbles with a groggy and rough sharpness to his voice, still deep and sunken in sleep as his lips purse sloppily to mouth the vowels.

"I'm a mess right now you can't see me." Unclasped bras and stripped underwear lie itself on the bathroom floor of your apartment, turning up the volume of Soobin's call audio to hear him…better.

"Don't you always?—“

"I'm about to shower Soobin give me a break. I'm not about to flash my tits on video call." Hearing the stream of water trickle in the background his words stumble and slip over each other in a giant ridicule of a remark to your blatant words. "I—I'll let you get on with it. Wait—tell me why you called me first."

"Stop trying to hear me shower Soob!" Your chuckles are sonorous behind the glass screen of your shower; stuffy with steam and echoing walls. "What's that clothing store you and Arin went to last time? I need a closet update."

The disappointment in him reserves on his pouting lips rather than his voice as he mumbles again, "Lorenzo. It opened two weeks ago. They have a couple of pieces you'd like." The foreign name of the store rings a bell; advertised somewhere on your Instagram feed which you can’t recall— though it was trending because of some sort of hot-shot being a regular there, not exactly an incentive for you but you assume it would be for others.

“That's the one. Once I'm out of the shower I'll go and buy a bit of their inventory. Ella's begging me to go on vacay with her to Bali so I need a whole set of clothes!" Your complaints become more bitter as dripping shampoo finds refuge on your lips, eyes rid of sight as currents of water rain down on you.

"Lorenzo..for summer clothes?" Soobin's voice is slightly overpowered by the downpour of the shower as your phone rests on the sink, but you can easily make out the confusion on his face through his questioning, rollercoaster of a tone.

"Do they not sell summer- pleh! Clothes or something?" Last time you checked Arin bought two sets of summer dresses from Lorenzo and that's all you need for a three-day holiday; as long as the system doesn't send you on a mission in the middle of it.

"Lorenzo..they sell like..graphic tees, hoodies, Balenciaga's homeless collection but better—and thongs—are you wearing thongs to the beach?" One by one he lists all the different items he could remember seeing and upon the mention of 'thongs' you're immediately struck that this Lorenzo store is more of a Spencer's than a Princess Polly.

"Not quite Soob, but I'll consider wearing a pair of thongs if I'm feeling it." Your joke dawns on him for longer than it should as he wallows in silence—only the pattering of water from your shower head filling both yours and his ears.

"Good luck finding your pair of t-thongs, whatever—" A serrated ding! ends the phone call in a matter of seconds. Soobin having ended the call on an awkward note but at the same time you couldn't keep drinking litres of your shampoo each time you wanted to speak.

From the moment you step out of the shower with a towel secured tightly around your drenched hair another of those rosy system messages pops out in front of you unexpectedly.

The system makes it so darn difficult to focus on the mission when they're waving a hundred bucks in front of your face like it's nothing. There's always a catch to this sneaky system though and it's ought to be in the VIP ticket gifted to you as well after your experience with Taehyun.

You swipe on to the new icon that's now appeared; an inventory, which is pretty neat by the way considering the system can now grant you a stack if you needed it, ka-ching!— Tapping on to the ticket you skim over the information.

Panic. Successful from day one, they're a well-loved band in this and the neighbouring cities and are practically worshipped by your college they started this whole thing from scrap in. Especially the notorious drummer who lives in a whole other world to your department; you've never met nor seen him but he's been the culprit of your project partner Lila's wet dreams since you step foot on to campus. The number of times she's brought up his tongue piercing in them is to say the least..unheard of.

Aside from that? Not a clue.

Band music has never been your sort of thing so if your target's a die-hard fan of Panic then showing up as a poser fan at their concert means you'll never get close to fucking them, like ever if they're all on Lila's level.

So, with a swipe of your glazed lip gloss you whisk through the numerous beer cans your roommate Lily and her best friend Haewon must've downed in deep, drunk conversation and straight towards her door with a fisted hand ready to knock.

To your surprise Lily's already at the door with her arms crossed and head nodding off in a tired haze—obviously hungover but making an effort to talk to you before you get too busy again.

"Could hear those platforms thumping from your room Angel, you really drill my head in sometimes." She smiles and shoves at your shoulder gently; dressed head-to-toe in band merch you couldn't recognise at all but surety, she'd know something about Panic then, right?

"How else am I going to wake you from your slumber? 'm surprised she's not awake yet," an indicative finger directs towards a snoring Haewon half falling off Lily’s single bed to which you both find yourselves laughing at, "Right. Panic— you must've heard of them, right? I mean you're in the same department as all three of them aren't you?"

Lity couldn't give you any nicer of a reaction as she rolls her eyes at the mention, "Don't tell me you're in to those Chase Atlantic wannabes too." Pretty harsh for someone whose whole passion is exploring different music styles but judging from the Nmixx shirt (??) she's got going on then they must be a rival band to her favs.

"VIP tickets, gifted from uh-Lila, she couldn't go so.." It's a sad attempt at an excuse but the best you can think of in the moment without confessing to Lily that you're trying to fuck one of their fans—oh, you'd never see the light of day if that were the case.

"Long black hair, blonde streaks, tongue piercing and looks like he really loves it in the ass. No good, stay away if he offers you to head back stage." You don't even need to ask for his name to puzzle together that she's not in favour of the drummer; the same legendary tongue piercing that keeps slipping in to conversations about him like a trademark.

"Not planning on it so don't worry Lils, what's so bad about their drummer anyway?" A finger pokes at her soft cheeks which only huff more when she processes your words. "Drummer? So you do know about him after all."

As accusing as her sentence may sound you know she's serious that this drummer guy who likes butt stuff according to her isn't worth your time. Still, you feign confusion to the matter, intrigued by what could be so terrible about this drummer in the first place.

Balling her fist together she rubs it on her forehead as she recalls several annoying memories you'd love to hear one day in one of her Haewon-beer-can debrief sessions.

"I don't get why he's so popular in the department apart from looking like some budget emo who rails his fans after a show like—God, Beomgyu can't you keep it in your pants for once?!" Anger is evident in the way her speech converts to spiteful bullets of spit as she complains about the band man, supposedly Beomgyu.

"And can you name me one good song that Beomgyu's band has? One that's a bit niche so I don't pass off as out of place."

"You're making me sound like a fan! But..I guess Take My Half is..decent." And Lily's seriously all you need to create a perfect alibi for yourself if you wanted to fit in tonight, and naturally that leaves you with meeting the dress code!

Crossroads merge and divert in to one big blend of concrete as you navigate through rows of boutiques and sketchy stores you swear are only open for money laundering. Lorenzo wasn't your first choice for summer clothes given what Soobin told you this morning, but for a band gig? A literal haven of clothes fit for it. Because the second you take a turn from the main road, you're face-to-face with a mannequin chained in handcuffs and a bikini for a top in the window display at the end of the alleyway. Soobin and Arin went here to shop? Jesus.

Heavy metal penetrates your alarmed ears from your very spot near the entrance. The store is filled to the brim with what Soobin mentioned; carcasses of—you don't even know if you'd call them jeans with all those Intentional rips in them— and graphic tees with splattered print and funky fonts you found the most difficult bit to read.

And while you're not a fan of Panic in any sense you can at least conjure an image of what their fans would wear to one of their popular gigs— anything from this store.

Hung on the 25% off sale rack is a backless black dress compressed between striking green leggings and another of those Balenciaga homeless collection jeans as Soobin calls it. It's smooth to the touch with metal detailing along its seams that spelt ‘Angel’ down the side in pretty calligraphy. Holy shit— if this dress wasn’t meant for you then this is one hell of a coincidence; picking it off the rack you scavenge for the closest mirror to you to visually try on the dress.

“You’re so fucking enticing in that.” Turning your head towards the source of the husk of a voice you're met with a man, no shorter than 5'10, tapping against the clothing racks with ring engrossed fingers studded with steel snakes and symbols. His hair is covered under a black hat; low on his head to hide his pretentious stare you could sense all over you as he drinks in the image of the dress fitted against your body.

"Thanks. It suits me doesn't it?" The male shifts his weight on to both legs again, hands in his pockets as he makes himself comfortable getting closer to you—squeezing in to the tiny gap between you and the stack of graphic tees behind.

Quick to act on his feet he's twisting one of his rings down the slender of his finger to bestow in to your hands, a small offering of 'peace' he says before he's tugging on your shoulders from behind with a hand snatching the dress in to his possession.

You're about to question his behaviour when all of a sudden the backless one-piece is pushed to your chest again with the addition of two cold, ring-bound fingers maneuvering your chin to follow his own artistic vision as he swerves the dress from all angles in deep thought.

"An accessory would make this look bomb I'm not fucking joking-" The male sinks his teeth on to his bottom lip as though he had the perfect idea in mind already. "Did Lorenzo always have personal stylists here?" You joke lightheartedly, waiting for the employee's next eureka moment on fashion advice.

Hearing this he retracts his hands from you, digging in to his pockets for his phone which he tosses carelessly in to your cupped ones with worry in case it dropped. "Not a personal stylist, but if you'd like me to be yours—“ His eyes scan the lettering of the dress on the hanger once more, “Angel, then I’d be glad to do so.”

Target.. Choi Beomgyu!? Memories of Lily's warnings retrace in your head, completely baffling you as you stare with squinted eyes at him. The system's offered you an option with the ticket— assuming that it'll give you the best chance at obtaining Beomgyu's heart points tonight— except trying to fraud yourself as a fan in front of the actual drummer itself lands you in a tough position.

The drummer believes you're digging in to the pockets of your sweats for your own phone, until you pull out a gold-inked card he recognises on the spot.

"No need Beomgyu, I'll see you tonight." There's something about the way his demeanor switches like a flicker of a lamp in to a sheepish one; at a loss of words as the sound of your platforms tune out in to the heavy metal the closer you walk towards the till.

As the worker scans your item to a total of 79 dollars you're inching in to your pocket when you hear the beep! of the card machine in front of you.

"It's on me Angel, and Ronnie, let me have this on the house- please?" He was nowhere near as whiny as he is now; begging for the matching garter dangling from his fingers, but you can understand the hype surrounding him on campus now. Anyone could just sort of kick him around all they want and he'll come lapping back like some sort of dog the moment he's asked and it’s that high that keeps them lurching back for more of the drummer’s synergy.

"Beomgyu just because I'm your fan doesn't mean you have to—“ in honest truth you're fucking giddy that he's paid for your clothes without you even needing to touch a dime of your hundred-dollar bill, despite your refusal of his Good Samaritan act.

"Down payment, for what you said earlier. You'll be there for me later Angel, right? 77 clifford street at 7." The same subtle whine to his voice completely hypnotises you in to focusing on the pout of his lips and his expectant eyes; all brown and puppy-like in rivalry with the jagged and rough cut of his hair, it’s all so cruelly impossible to say no to him like this.

“Who said I was going for you?" The worker hands over your shopping bag stuffed messily with the dress and garter Beomgyu had ever so kindly purchased for you. The paper packaging swings on your arm with your pockets still feeling full on your way to the exit of the store, not wanting to face him if he took your teasing to heart and decided to refund.

"I'll know when you choose whether or not to wear the garter." He'll be happy to know that you’ll be showing off to him at barricade if you're trying to hook up with him after the concert.

Not wanting to extend the back-to-back teasing you slip outside back in to the alleyway— the sky greyer and dimmer than earlier giving you a sign to head home to get ready for the concert if you wanted to make an effort towards your looks.

Around the corner just like you expected, a couple steps outside of the store and the system's actively bombarding your vision with another set of notices.

Tonight’s going to be long— and you can feel it in your legs as well what’s awaiting you.

“How do I loo—“

"Smoking hot. If you're not bringing home one of the band members then they either love dropping the soap in the men's showers or can't see for shit." Barely a 180-degree spin in and she's fawning and clapping for you already; compliments on the verge of moans as she clicks her fingers in approval.

"If no one's fucking you tonight I certainly will, and I won't be sparing that dress ANY mercy do you hear me Angel !!??" Megan quickly sneaks past the boundary of your living room in to the bathroom to give you small air kisses all around. And you sincerely hope she doesn't get too close in case her lip stick finds its way on your neck to which you'd have to explain later..a horror movie plot waiting to happen.

"Okay Megs, think I'm ready, and this time I don't want to hear the aux playing soundtracks from Tubatu's—“ Closing your mouth in an instant you raise Megan's suspicions who's now going to delay your arrival to the venue by at least half an hour. Shit— you completely forgot that the system eradicated the entire existence of the dating sim you’re keeping a secret with your life, you’re still unused to Megan’s silence about the game when two weeks ago she would’ve been spamming your messages with its updates.

"Because I heard it in a—uh, cab last week and it was—oh my god it was horrible." Collecting your purse from the coffee table you make a bee-line for the door of your apartment with a set of keys in hand to hopefully beckon Megan to drop your slip of words before it could escalate further.

“Won't ever be a problem for me because I don't know who the fuck Tewbatu is!" Sometimes you're really glad that Megan can be a little daft.

Queued outside the venue is a whole city gathering of pumped fans holding little banners and signs which you blame the system for not mentioning because now that you're looking at it, everyone has one like—every damn person here has a huge sign for Beomgyu solely.

"Getting home is going to be hell..I've never seen anything like it." Megan grips the steering wheel to make a sharp turn down an emptier road where she drops you off and gives you a thumbs up before speeding down the main road back to her slum of an apartment.

The queue passes by faster than you expected as groups of fans push through the limited entrance in one go— at least 5 of them coming out of the brawl with one soft tissue injury to get as close to barricade as they could with general admission.

With your VIP ticket you're headed down a straight-forward path to the centre stage, stopping at the sides of the barricade rather than squeezing in to the middle with the other VIPs. There's nothing but a silent bass in the background, the stage only topped with a drum kit, two microphone stands and an overhead light that casted a violet glow in the centre and it only strikes you now that you don't know the words to any of their songs. Learning the lyrics completely slipped your mind in your ‘flawless’ plan.

Distracted by the reward notification and the sound of your lovemeter filling up you forget the situation at hand at trying to prevent a disaster. You attempt to shift from your position to somewhere further back where Beomgyu can't see your mumbling and chewed on lyrics but the pushing of the crowd behind you as the VIPs start to line up waiting for Panic to come on stage became impossible to permeate unless you want to be crushed between drunken and slouched bodies.

Heavy bass then thumps in your ear to match the pace of your racing heart, thrilling and upbeat but descending in to a more sensual and slower one as the lights of the stage dim further and the only thing your senses could pick up on were the unrestrained cheers and screams of fans from all over the city chanting predominantly Beomgyu's name in unison.

And on cue he follows out behind a trail of two other men dressed fully in a leather gilet and fluorescent-dyed hair which only heightened in brightness under the harsh stage lighting. Your target is striking in his Lorenzo jeans you thought were impeccably hard to pull off but he never fails to surprise you time and time again when he reveals his band-tee of the night under his matching gilet.

'Angel' in white fabric marker that ran down his back in one continuous line. Deliberately meant for you and there's no mistake in how his eyes scan the mass of sweaty bodies for the dress he was so keen on gifting earlier. Stood timidly in your metal lettered 'Angel' dress your eyes sparkle with anticipation that he'd be able to find you in this blur of heads.

And when he does make eye contact, he's strict on keeping his eyes on you for every second that he's not looking at his score. Jagged streaks of black hair stick to his forehead initiated by the muggy dew of his sweat as he batters his drum sticks to the beat of their opening performance; lightweight and lifting, a real show for their talent besides their blessed genetics.

Raw and emotion-abundant vocals spark fiery enthusiasm in their fans and you slowly find yourself blending in as you sway naturally to the music; clanging cymbals ring and echo in your ears as you mouth the lyrics you've quickly caught up on to an amused Beomgyu—lacking in fan service today as he hasn't paid any attention the right side of the venue since he came out on stage.

You think you've missed something when your eyes are alarmingly opened from your trance by a roar of moans cloaked as cheers from behind. The crush of bodies surrounding you vibrates with excitement under the thick smog of sweat and spilled drinks mixed with overpowering women's perfume. A blueish purple haze spotlights Beomgyu who whips his hair in sync to his mental metronome; his tongue stuck out to reveal the metal ball prodding in the centre of the muscle of his tongue that drove everyone witnessing it mad, and rightfully so.

There's been countless moments throughout the night when you really get a glimpse of how alluring he is on stage— undoubtedly born for this as he captures the crowd with a smug grin that'll be rewatched on their highlights for days.

And take for instance when he's really pushing the limits. Repeatedly sending charming winks towards your direction or a small 'call me' sign with the shake of his ring-clamped hands that created uproar so hectic he had to end his talk early—ending it on a note directed for you.

"Nice seeing you tonight, Angel." With how your stomach twists at the nickname you're honestly glad the system stopped you from changing it, and you can bet with your life that the whole crowd is leaving with their underwear damp as the band exits off the stage— Beomgyu tossing a drum stick in the air for a lucky fan but keeping the other tightly grasped in his palm and pressed up to his lips in a seductive kiss before disappearing behind the curtain as well.

One thing’s for sure, once you return you’re doing a whole deep dive on this man.

But what do you now that the gig's over? Is he just going to walk away just like that? The system hasn't sent a single hint apart from to dress up and go and as you try to discreetly swipe through the game screen in front of you a surge of people shove and squeeze past your shoulders through to the exits, causing you to lose your balance on your overly tall platforms.

"Woah—shit!—" Closing your eyes to embrace for impact with the drink stained floors you're pleasantly surprised to be met with…a bulked arm around your waist?

"Quick talk backstage if you would please follow me." Reading the badge clipped on to the plain black polo you finally get the idea of how you were going to meet Beomgyu. Having a security guard to come fetch you— so this is what the system meant by backstage secrets…

You dawdle behind the burly security guard who redirects you from the main flock of the crowd and past the staff entrance where your eyes are burned awake with white hospital-esque lighting. It's a lengthy walk to where you're headed but judging by the security guard's silence you can tell he's taking you to Beomgyu's makeup room for some…relief.

"Does he always bring girls backstage like this?" Completely professional and bound to protocol the security guard doesn't answer nor give a shake or nod of his head. He's set on following Beomgyu's instructions which strictly were: 'take the girl with the black angel dress to me after the concert.'

And when your attendance is made known by a double knock to the door labelled in permanent marker 'Panic' the door swings wide with a still breathless Beomgyu.

You see it clearer now, his post-show makeup; pencil eyeliner and eyeshadow that smudged attractively towards his eyebrows for an edgier look. His lips are damp from licking them a total of 97 times during the concert but still showing faint hues of a light pink tint to them that made him hard to resist kissing.

The drummer pulls you inside the room so he could bring the door to a close, drawing attention from the still-working staff giving you looks knowing they'd have a different mess to clean up later. And you're not shy of looks from his bandmates either— manspreading on the couch and patting their faces with towels that are then ruined with hair dye running down their faces.

"Angel, don't tell me you're here for Jeno and Jay, are you?" Beomgyu pulls a face when he realises your attention is off him, his chin resting on your shoulder as he points towards the rest of his band that he blows childish raspberries to.

"You were good on stage, really good up close." And when you speak of him with such awe it's like a tail wags behind him as he buries his head in to your neck; nose inhaling your scent that causes your breath to hitch. "What should I do?~ Turns out Angel's new favourite in Panic is me now, did you like the shirt? I wore it for you specifically."

The guitarist from the couch chuckles lowly, heading back to scrolling on his phone with an open mouth just waiting to spout a remark.

"Don't get involved with that loser beautiful, you're better off with us instead." He taunts you with a fingering motion that upsets the drummer, and as much as you'd like to accept his offer he'll have to wait for another time if you wanted to complete your mission by today.

"Ignore Jay Angel, you know what you're here for don't you, I'll make you cum ten times harder with my tongue alone than his limp dick ever can!" Jeno can barely slip in a chuckle before Beomgyu's pushing you forwards past snooping staff in to his very own practice room— soundproofed and fitted with a long couch and drum kit.

A drum stick lays lone on the couch; the exact one he kissed before leaving stage and you just can't take your eyes off it without your hand brushing your own lips.

Beomgyu notices your interest and runs to pick it off the couch; waving it around in his hands with a mischievous grin. "Usually I'd throw away both of these bad boys into the crowd but, I saved this one for you, specially kissed by yours truly." One end of the drumstick in his hand is jabbed just between your collarbones, sliding down and over the fabric of your dress that scrunched and indented to reveal the curve of your chest down to your belly button.

"Smell s' good Angel, what lotion do you use?" You shake your head with no knowledge to give him apart from the fact it's Lily's that you borrow, letting him manhandle you to sit down on the couch as he situates himself on the wood-decked floor.

Leaning down, he prods the drumstick between your thighs to pry them open, whimpering softly when you finally give him a glimpse of what's been camping in his mind all day. Red laced underwear that runs small on you, hugging at the sensitive flesh tightly as he slides the drumstick down between the folds of your clothed cunt— the sensation causing you to instinctively close your thighs to which Beomgyu spreads further this time.

"Drummer boy, just eat me out already don't bother with the teasing." You're austere with him as you shift down lower on the couch's backrest, giving him a full-view of your panties— holding back a moan that bubbles in his throat when he sees your slick starting to dampen the red in to a dark burgundy.

"Boss me around more Angel— you're so fucking sexy in this." His teeth gnaw at the black garter snug around your thigh, pulling it down in one go with his premolars just below your knee. "All dolled up for me, wore this only for me didn't you?" You hum and jut your hips towards his nose which makes contact with your slick-soaked panties, inhaling your scent before he purses his lips to give gentle licks between the dip, making out with your pussy as he keeps his hands between his lap.

Beomgyu is wide-eyed as he digs himself further, trying to push his tongue through the thin fabric and inside of you; groaning whenever you pressed your clit in to his nose every time his tongue felt all too real against you the minute your underwear melted in poor defence to the saliva dripping from his mouth.

Said he liked it when you bossed him around didn't he? So that's exactly what you do, hands pulling at the intertwined black and blonde hair covering his forehead to detach him from his makeout session with your underwear. His eyes roll back to their whites when the slight plain at his scalp burns in to ashes of pleasure, a breathy moan trembling from his lips as he watches you slip off your panties down an ankle; unzipping your platforms in the process.

"If you're going to eat me out then at least do it properly mutt." You pick up on the way he loses his confident attitude from earlier completely. Flushed ears and teary as he looks up at you with slitted eyes; fluttering his long lashes open and shut. He's absolutely psyched for you as your hand remains tightly gripped at his hair, biting down on his lip that blushes pink with blood when he lets go as you lean in to kiss him.

The kiss is wet with no direction at all, globs of spit exchanging on to the corner of your lips as Beomgyu's tongue rims over your teeth and the cool metal— that tongue piercing you've been eyeing since he stuck it out at the gig tonight— it glides and bumps at your tongue, slippery and sensual as it clashes with yours and it doesn't surprise you when Beomgyu suddenly pulls away. A hand stacked with rings rubs at his pink mushroom tip peeking through the band of his boxers; you don’t recall him unzipping his fly at any point but the male looks close to tears as he pants, close to cumming already.

"L-let me taste you please, Angel. I'm really good at it I swear, I'll eat you until you're shaking…m-more than that even just let me feel you on my tongue."

"Think you deserve it after creating such a big mess?" His eyes widen and divert side-to-side to find the issue; being the pool of saliva and drool left by him at your lips that ended up dripping down to your neck which you wipe at, presenting it to him on your fingers in disapproval.

"A-ah! 'm sorry, won't do it again I swear I'll clean it off Angel—“ Your grip on his hair tightens which causes him to wince and clench his teeth, the rubbing motion around his tip changing into a tight squeeze as you pull him towards the couch, resting your head on the arm rest as you let go of him. "I'll forgive you if you can make me cum harder than the guitarist with the limp dick." You yawn to egg him on.

The male leans above you; brain short-circuiting when the wetness drips along your thighs and down to your ass and he wastes no time in meeting your cunt at eye level to sop and lap it all up! <3

"Mnngh-tastes like heaven Angel, I could be s-stuck between your legs for years, fuck.." His tongue drags upwards along your glistening cunt, pulsing and practically inviting Beomgyu for more and the drummer can't help but beg you to smother his face with your pussy with a broken and whiny voice!

"At this rate I'll be cumming in a decade; s-shit, speed it up Gyu." Like an obedient dog he's burying his face in to your cunt, the ball of his piercing poking and swirling at your sensitive clit that he sucks and nibbles on, tugging on the nub that shoots your hands up to reach back for his head, pressing his nose back in to your folds as you lean your head back in bliss.

"T-that's it mutt, so you weren't stupid-hah, afterall…" Beomgyu continues to lap at your cunt with fervor. He's practically merged with your pussy and stuck to it, refusing to come up for even a second to breathe. A decorative pillow situates itself beneath him and his hard cock, rutting in to it at vigorous speed as he spews high pitched whimpers whenever the pleasure became too much for his pussy-drunk head !!

And as you dip your head further in to the plush of the arm rest you suddenly remember the elastic lace garter still hooked around your knee, a horny ridden thought popping in to your head that you wanted to test.

“Beomgyu ah!— stop for a minute or else I won't let you finish." Your words bare heavy restrictions on him as he reluctantly pull away. Strings of saliva connecting from your hole to his piercing makes his dick twitch as he kneels back on his legs, hands obediently reserved to his side as he waits for your next instruction.

But fuck—Beomgyu didn't think you could get any hotter when you stretched the garter from your knee wide, fitting it over his head and letting it snap in to place with a loud slap!

"Ngh— Angel you— what's this for?" Dumb pre-cum slathered hands paw at the itchy material, a cute pout on his face as his bangs slick to the side awaiting your answer. "Your very own collar. Need to keep you in control if you keep moaning and barking over some pussy hm? Are you always like this? Moaning and whimpering like a slut Gyu? So loud you probably want the guys out there to hear how desperate you are don't you? Trying to show off to the others the moment you've got my pussy in your face, so whiny! really should punish you like the dirty mutt you are." He doesn't try to prove you wrong, just moaning like a bitch in heat after every syllable of your words with a tongue lolled and embarrassed hands covering his dick; pitiful and aching red.

"Punish—Punish me please! Tug on my hair again a-ah!..wanna cum please Angel.." Following exactly that you shove his head back between your legs but not close enough for his tongue to reach with your hands dragging and pulling at his hair— his hands gripped around your thigh to keep him buckled in place.

"Fuck yourself on the pillow first, then I'll consider cumming on your tongue." Beomgyu's eyebrows furrow in confusion at the punishment…because, because he's been looking forward to having you squirm on his tongue all along!! You can't just expect him to cum on his own with a pillow instead of your pussy— God that's worse than edging !! :(

The grip on his makeshift collar contracts around the unblemished skin of his neck, causing him to slightly choke back any complaints as he glances back up at you with glossy eyes.

"Come on Beomgyu, show me the little slut you are—I don't have all day for this. I could leave any moment now, you probably need this more than I do but you wanna make me cum right?"

That alone is all it needs to snap him back in to action, his head shaking no as you pull the garter-collar an inch closer to you. "Y–yes I'll do it!! I'll make myself cum on the pillow like a good slut!" Degrading eyes strip him of all his shame as he props up the pillow and fluffs it, a dip created in the centre as he rubs his leaking cock repeatedly in a moaning mess. It's a priceless sight to watch as his tongue stretches out in a cycle of pants, gasping whenever you shifted the collar against his skin as you watched him embarrass himself.

It's shameful, so so dirty, but Beomgyu relishes in the way you watch in entertainment and it only increases the chase towards an orgasm with each buck of his hips in to the soft material, rubbing his cock all over with a fuzzy mind.

"S-shit!— Gonna cum, Angel! Gonna cum!" Watching as he spills his load over the grey pillow you feel your own pussy clenching; desperate for some action and urging for your hand to hook on to his collar, a hand in his hair as well to drag him forwards and let you finish.

Beomgyu doesn't let you retract on your promise before he's latched back on to your cunt. His sensitive dick softens from his release but jolts at even the tiniest movements as he works his tongue tirelessly on your clit. Sucking and lapping and what not over the flesh as the mix of spit and slick drools down his chin.

When he finds the pulsing nub of your clit again with ease he directs all his attention towards it. Flicking the metal ball on his flat tongue at incomparable speed closer to vibrations than needy puppy-licks; cold and prodding on the sensitive bundle of nerves with each stroke of his tongue and you can cross your heart when you say that you've never felt anything like it.

"Mmh!—Fuck that's it Beomgyu! Gonna make me cum so hard shit shit shit!" The drummer continues to hammer down on your drenched cunt, the grip on your thighs so hard they're bound to leave marks as his nails dig in to the soft skin the more you pulse and throb on his tongue.

Shortly after you're crying in pleasure at unsound-proofable volume with the addition of Beomgyu's whimpers vibrating further in to your orgasm as you coat his tongue in your sweet cum! You should see the dazed look on his face as he lifts his face drenched form the bottom down in your fluids, addicted to your taste as he finds himself digging back for more.

"Who would've known that the drummer of Panic likes being pushed around like this?" Your giggles become melodies in his ears as he finds himself infatuated with you, hugging around your waist with his head glued to your stomach to throw a small fit. "You can't..can't tell anyone about me being a loser for pussy or anything—hah..got it Angel?"

"I'm sure you were whimpering loud enough for everyone outside there to be gossiping for a year Choi Beomgyu." The red lace underwear you wore still hooked around your ankle is pulled off and handed in to the possession of the shy drummer who looks in awe as you zip back up your platforms, pull your dress back down and unlock the door to the practice room in one smooth exit.

The system pops up with your rewarding messages, an easier victory this time round that you still applaud regardless as you leave the stylist’s room in silence and plus, you’re bound to be in a couple of his lyrics in their upcoming album that's for sure.

A/N: I GOT IT DONE BEFORE I LEFT THAILAND !!! Personal victory for Emme ^^ I’ve also found a new job as a gcse tutor so no more of taking long orders for now !! Unless i’m not fit for it 😓😓 But that does mean I’ll be busy since it’s an online zoom call thing.

taglist: @gyutaepie @ruinxas @bamtor1sss @chocomoas @satan-223 @whoisgami @lovesickchoi @akitfffr @komigyu @pengningie @vvjolyneee @glitteryheartbanana @bambiihee @beestvng @valthelover @sweetsoobie @seokqt @fairfootedflekk @alorring @camryn-haitani

taglist is open !! 🎀

Want to join the perma-taglist? Send me an ask/letter or message !!

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 | 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐨𝐜 | 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Summary: a long stakeout reveals information john walker didn't want to share (wc: 2291)

Warnings: swearing, walker is a bit of a dick, divorce, losing child custody, mentions of jail/juvi, thunderbolts spoilers-ish

✎……idk if you wanna send in requests for them or something that'd be cool 👉👈

TRACK ONE | MASTERLIST | TRACK THREE

Juno was led from her cell in handcuffs. She was still just trying to process the fact that she had a visitor at all. Who the hell could it even be? Her mother stopped visiting around her fifth year in juvi. But this was real prison. Her first stint in a cell like that actually. She tried to call her father when she first got processed, but all he said was that he hoped prison would at least toughen her up some. He would visit when he found time.

Six months into her sentence, maybe he had found the time.

The visitor's room was one Juno had yet to be in. The walls were lined with windows so the guards could watch them carefully — making sure nothing got snuck in or out. But the room was filled with cafeteria tables. At least it wasn’t plexiglass dividers and phones. 

There was only one person inside. A woman wearing a pencil skirt and a red blouse perfectly pressed. Her dark hair had a single white streak in it. She looked almost too perfect. She was smiling as Juno was led inside. So not her father then.

Her escort uncuffed her as soon as they were inside, but they didn’t take off the collar around her neck. Then, with a nod from the woman, the guards left them alone. The woman gestured to the table in the middle of the room before taking a seat herself. Juno joined her cautiously. 

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“No. But I — I know you.” The woman pulled a file out from under the table. Juno ducked, there was a briefcase underneath. Was she even allowed to bring that in here? “Juno Rivera, born in 1993 to Lorenzo and Paula Rivera in New York. First sentenced to juvenile detention at the age of ten for critically wounding a classmate with a knife. Said to possess —”

“Alright, you don’t have to keep going,” Juno interjected, arms crossed on top of the table. “Who are you?”

“I’m someone who can get that power damper off your neck,” she replied, pointing at the collar.

Juno touched the metal humming gently with electricity. “And if I don’t want to take it off?”

“Then you can keep it on and rot in your cell until your sentence is up. In what…Thirty years?”

She flinched. Swallowed something thick as she looked around at the guards watching her like a hawk — like she might explode at any second. For nearly half her life this was all she had ever known. “My father will come and get me out.”

“Your father?” she scoffed. “Last I heard, your daddy had hightailed it to Mexico with half of his operation and a bullet in his gut. He’s not coming. I am.”

She wanted to ask if her father had sent her. He had connections, shady people who were willing to do anything he asked. He was powerful enough. But this woman seemed different. Not one of her father’s usual puppets. 

“Who are you?”

“I own and operate an organization that has a special interest in people with superhuman abilities. People like you, Ms. Rivera. If you’re willing to agree to my terms, I can get you out of here in a few days and in the world again.”

Juno considered her for a moment. Could she trust her? That streak in her hair. That calm, confident smile that quirked her red painted lips. Her nails tapped idly against the file that held her entire life’s story. Tragedy and loss. Confusion and rage.

“What are the terms?” she asked slowly.

The woman smiled. “The organization, OXE, would hold the copyright to your name, design, and powerset. We would train you on all things physical and public facing. And if we decide you are not suitable for the project we’re pursuing we can drop you back into a more…Background role.”

“What…What kind of project is this?”

“To make the world's next greatest hero.” The woman grinned widely at her.

A hero. Juno gasped lightly at the term. Felt her heart skip a beat. A hero. All of her life it felt like she could do nothing but hurt people. Make things worse. Be feared and loathed by everyone around her. But heroes weren’t feared or hated. They were…Loved. 

Isn’t that what she had always wanted?

“I’m in.”

The place Valentina had gotten for them in Marseille was small. A studio apartment with an old fold-out couch, folding tables and chairs, and a wrought iron-lined balcony. It had a beautiful view of the bay, and that was the point. Some black market dealer had gotten his hands on Chitauri weapons and was selling them from his boat — posing as a fishmonger. They knew what he looked like, what his boat looked like, even. But they had yet to see a deal go through, those illegal alien weapons in his hands, and Valentina wanted solid proof before Armory and U.S. Agent ruined his day.

But two weeks holed up in that little apartment was beginning to wear on them.

Empty chip bags and bottles were scattered about the small space. The sink was full of dishes that no one really wanted to clean. The fold-out bed, at this point, was just left open. The sheets crumpled, and the pillows left where they lay. They couldn’t even eat at the small dining table. That was covered with their recon equipment, parabolic microphones, and cameras ready to catch their target in the act. 

Juno felt like she should talk to her partner. This was, what, the fourth mission they had gone on together? Since their first mission, he had been easy to talk to. Not an open book by any means, but she could say what was on her mind and at least feel heard. Maybe even crack a joke if she thought of one. But instead, there was just quiet. It wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. She had tried to start conversations, ask him questions. But John had dismissed her quickly. Almost angrily at times. She didn’t try again after that.

And wasn’t going to now. He still felt caged up, distant. Like a wall was put up between them that hadn’t really been there on previous missions. He was an asshole, seemed to know it too, but he cared. Gave what he could but took what he needed. Impatient to a point but almost never when it came to her. Played to her strengths but never gave away an ounce of control. Almost to an annoying degree. Valentina could even sense that they worked well together. He was the only partner she had gotten since their first mission. 

But something had changed now. Juno wondered if she did something wrong as the quiet persisted in that dirty studio apartment. 

It was nearly suffocating, the silence. Not being able to leave didn’t help either. They didn’t want to draw suspicions. There was no escape from John Walker with his furrowed brow and the tension that had built between them. It had been nearly two days since the last time they even said anything to one another. Juno’s knee bounced as she tuned the frequency on the microphone.

“It would be easier if we had a bug in there,” she blurted out, almost to her own surprise.

John sighed, set down the binoculars to rub at his eyes. “I don’t wanna do anything unless it’s perfect.”

“I have an easy cover. If that helps.” She shrugged.

“What does that mean?”

At least he was taking the conversation further. At least he was looking in her direction instead of staring out of the window.

Juno took off her headphones. Sat up straighter in her seat. “Valentina…Probably knows this, but I’ve got a side gig. Arms dealing.”

“You — You’re an arms dealer?” he spluttered back, doubt leaking into every word as he really looked at her for the first time. 

It was more than just the quiet, the standoffishness, that had changed about John. It was everything. His hair had grown out. His beard was longer. Dark circles had slowly formed under his eyes. He had always been rigid about his appearance, some military precision in the way his shirts and jeans looked. But now they were wrinkled, fold lines clear. She supposed it was a slow change, but they were all the more obvious now that they had spent so long together in one room. And the way he looked at her now, he knew that she saw it in him.

“Only when I’ve got time. It’s all profit for me,” she said after a beat.

He looked away from her, back to the window. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“It’s easier…When I’m wearing the suit. Mask down. It’s not Juno making the deal, it's Armory.” She resorted to fiddling with the over-ear headphones on the table, unable to stand the silence anymore. “It would be easy. I’m a known name in the underground. I could show up on his boat tonight and —”

 “No. We’re not doing that. Too risky,” he replied. 

Without hearing her full plan. Juno huffed and rolled her eyes, arms crossed. 

“This microphone is shit. Picking up what he’s saying is guesswork. We need a proper bug if we’re gonna hear the intel we need. I can do this.”

“He doesn’t need to know that Armory is here. It could blow our location.”

“Oh, good grief. It’s like you want us to be stuck here forever.”

“No, I want us to be safe. Not running in guns blazing just because you’re tired of listening to the microphone all day.”

“I’m not tired of — this isn’t working!” Juno got to her feet, a natural reaction to the anger bubbling up in her chest. “You aren’t my fucking captain, Walker, I don’t follow your orders. If you don’t trust me then say so, but stop being a dick and just listen to me.”

She could tell that stung, calling him captain, from the way he blinked up at her from his seat before he stood up, slow and deliberate with his fists clenched at his sides. Juno stood her ground, stared up into his face with a downturned mouth and furrowed brows. But it crumbled beneath her feet only slightly when she caught his eye. Bright blue rimmed with red and told way more than he wanted them to. 

Then he finally sighed and whispered, shaky and so quiet: “I do trust you.”

“Then let me do this,” she said, taking a step forward.

“I — I can’t —” he backed away, turned away — towards the kitchen. Got a glass and filled it at the sink, but never took a drink. He just stared into the ceramic basin and muttered. “I can’t lose anyone else.”

Juno barely heard it. But she did. She didn’t go to him. Knew that he would hate it. So she stayed rooted to the spot, staring at his back straining beneath that wrinkled t-shirt, and asked: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. For a moment, she wondered if she should look through the binoculars or pick up the headphones again. But they both knew their target was out for lunch right now. As was his usual. He wouldn’t be back for another hour at least. So she just stood there and waited for him. Waited for him to be ready. She knew he had lost a lot in his life. Valentina had shared the file before they worked together. The role of Captain America. His best friend and partner. His reputation. And even before that, there had been loss after loss. Squad mates. Civilians he couldn’t save. His own parents one right after the other. So she waited. 

“My…My wife filed for divorce,” he spoke quietly, “Handed me the papers a week after our first mission together. She, uh — she wants full custody of our son. No visitation rights.”

“Oh, fuck,” she said without thinking.

John actually huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” she tried again.

“Yeah, me too.” He sighed again before turning to face her. “You’ll go tonight. Plant the bug on something stable. Make sure you’re not followed.”

“I know,” she replied.

He nodded, finally took a drink from that glass of water. Juno turned to her bag thrown carelessly into the other corner. 

That information wasn’t in his file. She supposed it didn’t pertain to him professionally so Valentina didn’t feel the need to put it in. He was married. He had a kid. He was getting a divorce. He was losing custody of his son. There was no one he could punch or kill to get out of this. Two more people for him to lose. She looked back over her shoulder at him, wanting to give some comforting word, but so unsure what to say.

Words were coming before she could stop them: “You know, uh…The fact that you care at all means you were a pretty good dad.”

“I don’t think so,” he scoffed from across the room.

“I don’t know, man. When I first went to prison, my dad was happy about it,” she said as she pulled her suit from her bag. “Said that it might make me less of a wus.”

“Jesus.”

“Seems like you fucked up. But there are worse things to be.” She got to her feet and turned to John then who stared at her unblinking. “You could be happy to leave.”

“Juno…”

“I’m gonna go get changed. Get ready.” She pointed to the bathroom. 

And he let her go. Watched as she walked away with something tight in his chest.

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

[nayziiz]

Witness | CL16

Summary: In the shadowy world of Monaco's elite, the Leclerc family reigns supreme. Charles Leclerc, the charming middle son, maintains their pristine public image—until one rainy night, during a fit of rage, Charles does the unthinkable. A young woman witnesses his actions, and her terrified eyes haunt him. Consumed by guilt and fear of exposure, Charles embarks on a desperate search to find her before she can destroy his family’s legacy. As he delves deeper into Monaco's underbelly, Charles must confront his own darkness and the lengths he will go to protect his family.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x OC (Marie)

Warnings: Violence, blood, angst

Author's Note: Sorry for the delayed updates - life has been running circles around me this week. Hoping to get back into a stable routine again next week.

Masterlist

Charles desperately needed advice from Lorenzo on what to do, but he didn’t want to implicate his brother, with a baby on the way, nonetheless. It was his problem and he needed to clean up his mess. But more than that, he knew the person threatening him could do quite a bit of damage, because unlike Marie, this person had video footage. Worst of all, the video contained enough footage to clearly identify Marie, who would be seen as an accomplice to the murder since she didn’t report it.

Chapter 6

Just when Charles thought the damage control was done, he received word through one of his guards that someone else witnessed the murder. Not only did they see Charles kill a man in cold blood, but they saw Marie. They saw Marie run away and they saw that Charles did nothing to silence her permanently. They saw Charles take pity on her because he wanted to protect himself and his family.

Charles knew that he needed to protect her, whether she liked it or not. So, he sent his men out to keep an eye out for her, to steer any potential threats away from her. Of course she picked up on it after a day, but she tried her best to ignore it. She assumed he wanted to remind her of her promise to not tell anyone. Charles needed to speak with her too, to explain why he had his men following her again, that he wasn’t threatened by her, but that he wanted to make sure she stayed safe.

Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to approach her late at night after her shift as she walked home. She could hear his footsteps behind her. She knew his men would never let someone follow her so closely in the dark without making their presence known. She could only assume it was Charles himself who was walking a few metres behind her. She came to an abrupt halt and spun around before stalking towards Charles who she could now make out under the misty moonlight.

“Is there a reason you’re following me in the fucking dark, Mr Leclerc?” She snapped at him once she was face-to-face with him.

“I realise this may look suspicious,” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Is this how it ends? Will you be bludgeoning me to death as well or have you found some other way to dispose of me?” Marie countered, but once she saw the colour drain from his face and his small smile fade, she knew she had overstepped. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I didn’t think you’d be following me tonight.”

“You have every right to be mad at me, but please know that I will not be harming you at all, Ms Dupont. I assure you,” Charles insisted, his voice soft and tender as he spoke to her. “But, that doesn’t mean someone else won’t.”

“What do you mean?” Marie asked, confused.

“It has come to my attention that there was a third individual in the area that night who… witnessed the murder. They saw me. They saw you. And, now they are threatening me with video evidence if I don’t pay them quite a handsome amount of money. They are also painting you out to be an accomplice because there was no police report filed,” Charles explained.

“So, that’s why you have your men stationed around me?” Marie realised.

“It’s the least I can do after everything,” Charles replied. “You were an innocent witness, you shouldn’t have to be punished for something I did.”

Marie remained quiet for a moment as she contemplated his admission. She appreciated the fact that he was upfront about the blackmailer.

“How much do they want in exchange for their silence?” Marie wondered.

“5,000,000 Euros” Charles mumbled.

“Damn,” Marie muttered before scratching around in her purse. “I have 2 Euros to help you out, you know, since I’m an accomplice now. I’m sure you can handle the rest, no?”

It took Charles a few seconds to register her attempted joke before he chuckled at her making light of the situation.

“If I had my way, they wouldn’t get a cent, especially from you,” Charles informed her and attempted a half-hearted smile. Marie mirrored his weak smile and looked around, spotting several of Charles’s men nearby.

“Would you like to walk me home? We’re halfway there anyway,” she wondered.

“Of course,” Charles agreed before they started walking side-by-side in the direction of her apartment building.

She didn’t plan on drifting off to sleep, but there was something about the silence of the night and having someone in the apartment with her that made her mind relax for the first time in weeks. She may not have trusted Charles completely, but he had proven to her on several occasions that he was in fact not going to harm her.

He carried her to her bedroom and covered her with her blanket before retreating back into the living room area. He tried to tidy up a bit, but didn’t know where most of the things went, so he gave up and went to rinse out their coffee mugs. When he dried his hands, he turned around and surveyed the open plan apartment. The last time he was in such a humble home was when he was still a young boy before his parents made a name for themselves. He thought back to some fond memories of reading books with his mom and watching racing with his father in their first family home. He choked back his tears reminiscing of a life with no worry and pulled out his wallet. He left all the cash he had on him on the counter for Marie to find the following morning when she woke up. He also left a note with his phone number on it, just in case she needed to get hold of him for whatever reason.

He didn’t want to leave one of his men in her apartment, as much as he wanted to for her safety, but he respected her boundaries and privacy. Instead, he arranged with the building manager that one of his men disguise himself as a roaming security guard on her floor while a second guard remained stationed in the building lobby, observing the people coming and going and a third guard at the building’s back entrance for good measure. There was no way he was going to let her get hurt because of him.

---------------------------

Taglist: @headinthecloudssblog

[slt4kavanagh]

the secret he keeps

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

tw: none ! fluff

a/n: super rushed, sorry if it’s bad

masterlist !

It started like every other day at Hogwarts. My books were balanced precariously in my arms, my quill tucked behind my ear, and my hair falling annoyingly into my eyes as I hurried to Potions. The corridors buzzed with chatter, students filing into classrooms like clockwork.

And then there was him.

Draco Malfoy.

I didn’t have to see him to know he was nearby. His voice—sharp, arrogant, and dripping with disdain—cut through the noise like a knife.

“Move, Y/L/N. Merlin forbid you actually pay attention to where you’re going.”

My steps faltered, and I nearly dropped my books. Turning, I found him leaning casually against the wall, flanked by Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Behind them, Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire snickered, whispering amongst themselves. It was like they traveled in a pack, radiating smug superiority.

“Good morning to you too, Malfoy,” I replied evenly, forcing my voice to remain steady.

He straightened, his sharp features illuminated by the soft torchlight. His gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that always made me uncomfortable.

“What’s this?” he drawled, gesturing to my books. “Trying to be the next Hermione Granger? Or just desperate to outdo everyone else?”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see how his words stung. “At least I’m trying. Some of us don’t rely on Daddy’s money to get through life.”

A collective “ooh” rippled through the group. Even Mattheo raised an eyebrow at my retort, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. But Draco didn’t laugh. Instead, his smirk faltered for just a moment—a crack in the mask he wore so effortlessly.

“Careful, Y/L/N,” he said, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “It’d be a shame if you let that big mouth of yours get you into trouble.”

I stepped closer, squaring my shoulders. “Why don’t you try me, Malfoy?”

His gaze flickered to something behind me, and I turned to see Tom Riddle himself walking past, his presence casting an eerie hush over the corridor. The group straightened immediately, their laughter dying as Tom’s cold, calculating eyes scanned the scene.

Draco stepped back, clearing his throat. “Let’s go,” he muttered to the others, his bravado suddenly dimmed.

I watched them retreat, confusion bubbling in my chest. Why did Malfoy insist on singling me out? And what was it about Tom Riddle that made even someone like Draco Malfoy fall silent?

Potions was uneventful—well, as uneventful as a class could be when Professor Snape was involved. I did my best to focus on brewing my Draught of Peace, but I could feel their eyes on me. Draco sat two rows behind, flanked by Theodore and Lorenzo. Blaise worked at the table beside mine, occasionally throwing glances my way.

And Mattheo… he was watching me, too. Not with the smug superiority of the others, but with something else. Curiosity? Amusement? Whatever it was, it set me on edge.

“Need help with that, Y/N?” Mattheo’s voice cut through the silence as he leaned over, smirking.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said curtly, refusing to look at him.

“Suit yourself,” he replied, his tone playful. “But you might want to stir clockwise instead of counterclockwise. Unless you want to blow up your cauldron.”

I glanced at my potion and cursed under my breath. He was right.

After class, I lingered behind, cleaning up my station. Most of the students had already left, eager to escape the dungeon’s chill. I had just finished packing my bag when I heard footsteps approaching.

“Y/L/N.”

I turned to find Draco standing there, his usual entourage nowhere to be seen.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” I asked, exhaustion seeping into my voice.

His expression was unreadable, his gray eyes scanning my face. “I need to talk to you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? What happened to the insults? Lost your edge?”

He ignored my jab, stepping closer. “I mean it. Just… listen for a second.”

I folded my arms, glaring up at him. “Fine. Go on, then.”

He hesitated, running a hand through his platinum blond hair. For once, he looked unsure of himself.

“I’m… sorry,” he said, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. “For the things I’ve said. For how I’ve treated you.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“I don’t hate you, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never have. I just… I don’t know how to act around you.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to process his words. “So, what? You’ve been bullying me because you like me?”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away. “Something like that.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. This was the same Draco Malfoy who had spent years making my life miserable, and now he was standing here, confessing that it had all been a lie?

Before I could respond, another voice broke the tension.

“Well, isn’t this sweet?”

We both turned to see Mattheo leaning against the doorframe, a sly grin on his face. Behind him, Theodore and Lorenzo exchanged amused glances, while Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Malfoy,” Mattheo continued, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Pouring your heart out to Y/N like some lovesick Hufflepuff.”

Draco glared at him, his fists clenching. “Mind your own business, Riddle.”

Mattheo laughed, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the room. “Relax, mate. I’m just saying—it’s a bold move. I didn’t think you had the guts.”

“Leave,” Draco snapped, his voice cold.

But Mattheo didn’t budge. Instead, he turned to me, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “What do you think, Y/N? Should we give Malfoy a chance? Or is he too much of a git to be redeemable?”

I glanced between them, feeling the weight of their stares. Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but another part was overwhelmed by the tension in the air.

“I think…” I began, choosing my words carefully, “that Draco has a lot to prove if he wants me to believe a word he’s saying.”

Mattheo smirked, clearly entertained. “Fair enough.”

Draco shot him a withering glare before turning back to me. “I will prove it,” he said firmly. “You’ll see.”

As he walked away, his friends trailing behind him, I couldn’t help but wonder if he meant it. Could Draco Malfoy really change?

Or was this just another game?

[waffall]

MEDIC OC UPDATE

OKAY SO UM yall know my *earliest* rendition of Hussain, right? I remade him into Lorenzo, and now, today, I've reupdated Lorenzo into JUST "Dr. Fleischer" for artfight.

I now have an actual character sheet for him!!!!

Here's the link to his playlist!

About his appearance, 

Dr. Fleischer is a 6'8" german man with black hair and a beard. He wears bloodied bandages, a doctor's coat, and nitrile gloves. He has a large scar under the plants he keeps in place of his eye: He used to work at his family's butcher shop. One late night, someone broke in, and in an act of irrational fear, the culprit picked up a meat hook and slashed Fleischer's face with it, resulting in a nasty scar and a missing tooth. 

 About his work life, 

Fleischer was hired because he was a "medical professional..." except his medical profession is being a medical examiner. He collects bodies on the field to experiment with after battles. When he's not working, he tends to.... 'take notes' on his teammates--he has extensive files on all of them: their habits, their personalities, their anatomy, and anything else he can observe about them. 

About his personality, 

he holds his cards close to his chest. He's very sweet and considerate, despite his intimidating appearance. But he does use the trust he builds with his personality to his advantage--usually not in any malicious way, depends on how he feels.

[party-gilmore]

This is still just a half formed thought but @pebblesrus got me thinking bout The Pool Scene and Eliot viewing his body/safety as something to physically exchange for that of others, combined with the commentary about how Eliot was counting the seconds Hardison was without air, like

There's still the thrum of angry tension stretching out from Hardison between them through the night, during Flores's call, on the way in and through the airport... Eliot isn't avoiding Hardison's angry gaze, but he's not seeking it out either. It burns under his skin, a hot coil of discomfort and the sinking sensation of having ruined something unless he manages to make things even.

At some point midflight, Hardison gets up to pace near the bar (because it might have been last minute, but he's NOT gonna make the team fly coach - even though he's still upset with Eliot and may have thought about it for a minute). Eliot follows a few seconds later and catches Hardison on the way back, quickly shoving him into the small lavatory and locking the door behind them.

"Man! What the hell! If you don't get your hands off me, I-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Hardison stops flailing against Eliot's grip around his wrists and just... stares, incredulous.

"...what?"

"You were without air for one minute, nineteen seconds."

"...you were counting." It feels a little like a question, although it isn't. Not really. Eliot's grim expression softens often imperceptibly. Hardison would've missed it if they weren't crammed so tightly in the small bathroom. Eliot answers the non-question anyway, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"Course I was."

Hardison tumbles that around in his head for a bit. Of course Eliot was counting. Probably to know when it was too dangerous anymore to stay in character. Hardison knows how important it was to gain Moreau's trust at the time. In his head, he knows that. Knew it, even then. He was just... so afraid, at almost drowning, and angry at the secrets Eliot was keeping... but he was counting. He would've gone in for him, if he needed. Blown the whole damn thing.

Yeah the situation just sucked all the way around, sure, and yeah Alec's still a little pissed - why wouldn't he be! He's got the right! - but Eliot was counting. That means even though he'd had to put Hardison's life at risk, he was willing to risk even more - his own safety, the entire con - to pull him back out if needed. That was something, right? That was still-

-Hardison's too busy turning the pieces around in his own head to notice Eliot shifting his grip from Hardison's wrists to his hands. Tugging them closer. Pulling them up.

Alec snaps back to the present when his fingertips graze the warm, flushed skin of Eliot's neck.

"What-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Eliot suddenly presses Hardison's hands tight around his throat, guiding his thumbs to the appropriate hollows beneath his jaw.

"You... you can't be fucking serious!"

He tries to pull away, but Eliot's grip holds fast.

"Damnit Hardison," his growl comes rough, grating, as he puts pressure on his own windpipe through Hardison's palm. "You were right! Okay? I risked your life. For one minute and nineteen seconds. So that's what you get. Just... just do it, man! Get it over with, then we're even!"

"Even-... man, do you not realize how fucked up this is? I'm not... I'm not doing this!"

With a growl, Eliot tears his hands away from Hardison's, and Alec snatches his newly freed palms back to his chest. Eliot clearly wants to pace, but can't in the cramped room, so he settles with carding his fingers through his hair.

"Then what the fuck else do you want from me, man!" His voice already sounds ragged, even with how short of a time Hardison (or rather, Eliot by way of Hardison) was pressing around his throat.

"I just wanted you to be honest with us! With me!" Hardison slumps back against the far wall, anxiously rubbing his jaw as he tries to find the words. "Alright, look, I get it, what you had to do at the pool. I do. That doesn't mean my being upset about it is just gonna... go away!"

"I know that!"

Hardison flinches as Eliot slams his fist against the side wall. He knows the strike wasn't meant to be pointedly 'at' him, that in such a small space there's not a whole lot of room to safely lash out in when feeling cornered, but it was still too close to him for comfort. Eliot clocks the flinch, and for a moment the frustration on his face morphs into a clear expression of the guilt he's been masking since the pool.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't... fuck, I'm sorry," he pulls away, shrinking in on himself like he does on the grift, trying to consciously make himself seem smaller. "I just... I just don't want to have ruined us, man. Whatever is we've got... you and me, this team... I just wanna fix what I broke. I want us to be good."

"We are good, man," Hardison cautiously steps forward. He thinks to put a hand on Eliot's shoulder, but that's too close to his throat at the moment, so he goes for the outside of his arm instead. "You don't gotta... let me hurt you to make things even. That's... I don't know where the hell you learned that, but I don't like it. I'm not gonna do it. You just... you just gotta let me feel my feelings for a bit, okay? We'll get Moreau, and that'll feel fucking great, and have a little party, and everything will be fine. "

Eliot looks up at him and the ragged, raw desperation in his gaze about knocks Hardison back against the wall.

"...that's it?" Eliot's almost laughing, with a dry sarcastic bite behind his tone that makes him sound unhinged... well, more unhinged than usual. Although, he did just ask Hardison to choke him, so Alec figures we're not exactly working with the usual state of mind here.

"It's that easy, huh? You just... say we're good, and we're good?"

"Uh, yeah." Hardison shakes his head, tightening and loosening his grip on Eliot's arm in what he hopes is a soothing pattern. "That's how normal feelings work when somebody you care about pisses you off. You talk your shit out, it hurts for a bit while it heals up, then you're good. I don't know who fucking taught you you had to pay for-"

Oh. Oh but then it hits him. The dots finish connecting and he's looking down at Eliot, who's been strung tight and volatile as a clumsily stripped live wire ever since they closed in on Moreau, and in that moment Alec knows who taught him that.

He steps in close, carefully taking the back of Eliot's neck in a gentle grip, and ducks slightly to even out their gazes. Eliot’s whole body is tensed so hard he's almost shaking with it, but his eyes start to lose their sharp edge with Hardison's easy hold.

"I need you to hear me, Eliot. If I say we're good? Then we're good. No strings attached, no games, no doing any 'favors' for me first to prove any kind of loyalty or whatever. You know I don't play that shit. Yeah? You hearing me, man?"

Eliot's body starts to lose a bit of it's tension. A hesitant nod starts, but stops early. Hardison's seen Parker do that before, when she's too nervous to fully commit to a new idea even if she wants to, so he softens his tone and backs up a bit like he does with her.

"You hear me, babe?"

"I hear you," the reply is soft, almost embarrassed, and Eliot's eyes dart away. Hardison let's him go, indulging the gruff 'pretending to shake off the touch' Eliot does a second too late to be any kind of believable, and respectfully ignores the clearing of his throat and wiping at his eyes.

"We, uh..." Eliot turns to the door, fidgeting with the handle for a moment. "So, we'll talk. In San Lorenzo. When it's done?"

"When it's done."

Affirmation granted, Eliot darts out of the room. Hardison takes a few more minutes. Washes his face. Processes all the data thrown at him in the past few minutes as much as he can before filing it away for later. For 'when it's done.'

BONUS:

I feel like later, when they have their actual talk and Moreau is dealt with and both parties are a little more calm about it, Eliot is still like okay, I hear you, I understand that you don't need this to feel like we're square... but I do. Please.

And this time, knowing a little more of the whole story, Hardison is more comfortable accepting that like you know what, okay. If this is what you need, now that we've talked it out in a much less charged scenario and I can trust that you're in (more of) your right mind about this, okay. So long as you know I don't need this, that this is for you, and that if you need to stop early you swear you'll tell me.

Eliot probably rolls his eyes a bit at that like c'mon not even a full two minutes of getting choked out? He's had to go [absurd amount of time] without air in [equally absurd situation] in [obscure country], he'll be fine.

So Hardison sets a timer, and gently presses Eliot up against a wall, hands wrapping round his throat, Eliot's hands around his wrists - the deal is that he holds on for as long as he's good, if he let's go then so does Hardison - and he starts pressing in.

The whole scene is far softer and more intimate than either of them expected. They keep crazy intense but somehow still gentle eye contact almost the entire way through - the only exception being when Eliot's eyelids start to flutter a bit near the end, his grip loosening but not letting go - and when the time's up Eliot almost doesn't want Hardison to let go. He didn't even know that was a Thing for him. It had never been like that before, and like he said it's hardly his first time being choked... but something about trusting Hardison with that level of control... it makes him realize he maybe likes it a little too much. Putting his actual life in Hardison's hands in such a very physical, tangible way.

It kind of scares him, to be honest, how easily he'd be willing to let him do it again. And thinking about Hardison always leads to thinking about Parker, and thinking about Parker always leads to thinking about Parker's hands, and he realizes that he'd even trust "I hang off buildings by my fingertips" hand strength Parker to do it too... maybe even gets excited at the idea of it...

...and realizes he's well and truly screwed.

[rafivadafreddy]

Kissing Secrets

A fivr part story about our favorite ADA Rafael Barba and his FBI gf.

Summary: What happens when the SVU squad meets Rafaels’ girlfriend, but under not so great circumstances?

Word Count: 2,373 Warnings: Cursing, angry couple, Spanish, angst, talk of rape and drug case.

Dating never came easy to Rafael Barba. But when he found someone with a job as hectic as him. It was perfect. Neither expected much from the other, when one had to cancel the other would understand. 

Of course, Y/N would be more than understanding. She had two bachelor degrees under her belt and after long days and nights with the 20 weeks of New Agent Training with the FBI at Quantico. She, just like Rafael, worked hard to get where she was. Trying to make a name for herself. Starting at twenty-five and becoming a special agent before her twentieth eight birthday, Y/N knew she would make it.

Y/N and Rafael met when she was looking for a job, needing to complete two years of work experience to become a special agent. Working as a rookie cop in a district in Brooklyn. Well, one night an angry cuban man walks into the precinct. His fancy three piece suit was a mess and he claims he was assaulted. Knife wound to his arm, Y/N was the cop to take care of him.

One thing led to another, Rafael left the precinct with a smile. Having left his number behind for the cop. To ‘call’ if she had any questions about his assault. Of course, Y/N was able to find the guy who assaulted the ADA and was able to get his phone back from the man.

Almost three years passed and they were still happy with the other. Dinners, nights in and a couple who were in love with the other. Y/N met his mother and his abuelita, things were perfect. So, when Y/N graduated, celebrating the fact that she made it through the FBI academy. Thankfully, Y/N was able to stay at the federal bureau of investigation in New York City.

»---------------------►

A few months into her new job, Y/N felt as if she was on a high. It was her biggest case yet and it was hers… well, her’s along with her partner, Agent Shawn Carter. Having been staying overtime the past month, getting together evidence and witnesses to take down an organized sex trafficing crime involving a drug lord that’s on their most wanted list, Y/N wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of her bringing every last one of them down. Especially when the last victim she was notified of was a thirteen year old. 

“Hola mi amor…” Y/N smiled at the call of her boyfriend. Rafael had been her rock the past few years as Y/N worked on getting into the FBI.

“Hola mi corazón…” she heard him chuckle into the phone. “Dinner tonight? Think you can make it?”

Glancing at her watch, Y/N thought about it. “I think so yeah. We’re going to pick up a perp right now and if it all works out. I’ll be able to spend all night with you.” She told him and sighed. “I’m sorry for being super busy lately.”

“Hey, none of that. I understand. It 's your job. My girlfriend, the badass FBI agent.” the two laughed and Y/N smiled.

“My boyfriend, the hot shot ADA. I’ll get out early to have dinner with you. No matter what, you’ll come first tonight.” She told him, noticing they were nearing Manhattan.

“Now, now… You know you always come first when we’re together.” Y/N could hear the smirk as he spoke and she just laughed.

Saying goodbye with many ‘i love you’s’ Y/N put her phone away and sighed, the smile feeling permanent on her lips. 

Ten minutes later, the black car pulled up outside the Special Victims Unit of the 16th precinct. Both Y/N and Shawn looked at one another before nodding. It wasn’t going to be fair and it wasn’t like they knew. But the SVU team had picked up a perp they had been watching and started an investigation on him. Something Y/N couldn’t let happen. No this was her case.

Walking into the building and getting directions to the SVU floor, Y/N walked with her head held high. The skinny jeans she wore, along with the blue button down shirt. She made sure to have her badge clipped to her pants. Gun in its holder and ID already out in her hand.

“Can I help you, agent?” a woman asked, making Y/N turn to look at a blonde who walked over. That caught the other detectives attention. 

They were already wondering why the FBI was there. 

“As a matter of fact you can. I’m special agent Y/N L/N and this is my partner, Agent Shawn Carter. I’m afraid I’m here to collect the perp you have in custody along with everything you have against him.” she told the women, except her eyes were on a brunette woman. Whom Y/N knew was in charge. She did her research before storming into the precinct this way.

“Why should we do that? This is our case, don’t see why the Feds want a low life like him.” another detective spoke up and Y/N looked over at him. From his voice and stance, it was obvious he was angry.

“Calm down, Amaro.” the brunette finally spoke up. “Olivia Benson.” she introduced herself and Y/N shook her hand. “Now, you say you need this guy. Why? From what we’ve gathered, he’s just a scum who likes underage girls.”

With a sigh, Y/N nodded. But she didn’t say anything when a familiar voice spoke up. “What’s going on here?”

“Ah! Barba, you’re going to love this.” The Amaro fellow looked amused. “The FBI is here to take our case.”

“Oh yeah? On what grounds?” Barba asked.

“On the grounds that he’s a suspect in an ongoing Federal case.” Y/N said, turning to look at the man she just told she loved, not even half an hour ago. “Miguel Hernández raped and murdered a thirteen year old girl three days ago. And I know you guys picked him up cause he was caught in the act of raping another victim. Now imagine my surprise when I found out that SVU caught him. Even though notice went out to contact the FBI if Mr. Hernández is picked up by officers or detectives of New York.” she spoke, informing all of them, even though her eyes stayed on Rafael.

“He also has information about Lorenzo Torsney.” Shawn spoke up for the first time. 

“Wait, Torsney, the guy linked to the sex trafficking ring with the underage girls? The same Lorenzo who’s rumored to be the new Drug lord of New York?” some guy spoke up, his thick accent catching Y/Ns attention. 

“That’s the one.” Both agents spoke at the same time. “So, Lieutenant. The case files and Miguel if you please.” Shawn said and followed Bensen into her office to grab the paperwork to make the transfer. 

Y/N on the other hand went to look at the window that showed into the interrogation room. Hearing footsteps, Y/N smiled at the male and nodded to the detective seeing the coffee he got her. “Thanks…”

“Ah, Dominick Carisi, Jr. but everyone calls me Sonny.” the thick accent said and Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“I get the feeling, no one calls you, Sonny… Sonny.” she smirked and looked at Miguel again.

Thankfully he got quiet after that. Though what Y/N failed to notice was Rafael standing in the doorway. “Excuse us, Carisi.” he said, in his ‘this is my mad, but trying to stay professional” voice.

Sonny couldn't get out of the room faster, not that Y/N blamed him. She would have ran as well.

"You couldn't have told me on the phone that you were coming to pick up the guy from my case?" Rafael whispered, looking real mad. 

Yet, Y/N just rolled her eyes. "Tu caso? Last I heard, you were still working in fucking Brooklyn! Que diablos, Rafael!" She hissed at her boyfriend. "You changed fucking districts and never told me?"

"Oh, that's rich. Coming from the one always canceling our dates!" 

"¡Vete a la mierda!" Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Who canceled the last THREE dinners? Wasn't me, that's for fucking sure." She scoffed and pushed past him. 

"Real professional Detectives.." Y/N rolled her eyes at the SVU team all scrambling back to their desks. Pretending like they wern’t eavesdropping on Y/N and Rafael. 

"Y/N, vuelve aquí, ahora." 

Only, Y/N ignored him. Pulling out her phone, she had to put in a call for another agent to come out to the district and collect Miguel. All while ignoring Rafael. Who was trying to glare her into submission.

'Good luck, papi. Not gonna work now.' Y/N thought and  looked away from the detectives. Answering emails and texts on her phone. Already getting a location of where Shawn and her needed to go after leaving SVU. 

»»---------------------►

As Miguel was getting put into cuffs, both around his wrists and ankles. Y/N watched, making sure nothing would go wrong. Turning to the detectives, she gave them a sad smile.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you guys have this case.” she told them, sounding sincere. “If he wasn’t important to catching Torsney, I would have let you keep the case.” she added, thanking Shawn as he handed Y/N her FBI jacket.

Hearing two different scoffs, but from two cuben men. Y/N rolled her eyes and shook Olivia’s hand. “It’s fine, at least you’re getting him off the streets… and something tells me, you interrogating him will make what we did look like preschoolers.” she smirked and Y/N shrugged.

“Let’s just say, the cameras are not on all the time.” Shawn spoke up and Y/N shook her head. 

“Yes they are, thank you for giving me a heads up to watch all the interrogations you do from now on.” she narrowed her eyes and told him to go wait in the car. Saying goodbye, Y/N turned and made her way out. 

Getting into the car, Y/N rubbed a hand over her face and told Shawn they were needed over in the Bronx.

“So… that was your boyfriend. Huh?” the male next to her spoke up after a few minutes of silence in the car. 

Of course, with her telling him to shut up the car ride continued on quietly.

Hearing her phone let out a ping Y/N grabbed it and read the text from Rafael.

Papi: So, I guess we need to talk later.

Y/N: Yeah, I’ll tell you when I get off. Don’t know when that’ll be. There was a bomb over in the South Bronx. Was put on the case to deal with it.

Keeping the reply simple. Wanting Rafael to know she was mad at him. Not even replying to his ‘stay safe’ and not cause she didn’t want to. But because they had arrived and the scene they saw. It was a complete mess. 

News crews were filming everything happening, people being put into ambulances and being taken care of.

“OK! What do we know?” Y/N asked, tying her H/C hair up into a ponytail.

As they were getting information, Y/N looked around. Not knowing cameras were pointed towards both her and her partner.

Turning to the officer telling them what had happened, Y/N frowned. “What time was the explosion? Exactly.” she asked and Y/N felt like she paled when being told it had been Nine minutes.

“We need every emergency vehicle headed here stopped outside the perimeter, and evacuate the building.” she commanded and stopped when the Battalion Chief spoke up. 

“I got half a dozen guys inside checking structural damage, twice that many going door-to-door --”

 Y/N just cut him off. “Have them grab anyone they see, and get out. Now.” her confidence leaves no doubt and the man nods. Talking to everyone he can and getting as many people out as possible.

With Shawn helping out on the other side, also helping people move away from the building the explosion went off in. It left Y/N to run after a woman who was running towards the apartment building. Crying about how she wanted her son's body

Y/N was able to get her away, but when the second explosion hit, both her and the woman were flown forward. Y/N being knocked out.

Rafaels’ POV:

He was getting shit for not saying anything to the team about his FBI girlfriend. Not like he knew if they were even going to be that later on when they talk. But still, he sat there and let them poke and joke around. The team had gotten takeout and were relaxing since there were no other cases. Rafael deciding to join them (not like they gave him much of a choice in the matter)

“Hey, Barba… didn’t you say Y/N was out in the South Bronx?” Rollins asked, causing Rafael to turn away from Liv and look at the blonde detective.

Moving his head to see what she was looking at, Rafael felt a chill in his stomach as he watched the News on the TV. They were covering the story of what was happening.

The team were all quiet listening to the man speak, the camera moving to where Y/N stood with her partner. Rafael watched as she took charge of the situation, he felt proud of her. But he had a nagging feeling, seeing everyone move quickly at whatever command she gave.

“By the looks, Agent Y/N L/N of the FBI gave orders to evacuate the building. Will there be another explosion, how does she know to get everyone out of the building? Whatever it is, everyone seems to be listening….” but Rafael turned the man's voice out. 

In the background he could see Y/N running towards the woman and he shot up out of his seat when the second explosion happened. Cutting short the camera. No one was moving or saying anything as they just watched Rafael, who looked on the verge of a panic attack.

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Resident Geniuses

Summary: When the BAU is called to NYC for a case, they weren’t expecting to have to pair up with the local Interpol team. Spencer wasn’t expecting to meet his female counterpart

Word Count: 1496

Warnings: Implied Sexual Content, Talks of Murder Case and Crime

Requested: Yes/No

“The measure of intelligence is the ability to change.” -Albert Einstein 

~

The BAU team was in New York working on a case. The city had yet another serial killer demanding their attention. The team was set up in the FBI field office, trying to lay down a profile. Unfortunately, this unsub would dump the bodies in New Jersey, making him harder to pinpoint. The team was getting closer until the next body showed up. Same MO and signature, but the victimology was completely different. 

Then the local Interpol team arrived. Hotch and the woman in charge of the other team went head-to-head almost immediately.

“The man who was murdered is an international art thief. That makes this our jurisdiction, Agent Hotchner.”

“But he crossed the state line into Jersey. That makes this our jurisdiction, Agent Langley.”

“Um, Maura, Agent Hotchner?” a shy woman towards the back of the group spoke up. “You’re missing the obvious solution of us working together,” she said. “Wouldn’t collaboration help us both reach our goal?”

Agent Langley looked at the woman. “You’re right, Doc.” She sighed. “Agent Hotchner, we should pair up our teams to combine what we know and what you know.”

After a bit of discussion, Maura and Hotch returned to the two gathered teams. 

“Morgan, Prentiss, you are going with Agent MacKenzie and Agent Leavitt to the crime scene,” Hotch said.

“Lorenzo, you’re staying here with Agent Jareau to keep the media at bay.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Reid, you’re staying here with Doctor (L/N).” Spencer’s head snapped up when he heard Hotch addressing him. Spencer looked over at you. You were sitting at a table, going through the FBI’s files. Spencer thought the way your brows furrowed in concentration was adorable. Just looking at you put butterflies in his stomach.

The two teams split up. Tanner MacKenzie, a man who was like your brother, patted your shoulder on his way out. 

“Good luck, Doc.” He looked at Spencer. “I’m sorry man, she’s gonna drive you mad before the end of the day.”

You flipped him off as you took a seat and looked through the files. “Why don’t you bugger off and go catch up to Steph.” It was the first time Spencer was really noticing your accent. 

After the other agents cleared out of the conference room, Spencer cleared his throat. “So, Dr. (L/N)-”

“Oh, (Y/N), please,” you interrupted him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just don’t like the formality.”

He smiled at you. Spencer found you so endearing. “Call me Spencer.”

~

You and Spencer got along like a wildfire. While the two of you worked, Spencer learned that you were from a small town in Northern England but that you went to Oxford for your degrees. You just about matched him, with 3 PhDs and 4 Master’s degrees. 

He learned that your nickname was Doc, but only your team could call you that. He learned about your family and how hard it was for you to be an ocean away from them.

You laughed at all Spencer’s jokes, and you actually understood them. Spencer had never met anyone he got along with as quickly or as easily. You were intelligent, funny, and beautiful. And when the team finally got back to the hotel for the night, you were the only thing on Spencer’s mind.

Spencer looked up at the hotel ceiling, realizing he was truly, completely, unequivocally, fucked.

~

When Spencer arrived at the office the next morning, the Interpol team was already there. They were rushing around the office, functioning as a well-oiled machine. 

“What’s going on?” Hotch asked. 

“There was a double murder last night,” Agent Langley informed him. “Both were women. One has ties to a crime ring my team has been investigating, the other doesn’t. Both fit your preliminary profile for victimology.”

“This changes our whole outlook. We need to sit down, all of us, and discuss this.”

Once everyone settled at a conference table, Hotch said, “So, start giving me theories. Why the seemingly random kill before reverting back to his original victimology?”

“Was he a victim of opportunity?” Morgan asked. “Or he got in the way and needed to be eliminated?”

You shook your head. “No. Marcel Delacroix is -was- a recluse. He only left his apartment for jobs.”

“A hit job?” Prentiss suggested. “Maybe the unsub was hired by someone to take the art thief out?”

“That could be possible,” Agent MacKenzie said with a nod. “The world of an art thief is competitive, much like the world of the one making the art. Jobs can be hard to come by, especially if people know someone is good, like Delacroix.”

“But that brings up another question- what is this unsub’s true motive?” Jason Gideon asked. 

You were muttering under your breath, looking at the case file. 

“What’s going on up there, Doc?” MacKenzie asked. 

“Can I see the information on the previous victims again?” Hotch slid the files over to you. The BAU watched as you arranged the photos around the table. 

“What is she doing?” Prentiss asked.

“It’s her process. It only makes sense to her, but her genius always pulls through,” Langley said.

“Sounds familiar.” Morgan nudged Spencer, who was just watching you work. “Reid?”

“What? Sorry, I was trying to see if I could figure out what connections she made.”

“I got it!” you said. “None of these are random. They’re all linked to the same crime family.” You went on a spiel about how they all connect, and who the unsub was. “The only problem is, we don’t know where to find him.”

“Leave that to us,” Hotch said.

~

The two teams worked together to bring the unsub into custody. Thankfully, he didn’t make things harder for everyone until he was put in restraints. 

“Well, good work, Agent Hotchner,” Maura said, holding her hand out to shake the man’s. 

“You too, Agent Langley. It was nice to work alongside your team.

“Likewise. Well, I guess we should be going back to our own office. We have a lot of paperwork to fill out.”

Before your team left, you walked over to Spencer. “You know, Dr. Reid, that cell phone in your hands can be used for more than just work,” you said in a low voice. You handed him a card, brushing your fingers against his. It sent a shock through Spencer. “Goodbye, everyone! It was nice working with you!” She waved to the BAU before following her team out of the FBI office. 

Spencer smiled as he watched her leave. He looked down at the business card you gave him, your personal number scrawled on the bottom. In Roman Numerals. He tucked the card in his pocket before his team saw. 

~

“Hey, has anyone seen Reid this morning?” Hotch asked the team as they waited for the jet to be ready at the airstrip. 

“No, I thought he left for the hotel with Morgan last night,” JJ told him.

“He told me he was riding back with you,” Morgan said. 

“I’m here, I’m here!” Spencer said, running over to the team. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s not usually like you. Are you okay?” JJ asked. 

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Just overslept.”

Gideon squinted at him. “You’re wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday.”

Spencer looked down at his rumpled clothes. “I, uh, I fell asleep reading last night and didn’t have time to change this morning.”

“Is that a hickey?” Emily asked him. Spencer’s hand flew up to cover the dark spot on his neck.

“No way, Pretty Boy has a hickey?”

Spencer’s face was bright red. “Shut up, Morgan.”

“So… Tell us about her!” JJ said.

“Yeah, who’s the lucky lady?” Morgan asked him.

“Um…”

“Guys. If Reid doesn’t want to tell us who he’s sleeping with, he doesn’t have to. As long as it isn’t interfering with his job.” Hotch gave Reid a pointed look. 

He shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Good. And I don’t want to hear any of you pestering Reid about it.”

The team climbed onto the jet. After everyone got settled, most falling asleep, Gideon took a seat next to Reid. 

“So, how was your night with Dr. (L/N)?” he asked.

“How did you-”

“You’re not that discrete, Spencer.” Gideon gave him a soft smile. 

Spencer smiled back. “She’s amazing. She makes me feel… normal. I don’t feel like I’m weird or just a brain with her.”

“She sounds like a lovely girl. Why don’t you want to tell the others about her?”

Spencer sighed, looking out at the clouds. “I guess I just want something for myself for a bit. I really care for (Y/N) and I know how invasive the team can be. I don’t want them to scare her away.”

“I don’t think they could scare her away if they tried. She’s perfect for you.”

~

“Never give up on something you can’t go a day without.” -Winston Churchill

[singeramg]

Ruin Me: Part 2

A/n: Ha so I realize I said I was going to wait to continue my story but after careful consideration I realized I can post what I need to without hurting anyone else’s story, without denying anyone the continuation of this story. So hope you enjoy and buckle up... 

Pairing: CEO! Henry Cavill/ Reader

Rating: E OR M. NC-17 whatever you use to say 18+ only

Warnings: Asshole Henry, smut, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Dirty Talk, Choking, rough, Dom!Henry, Sub! Reader

Here is Part 1 if you missed it! Check out the Masterlist for more!!!!

Ruin Me pt 2: Henry Cavill 

Henry had ravished you to the point of exhaustion, right there on his desk. It was a wonder you had even driven home. Never the less you had made it home in one piece. A hot shower and too much time to think left you wanting to see the back of your eyelids for the night.

The morning left you emotionally raw and confused. 

Once you and Henry drifted back to reality  he offered to drive you home, but you were busy trying to pull yourself together and in hurry to get away from him before you said something to face that you would regret that was a cross between “Henry that was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, how soon can we do that again?” and “Oh my god we need to go bathe in holy water and never do that again. In fact I’m going to go right now and wash my mouth out with it.” To that point you were also confused when he offered to drive you home because he had your keys. You walked to his desk where he was now sitting in the chair that you had rode him like a pony on less than 15 minutes ago, buttoning his shirt back up. You yank your keys up and hold them up, with a glare as if to say explain.

He only directs that megawatt smile at you. It was magnetic and discombobulating because he had never actually fully directed it at you before this moment. You should have been annoyed and ashamed of how fast you thought about him tearing your walls down again. 

You shake the thought away to focus on his situation at hand.

   “Why did you have my keys Henry?”

He precedes to laugh at you.

  “You must have dropped them in here earlier, I found them by my desk. At first I thought they belonged to someone on the cleaning crew.”

  “So you didn’t think for a second they could belong to the frantic secretary that was searching  for her keys two feet from your office?”

He raises both eyebrows as if to ask me if I was done.

 “Well I was getting ready to give them to you, but someone was begging for my cock so...”

You scoff at his pigheaded behavior. He was acting exactly the fuckboy you knew he was under all those expensive suits and equally expensive Hugo Boss sunglasses he favored. 

 “What the fuck ever. Good night Cavill.”

You say pissed yet hoping you don’t pay for that remark later, walking out his office, snatching your purse from the top of your desk and out the door. 

He didn’t follow or try to stop you.

Hence, why you were emotionally raw right now. Saturday mornings were usually your favorite because unless planned in advance you had nothing to do. You could lay around in your pajamas and actually take a breather from thinking about work. Yes, technically you had to still handle any Cavill Industry business that was time sensitive but for the most part you had your freedom. Today wasn’t a good day however, and all you wanted to do was stay in bed, not think about how your emotions were all twisted up over Henry and his dismissive actions. It had been a mistake and you knew it. A huge mistake that now you had to figure out how to proceed. You really only had two options: pretend you hadn’t defiled his desk and his chair on Friday night or Quit.

The decision makes you start looking up new jobs that would pay you what you currently made, and you found a few. Until you got feedback on your application wouldn’t have a choice but to deal with pretending nothing ever happened between you and the CEO...

---------------------------

You woke up on Sunday glad that the glasses of alcohol you consumed the night before hadn’t given you a massive headache and you were able to enjoy a day of cleaning, laundry and your own grocery shopping. You had pretty much sorted exactly what your position would be and you wouldn’t show any weakness. Nothing had changed in your opinion except you didn’t have to guess what it would feel like have him stretching you out anymore. It was easier to compartmentalize him into your little mind place, lock him and all the forbidden thoughts away in a room and hide the key.  He hadn’t called you to talk nor to fire you so you figured he would do the same. 

You didn’t count on your phone screeching at you at 8:45am however. It was his special ringtone. You chose it awhile ago, and were seriously regretting it. You find your phone and put it on speaker next to your face.

   “Yes, Mr. Cavill.”

“You sound as if you are still sleeping.” His voice still gruff but clearly he was more awake than you.

   “That is because it is 8:45am on a Sunday. Yes I would be still sleeping.”

The only reason you don’t roll your eyes is because your eyes are still closed.

   “Well as you know, I am not normally this scattered brained but there are some forms at the office that I need to discuss with my brothers today, I am already on my way out to Jersey. Get them and bring them to me.”

You repress a sigh.

  “Mr. Cavill did you forget that you were supposed to wait for the flower delivery to take to your mother.”

He curses under his breath.

  “Bring those too. To me as soon as possible., also grab my dry cleaning and drop it to my apartment since it is closer to you.”

  “Yes. Mr. Cavill.”

  “Back to normal...”

You sigh as you hang up and talk shit under your breath about starting the week early. You find yourself taking more time than you should, settling on a comfortable maxi dress and flat sandals, you weren’t going to be in the office and you would be damned if you had uncomfortable feet all day. You toss on a white cardigan over the pink, yellow and lavender dress. You don’t even dwell on why you care about your appearance more than any other day. 

You grab your keys and head to the office first.

Then you get to the dry cleaners, fussing around in your purse for the ticket you had gotten when you picked them up. This time it hadn’t been the normal teen aged girl who seemed to always be at work, but a young man who was the same age as you or slightly younger standing behind the counter. He shoots you a smile as you step up and hand him the ticket. 

  “So Ms. Y/L/N. I have for you three suits, five dress shirts, two pairs of men’s slacks, and three pairs of women’s pants. All cleaned, pressed and ready for wear.”

  “Yes that would be it.”

He smiles again and you feel flattered by the smile that was clearly more than a smile.

 “So where is Alyssa, I am used to seeing her back there.”

 “She is starting some classes, dropping back to part time so that’s where I step in.”

 “Enjoying it so far?”

He pretends to struggle with the answer and says

 “Well... I can’t say it’s terribly interesting.”

 “What folding people’s laundry doesn’t stimulate you....”

You pause for his name.

 “Lorenzo.”

 “That’s a nice name, one of my favorites actually. Don’t get to meet those very often.” You compliment kindly.

“ Well now you can say you have met one today and what a coincidence that I recently changed my favorite name to Y/N so I can brag on that too.”

You laugh and hand him your company card to pay for the dry cleaning.

  “You work for Cavill industries?”

 “Yes, as you can see by me picking up my bosses dry cleaning I am awfully important.”

You joke taking the card back from him and he laughs with you in a way that only the working class could understand.

 “Well at least it’s job security. That company has a projected profit margin increase of at least 10% over the next 5 years. Their growth is almost guaranteed with lower cost materials and stability of the economy right now. At least you are pretty much guaranteed a raise.”

You laugh and raise an eyebrow that you learned from Henry. A force of habit from being around the man for so long.

 “You sound like you know a lot about the business.”

He blushes and looks down, you can tell he’s embarrassed about his rant.  

“ Sorry for the rant, I just am an IT Major, with a specialization in business  who likes reading Forbes. Sometimes I get some involved that I forget people aren’t as interested as me”

He says and you smile at him, glad to see someone so passionate about something in a world that often lacked it. 

 “Hey it’s okay. No need to apologize, if Mr. Cavill were here he would have really enjoyed discussing things with you. Honestly I enjoyed  it, former business major herself, though my skills don’t always translate to my job.”

You say with a smile and take the bags from him.”

 “Thanks.” He says shyly

“No thank you, it’s nice to know I can expect a raise in my future, but in the meantime I better drop these off to him before I lose out on my raise and a job. Goodbye Lorenzo, see ya’ next time.”

You offer a small wave and smile and you push out of the shop door.

You don’t even notice him staring at you with a small smile as you get into your car and drive off...

The drive up to the beautiful estate the brother bought for their parents was absolutely beautiful from the outside. You knew they were a large but close family but you have yet to see them in action. You had called the flower shop and had them hold the delivery and picked it up yourself on the way to the office. You tried to think about your screams echoing off of the walls in the empty office, much like it was now. You find his files, and his flash drive containing his work, talking to them and you brew in anger realizing that along with those files he had forgotten to sign some time sensitive documents that needed to be in by 8am tomorrow morning. Which is why you had given them to him to go over and sign Thursday afternoon. Everything was so crazy Friday afternoon that you had forgotten to ask about them, so you now had to get that all done today too…

--------------

You park your car and take a few calming breaths in the front seat, once convinced you were okay and could conduct yourself in a manner consistent with a normal assistant that hadn’t fucked her boss. You glide up the steps, flowers and files in hand. You ring the doorbell and listen for it’s echo. It takes a few minutes but someone comes to the door. You are confused when you open it and see no one. Then a cough reveals a small child in front of you, clearly a nephew of Henry, he was carrying the Cavill looks.

 “Who are you?”

He asks me, his eyes curious and before I could answer a woman comes and pulls the door open and him behind it gently. She looks at me and smiles.

 “Why have I told you about opening that door... and where are your manners...oh I am sorry. He is learning.”

She turns the little boy away from the door, shooing him away with a ‘go play with your cousins’ A woman with a kind smile and recognizable voice, as one you had spoken to over the phone relaying messages between her and her son. 

 “Mrs. Cavill. Hello, I am Y/N, Henry’s assistant. I’ve just come to drop a few things off for him. I apologize for interrupting your family afternoon...”

 “Nonsense, if you are here it’s only because my workaholic of a son has you working on a Sunday too.”

Her smile was kind and she ushers you inside. 

 “Oh ma’am these are for you.”

You offer her the beautiful selection of flowers you had picked out yourself a few days ago. She didn’t need to know that it was you who made sure Henry sent his mother fresh flowers or arranged his schedule so he had time for lunches with them, helped pick out the birthday and anniversary gifts that had come up so far, along with scheduling a full Spa day for all of the Cavill women and saying it was a special treat for the women meanwhile sending all the Cavill men to prime seats to a rugby match. Needless to say they all thought Henry was wonderful and caring, but you ran the show. 

 “These are absolutely beautiful.”

 “Yes, Henry...”

 “Couldn’t name any of these flowers if they came to life and bit him in the butt.”

You laugh quickly before stifling it, not wanting it to get back to Henry that you had been laughing at him instead of with him. You still needed to hold onto this job until some of the others called you back.

 “It’s okay to laugh. Look I birthed 5 boys and was the only woman around for the longest time if I know nothing else I know the men in my life. Henry is kind and sweet, goal oriented and a hell of a negotiator but his organization with personal affairs leaves a lot  to be desired. So thank You Y/n for the beautiful flowers.”

You smiled wide at her straight to the point personality and forward tone, it was refreshing when you dealt with people who did their best to hide the truth from you and the world. 

 “Come follow me the men are in the den just through the kitchen, watching a bit of football and I need to put these in some water.”

 Following her, you smile at all the framed pictures lining the walls, ages and years ranging, you even caught a young group picture of all the boys at the beach. It was touching and sweet to see all of your bosses before they were the grown men they were today. She goes to a hidden cabinet and pulls out a beautiful vase, sitting it next to the sink so she could cut the ends of the flowers before putting them in, just as you offer to help, she speaks again.

 You mildly wonder where all of her daughter in laws were, but don’t speak on it. You follow her directions, the voices carrying on, gaining volume as you get closer to the room

“- and you think she is it, that she will just go for that.”

You hear one of the brothers ask and then you hear Henry’s voice.

“By the time I’m done she will do exactly what she should do. Just watch...”

You didn’t want to hear anymore of the misogynistic conversation from Henry, where he talked about manipulating some poor woman, possibly talking her out of her panties, like he had done with you.

You don’t dwell on the mild jealousy. In fact you bury it under cool indifference and forced boredom, you knock on the door as it almost closes and because it was the polite thing to do. The conversation stops and someone stands, the door flings open and you are faced with Henry’s brother Nik.

   “Hello, I am sure I’m the last person you guys want to see, a work employee and even worse she brings work.”

  “But also beauty. Come in  please y/n.”

His brother moves out the way with dramatic flourish causing all the brothers and yourself to laugh.

  “Normally I’d say Hello. Mr. Cavill but you  are ALL Mr. Cavill.”

They chuckle again, you finally set eyes on Henry, who stands up from in front of his computer. You can’t help but feel awkward under his gaze, and you look everywhere but directly at his face. This is the most casual you’ve ever seen him in a pair of jeans and green Royal Marines hoodie, the stubble of a few days. 

  “Nice to see you again Y/N. Thank you for bringing the files.”

You smile at Piers and hand the folders out to Henry.

 “Of course. Had a few things to do anyway today so just somewhere on the stop. Anyway Mr. Cavill I also came for some quick signatures on those files I gave to you last Thursday. If you sign them I can send them off before the deadline tomorrow.”

 “Always one step ahead of me. That’s why I keep you around.”

You ignore his smirk that tells you that your organizational skills haven't been the only reason you were around. Rolling your eyes you hold the papers straight and close the files back up.

 “You gentlemen enjoy the rest of the day, I am sure I’ll see you all again soon.”

You smile at the room and head to the front door, not wanting to be subjected to Henry longer than you needed to be. You thought having a few days would help you get your mind right, but instead it just made things worse in terms of confusion. You walk out the door with your boss hot on your heels, he hadn’t said anything so you didn’t turn around, heading straight for the front door. As you go back through the kitchen you realize that his mother is not alone, surrounded by all of her daughters in law. You stop and smile at everyone in the room.

   “Hello, everyone. One again I run into the issue of how to address everyone because you are all Mrs. Cavill.”

They all laugh at me.

  “No need for such formalities. You look like you are leaving.”

  “Oh I am. I’ve taken up enough of your time. I better get going.”

His mother looks at you confused then at her son.

 “Henry William I raised you with better manners. You had the beautiful young lady drive all the way out here to bring you work and you don’t even offer her a meal.”

You shake your head.

  “Oh no. Mrs. Cavill it’s okay. I should get going...”

  “Nonsense. You will stay and have a wonderful meal with us. No arguments...”

You guessed that whole command of the room thing Henry had was a genetic trait...

You felt at home there with them, but you wouldn’t admit it out loud. You helped finish preparing brunch with laughs and smiles as everyone shared stories and talked about their children. When the topic of swimming comes up, they all change and you begin to make your leave stating that you hadn’t brought a swimsuit, but apparently one of the women had trouble deciding on what she wanted to wear, and brought two new ones, giving you the choice. You pick the lovely coral suit whose color suits your skin. Looking in the mirror in the upstairs bathroom, you felt self conscious. Yes you could fit the suit, but you were not feeling the way you look especially not after scarfing down the waffles like you did during brunch. You could hear the family start to move to the private beach they owned off of the house, the kids going wild as their feet touched the sand. You smile at the innocent sounds as there is a knock on the door. 

 “Just a second.”

 “Y/N it’s me.” You hear Henry call out from the  other side of the door. You panic slightly, it was irrational you know because the man had seen more than that, but you reasoned it was dim lighting, you’d been drinking (not that you had been drunk) and clearly his other choice for the night had fallen through. How he was about to see you in broad daylight, with only a thin cover up for your hips.

 “Hey sorry it’s taking me so long to get changed I’ll be out in just a moment.”

 “Or maybe you should open the door.”

He counters and jiggles the handle. You sigh and head over, unlocking it. Henry comes in and you don’t look at him, focusing on folding your dress and undergarments delicately. You don’t want to see his face as he looks at you. You hear the door shut and lock again and your head pops up. You turn around and face him quickly. He had changed into his swimming trunks which of courses leaves his chest bare. You admire the smattering of hair across his pecks, and his abs and damn it. Just like that you were wet for him again, just like you swore you wouldn’t be since he’d been an ass in his office. You were suddenly glad you were wearing a swimsuit because no one would see you wet for him while being tortured by him with his shirt off.

The look on his face told you that he has a few ways he could Remedy your little problem. 

You look down at the obvious hard-on in his suit and clearly he has issues of his own. 

 “You look plenty ready to me.”

 “I had to get my stuff together, now let’s go back out. I am sure your family is waiting.”

 “They are enjoying their time on the beach. I told them I would make sure you made it out without getting lost, I never said quickly. Now take that off.”

He gestures toward the swimsuit.

 “Henry...”

 “Who?”

 “Mr. Cavill I don’t think...”

He crosses over to you in the large bathroom in three quick strides, and kisses you so deeply your breath is stolen away. His fingers move the swimsuit to the side and you whimper as his fingers slide through your folds.

 “Completely wet. Now take this swimsuit off before you have to explain to my sister in law why her brand new suit ripped right down the middle.”

You don’t wait for instruction, removing the garment that was apparently offending him so much and with nothing else on it leaves you exposed to him. He looks as if he wants to swallow you whole and it makes you shield yourself from his gaze, but he just pushes your hands down and away.

 “You don’t hide yourself from me. Do you understand?”

 “Yes Henry.”

This time when you feel a sharp pain it is against your ass and not as light as before. This time you immediately know what it was for.

 “I mean sir.”

 “I’ve been waiting to get you alone since you got here.”

 “Now that you’ve got me alone what are you going to do with me Sir?”

You ask coyly.

 “Oh If I had the time I would take you apart piece by piece but for now I am going to fuck you in the guest bathroom of my parents house.”

He turns you around and pushes you forward so you are forced to grip the marble counter in front of you. His fingers grip your hips and he kicks your legs further apart. You think he is going to enter you but he drops to his knees, his mouth encompassing your pussy so quickly that the moan tears from your lips loudly. That earns you another slap against the bottom flesh of your cheek where the thighs blend to your ass, the sharpness of it making you jump slightly, but he holds you in place against the counter.

“ Quiet kitten. We don’t want anyone to interrupt do we?” 

His mouth goes back, you can feel your lashes flutter against the top of your cheeks, you can only leave them closed, and get lost in the sensation of his tongue.

 “Noooooo sir.”

Me makes quick work of you, the fingers you had thoroughly enjoyed before had returned and were plunging in and out of you, then they would twist around your clit and his tongue would plunge in your depths and make you bite your lips for silence, grinding against his face and he is relentless, not caring about the burn you were getting from his cheeks. You know you can feel your thighs shaking because he was holding on to one of them. He chuckles and stands just as you feel your walls fluttering around his fingers.

 “It felt like you were about to come without permission.”

 “Whaaa... permission?”

You ask confused as to why he stopped, your brain being so focused on the pleasure, had forgotten your previous time together when he demanded your complete compliance, not to mention the control over when you came. You just knew he was smirking although you couldn’t see his face. 

 “Oh baby girl don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your orgasms belong to me now. You have a habit of closing your eyes.”

Henry’s large hands move up our ass, admiring it, as steps close behind you, manhood pressing against you, letting you know he was more than ready.

 “You are making me think you are thinking of someone else.”

Your eyes quickly and you turn your head to the side that he voice was on. His face close to yours, he starts grinding against you, fingers playing with you again. 

 “No only you sir. It just feels so good.”

You don’t even realize your eyes have closed again until you get a sharp tug on your hair.

 “Eyes open. Keep your eyes on mine.”

Your eyes lock on him in the mirror and he takes advantage of your need to please him by maintaining your eye contact that he pushes into you to your slight surprise and you gasp.

You love how he just stretches you full and so, so deep. Eyes flutter closed again, it earns a pull on your scalp.

 “ Naughty Girl, You don’t like to listen do you.”

His thrusts pick up in speed and you hold on to the double sink for dear life. You were moaning again and you didn’t realize how loud until his hand clasps over your mouth. 

It seems he likes you helplessly moaning for him because he lets go of your hair for a second to pick up your knee, putting it on the counter-top which sends him deeper into your body, you were sure you could feel him in your stomach, your heart racing as you try to keep a grip on reality, but you were basically losing your mind, falling into a pit full of pleasure, and swirling around with the random pulsing of him, the pushing the head of his cock against your cervix.

This was your own little slice of heaven and it was right here in a bathroom in Jersey.  

The second he sees your head dropping and eyes moving away he gives you a particularly hard thrust, and your hair is yanked like reins, pulling your head back up toward the mirror, then he would slow down until you locked eyes with him again. You were so close. You mumble behind his hand.

 “Please. Please let me cum.” 

 “There you go my princess. Trusting me to give your body just what it deserves.”

He finally removes  his hand from your mouth , and by some miracle you remember not to yell, lest everyone figures out exactly what was taking you both so long.

“Pleas...please. I can’t take it.”

“You will take whatever I give to you.”

You can tell he is close and he punctuated his words with a slap across now warm cheeks from being spanked repeatedly. His hands grips you around your throat quicker than you can comprehend what is going on, it tightens, and you are now officially sure this was a kink you didn’t know you had. You can feel tears coming down your face, as you do your best not to succumb to the black dots across your vision,  gradually as pleasure and holding back your orgasm begin to overwhelm you,  two eyes locked in the mirror, which is only ratcheting up the intensity in which you clench around him…

“Fuck me sir harder please!”

You say but begging in a whisper tone just enough for Henry to here,  in response he tilts his body down, warm torso against your back. 

“You beg so pretty, yet we both know you are just a little whore right?”

He whispers in your ear.

“Yes I’m just a whore.”

“Who’s?”

“Yours sir. Pleeeease.” You didn’t have the energy nor care about pride, nor the future occurring shame of having been broken down by his cock. You just wanted to cum very badly. 

“Cum.”

The words snap a cord in you and makes you freeze and he fucks into you, not even having to touch your clit, your orgasm overtaking the function in your body. He fucks you through it, it’s intensity coursing through your veins, and still rushing when Henry begins pulsing inside of you as his orgasm begins.

  “Oh fuck little one I am going to fuck you full.”

He groans against your hair and his warm liquid surges inside of you, your body tingling with the feeling. You do you best to ignore how good it feels to be full of Henry and you don’t want to even begin processing what that means for you. You both are breathing heavy and he pulls from you and it takes a few before you can manage to put your knee down. You can feel his essence begin to drip down your leg. While you look around for a towel or something to take care of the mess you were about to leave on the floor and Henry pulls his trunks back up his tone legs and thighs,, and you scurry over to clean yourself up.

 “I’ll see you downstairs. You’ve got ten minutes to pull yourself together.”

His tone was back to being devoid of any real emotion with you and you cursed yourself for letting this happen again...

-----------------

The Cavill’s were a lot more down to earth than everyone...including you had thought they would be. The world had been guilty of putting them on a pedestal, but they were actually really relating and despite you thinking Henry was an ass on the best of his days,  you actually bonded with everyone, his nephews and nieces loved you, especially because you were willing to play the games none of the adults were willing to play  with all of them. After showing your face at the beach, you say your goodbyes to his family, you head back to your car, you hadn’t realized Henry followed you until you hear his deep baritone call out to you.

  “Y/n wait up. I need to speak with you for a moment.”

Holding back the eye roll threatening to break loose at any moment, only just resolving yourself before you turn around, arms folded, making sure you were far enough away so he couldn’t  touch you.

  “Yes. Mr. Cavill is there something else you require, because if not I am going to head back to my flat.”

 “You seem upset, did I hurt you earlier?”

He had but not in the way you were ready to admit. He hurt you with the cold actions following such passion, now here he was confusing you with his intentions with that question. You weren’t ready to have that conversation. The one where he told you this was all for fun, nothing for you to get serious about.

  “Were expecting a full dialogue from me?”

 “Maybe a little more than the ice queen routine you’ve given off since the bathroom. I thought you enjoyed yourself.”

You scoff and choose not to address exactly how much you had enjoyed yourself because you were still nursing a mild tremble and tender apex between your legs. He didn’t need to know the effect on you. 

 “Ice Queen? Hmmm… I don’t know,  how about I speak to you like an employee and employer because that is the ONLY relationship we have. Unless you want to change that too...”

“No I am not going to fire you. I’ve enjoyed HAVING you in my office.”

His meaning laced within his words and this time you roll your eyes and open your car door, not caring if it hits him on any of his delicate places. He moves back just in time to avoid the door hitting him in his knee.

 “See you tomorrow then.”

You slam the car door and find yourself driving away leaving the handsome nightmare of a boss standing in his parents driveway, with his hand tucked into the unipocket of his sweatshirt and smirking at you as if he knew something you didn’t...

---------------

Your apartment was a decently sized place in a decent neighborhood. Mostly everyone stayed to themselves and it was quiet at night. That was more than enough. You lived on the ground floor near the back of the complex, so it was discerning to come home and find your apartment door ajar. You place your keys in between your fingers for a makeshift defense as your parents had taught you so long ago to do. You hoped that you had just forgotten to pull and lock the door and were dashed when you pushed open the door and found the entire thing trashed...

 “Great...just fucking great.”

 This was the last thing you needed...

A/n: Confession time: This so far as been the kinkest thing I have written thus far, definitely been the one I have spent the most time trying to be detailed on (this is coming from someone who has sprinkled smut throughout almost all of her stories lol). So if it does not meet your smut standards be gentle with me! If it does... great! Let me know because I thrive off of comments and likes. 

Henry Cavill Taglist: (Your tag is striked through, it means tumblr is being a hoe and won’t let me tag you. I’ll try to message/ add in note section anyone personally that this happens to.) BTW THIS LIST IS STILL OPEN!

Also if you want a list for just this series let me know!

@msblkfire84  @magdelen69​ @peeyewpeeyew @agniavateira​ @fcgrizi​

@diehadess​ @mary-ann84​ @snowbellexx​ 

As always thank you for reading!

[knotfodder]

-

[jerrylewis-thekid]

FBI, THERE'S A CAROGNE NAME EDGAR HOOVER

More or less we all knew that J. Edgar Hoover, the mythical director of the equally legendary FBI, was a heated reactionary, an eccentric man, a type not exactly favorable to blacks, homosexuals, Jews and women. Now, without fear of denial, we can say that J. Edgar Hoover was much more, and worse: a paranoid fascist, a blackmailer of presidents in turn blackmailed by the mafia. Anthony Summer, a brilliant "investigative journalist", already the author of investigations of great commitment such as those on the Kennedy murder or on the life (and death) of Marilyn Monroe, tells us his story. He tells us about it in a book (J. Edgar Hoover, pp. 528, 35,000 lire - Bompiani) which for the abundance of documentation and anecdotes, for the speed of narration and writing, I could define pleasant reading, were it not for the subject becomes repugnant from time to time. I admit, at the cost of sounding a bit provincial, that I didn't expect so much. I did not expect that the greatest democracy in the world would have been able to tolerate for half a century, at the head of a delicate and powerful body like the FBI, an authentic "son of a bitch", a "bastard fagot" (the definitions are president LB Johnson), a psychotic like J. Edgar Hoover. We too have and have had our "bastards" in this field, but I recognize that in the face of the magnitude of the violations committed by Hoover, the Sifar files disappeared, the specious "omissions" on state documents, the diversions of the Sid, the Piano Solo, Pazienza and De Lorenzo, become jokes. In his own way, Hoover embodied one of the souls of America, more precisely the soul prevalent in some rural and Midwestern areas. So while his tenure at the head of the FBI offended the enlightened spirit of the American constitution, on the other a man like him embodied, like it or not, the deep feelings of a large section of the people of the United States. When J. Edgar Hoover died (May 2, 1972) at the age of 77, he was still in service. He had become director of the FBI almost half a century earlier, in 1924. He had run that institute in the days of Dillinger, Capone and the gangsters of the thirties, was there during the Second World War and then again in the era of McCarthy and the war cold. He had spied on the clandestine loves between Eleanor Roosevelt and her young lover (she 58, he 33), and the brazen loves of the Kennedy brothers, he had woven relationships with the most powerful Mafia bosses, hindered the advancement of blacks and the birth of the commission of inquiry against crime chaired by Senator Kefauver. For those very long decades the guiding ideas of his action had been two: the FBI and America. Not all of America, of course. "His" America, the only one that, in his eyes, was worth defending, at the cost of violating the constitution, if necessary by placing a microphone under the president's desk, or in one of his bedrooms. His persistence in persecuting those he considered the enemies of "his" America bordered on ferocity. Charlie Chaplin, for example. A friend of the Jew Einstein, Chaplin was the embodiment of everything that triggered Hoover's fear and wrath. The FBI had judged Chaplin "dangerous" and his films "communist" even before Hoover took over as director. But it is curious to learn that many years after Chaplin was established in Switzerland, Hoover continued to keep his name in the "Security index", or the list of those who needed to be arrested in the event of a national emergency. How to say the "capturandi" of the Solo piano - in the Magnum version. Another of his victims was black activist Angela Davis. The officers watching her risked being fired because they failed to photograph her having sex with her lover. A fury surpassed only by what Hoover felt when Martin Luther King jr was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Hoover didn't know half measures. In Miami Beach, where he went to spend Christmas, he always went down (as long as there were) to hotels that displayed the "No jews, no dogs allowed" sign - no Jews, no dogs. When he became director in 1924, the FBI

had only three female agents. Two were fired immediately. The third ended up in a psychiatric hospital. He spent his days repeating that as soon as he was outside he would kill "that dog Hoover". His entry into the Bureau marked a turning point. Up until that point, the FBI had been a rather corrupt and ramshackle federal agency. In the headquarters there was a room, called the "cage of the vultures", where the agents without assignment spent their days drinking whiskey and telling each other obscene stories. Hoover fired most of them and had the room sealed. Summer writes: "From the beginning of his tenure to the present day, no one has heard of corruption among FBI agents". Hoover desperately fought the Communists and homosexuals by being himself, not a Communist, but a homosexual. That with Clyde Tolson was a very close relationship that lasted for a few decades, and to the end. But Hoover's homosexuality also had dangerous aspects and Summer actually traces back to this the weakness of his action against the mafia: "Starting in the 1930s, the FBI's war against the mafia became a mere formality". Various explanations of the phenomenon have been given over the years. Summer's idea is that Hoover was being blackmailed. He frequented the restaurants of the mafia in New York and Florida, he often played horse racing and indeed "The races put him", he writes, "in a state of overexcitement. One afternoon, after a lucky bet, he got into the car by mistake. someone else and used it to get back to Washington. " Gangster Sam Giancana's brother Chuck said that Hoover was no different from all the other politicians and cops, only more bastard: "Hoover didn't want a bribe a month, so we never gave him cash, but something better: straight on rigged races. If he wanted, he could bet ten thousand dollars on a horse being given twenty to one ... and he did. " But with this we are not yet at the heart of the blackmail. There is more. The man who really blackmailed Hoover, who "had him by the balls", to put it in the crude language of the gangsters, was the Jewish mafia boss Meyer Lansky. Lansky was a genius and in a safe he had pictures of Hoover in compromising poses with Clyde Tolson: "That was the reason, they said, they had nothing to fear, and for a while, from the FBI." Some of the most exciting chapters of the book concern the clashes between Hoover and the Kennedy brothers: John the president and Bob the minister of justice. They are also the chapters in which the mafia and the tragic and seductive figure of Marilyn Monroe appear, mixed together, that the two brothers took to bed and that Hoover had photographed and recorded. The war had begun at the time of the Democratic "convention" where Hoover, against Kennedy, wanted to nominate Johnson. When it was seen that Kennedy would prevail, they pressed why he accepted Johnson as vice president: "John Kennedy made that nomination, under the threat of disastrous sexual revelations that would destroy his image ... the blackmailers, according to this version, they were the same Johnson and Edgar. " It is difficult to summarize these chapters, you have to read them to decide which side looks worst. Source: La Repubblica @zivasanxiety

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 16

AO3 Link

Thanks to @meetmeinthematinee for editing and reassuring me on this chapter <3

Mornings for John have become excruciatingly difficult. Driving away from Helen had always been hard. Leaving her office, then later her home always felt impossible. Each step away was like torture but nothing compared to the pain of leaving her at the cottage.

The drive to New Jersey isn’t much further than New York but every mile stretches on. What once wouldn’t have phased him now tears at his soul.

The only comfort he has is every hour he drives is an hour closer to the time he can turn his car around.

It’s a little after noon when he finally reaches the motel by the airport. He pulls into the lot, driving by the strip of rooms, looking for something to indicate which is Sofia’s.

He finds a window with a playing card in the window. The ace of hearts. She had used a sharpie to etch on the letter ‘V’.

His v-card. Hilarious.

John parks the car outside the window with a sigh, shaking his head as he does. He walks over and knocks on the door. It doesn’t take long for Sofia to answer.

Her hair is piled into a ponytail. She’s dressed inconspicuously. Blue jeans and a hoodie as she hides away in a sleazy motel.

“Hey, Sof.”

“Owe me big, John. This bitch is a talker.” She replies shaking her head, the start of a smile on her lips. She opens the door wider, allowing John to slip in. The motel room itself is shit but he knows that Sofia has slept in far worse conditions.

The room is adjoining, and an open door leads to a second room. John walks over, looking in. Isabella DeLuca’s are bound behind her, a rope leading from her hands to the headboard. Her head lolls in a way that tells John she is asleep rather than resting.

“She wouldn’t shut up, so I sedated her. Hope that’s okay.”

“Considering how many times Helen was sedated by her son, I have no qualms.”

That causes Sofia’s head to swing in his direction and it occurs to John that he never really went into detail with his friend.

“I’m sorry, what?”

John dips his head, “It’s a long story.”

“We got time.” She says without room for argument. Sofia shakes her head as she turns back to her room. She walks over to the small, two-person table and sits. “What the fuck, John?”

Having already sat for the past four hours, he remains standing, leaning against the wall as he does. “I should probably preface this with the fact Helen and I aren’t actually together.”

Sofia makes a face, “You’re kidding.”

John shakes his head.

She makes a large show of sighing, rising to her feet. Sofia walks over to the window and reaches just past the blinds, pulling out the card she had left in the window.

“Guess you can keep this.”

She throws it at him and John catches it with ease, placing it face down on the table as Sofia settles back into her seat.

“You’re hilarious.”

“You’re hilariously disappointing.” She shoots back, “Here I thought I was helping you save the love of your life.”

“I never said she wasn’t that.”

Sofia narrows her eyes, “So you love her. But you’re not together.”

“That sums it up.”

She rolls her eyes, “So what are you? Friends? Neighbors? Confidants?” And like Winston, he can see the moment it clicks in her head, “Oh, fuck. She’s not your therapist.”

John changes his mind about standing in that moment, pulling out the chair and sinking in. “We met in a café about seven months ago. Gave me her card, introduced herself.”

“And you thought she was pretty. So instead of asking her out like most people would have done, you booked an appointment.” She shakes her head, “Jesus fucking Christ, John.”

“She was normal. And kind and pretty. And I knew she didn’t belong in our world.” John leans forward, desperately trying to explain where his thoughts had been all those months ago. “I didn’t mean for it to turn into what it did. I just wanted to talk to her one more time, get her out of my head. But, instead, it became addicting. Being around her.

“After two months, we were starting to run out of things to talk about. And I was more afraid of losing her than I was the consequences when I told her about the Underworld.”

Sofia puts her face in her hand, “You didn’t.”

“I did. In hindsight, I think I was looking for her to reject me. To force me to move on when I wasn’t strong enough to walk away on my own. But she didn’t reject me. She wasn’t afraid or disbelieving. And it was around there that I went from being obsessed and infatuated to madly in love with her. It was also around there when I got a little out of control.”

She looks up at him doubtfully, like she can’t believe it’s going to get worse.

“I started following her.”

“John!”

“I’m not proud of it. And God knows I’ve done worse things in my life.” He shrugs, “I—again, it started small. I told myself it was just curiosity that made me follow her home the first time. And then it became every Friday. Then every weekend. Then every day. But nothing stays a secret forever.”

“DeLuca.”

John nods, “Last Friday, Hels was taken from her bed in the middle of the night. I got a call not long after saying I would get Helen back, alive and unharmed, if I killed Lorenzo, Gianna, and Santino D’Antonio. At the time, I didn’t know it was DeLuca. I didn’t have a name, an organization. Just an order and a blind promise.”

“It was two days of hell, trying to find anything on who had her. Where she was. But Hels is nothing if not resourceful. She managed to manipulate one of the guards into sending me a text, letting me know who had her. Sunday night, I was able to get her out. Took her home.”

“And Monday the contract went wide.”

John nods, “One-part revenge, one-part manipulation. Mateo still wants the D’Antonio’s dead. Did you get the file that was scanned to you? On Isabella?”

Sofia nods back, “Yeah, got it before I even landed in Rome. Isabella’s mother was a D’Antonio.”

“It’s a whole lot of political bullshit that I don’t care about.” John admits, “The running theory is that Isabella thinks she can simultaneously get revenge on her family and strengthen the Syndicate by eliminating Lorenzo and his heirs.”

“But if you eliminate Lorenzo, the High Table and the Camorra come for you.” Sofia finishes, “That said,” she looks up at John, curiously, “I heard a rumor Santino D’Antonio is dead.”

“Good.”

“Did you kill him?” John pulls out his phone and finds the pictures. He hands it to Sofia. Her eyes widen as she looks back to him, “The Camorra is going to destroy you!”

“It’s staged.”

Sofia looks back at the picture, eyes narrowing. “It is?”

“Lorenzo and Gianna have agreed to do the same. Hopefully, it will be enough to convince Mateo. If not…” He gestures with his head towards the other room.

 Isabella was the contingency plan. Unfortunately, she was the contingency plan for every possible thing that could go wrong.

“How’d you get Lorenzo to agree?”

“I agreed to testify in front of the High Table that Mateo was trying to commit treason. Reverse of DeLuca’s plan. Instead of the Camorra falling and the Syndicate reaping the benefits, Syndicate will fall. The Camorra will be strengthened. And the contract on Helen will be lifted.”

Sofia nods along, handing John back his phone.

“Not bad. I can’t believe you thought of it.”

“I didn’t.” John says with a shrug, “I was more than willing to just kill them and suffer the consequences.”

“There’s the idiotic bastard I know.”

“Helen wouldn’t entertain it as an option. She came up with faking their deaths. And the plan with Isabella.”

Sofia inclines her head, “Seriously?”

His lips twitch just thinking about his love, “Hels is incredibly good at what she does. She pieced together that DeLuca wasn’t working alone long before I did. Kept telling me that he was too self-absorbed to come up with that kind of detailed plan. Kept pushing me to look at his mom.”

The other assassin leans forward, eyeing John with blatant curiosity. Like she can’t quite decide what she thinks about it all. After a minute of not being able to find whatever it is that she’s looking for, she says aloud, “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“She’s smart. Pretty. Clearly cares about you if she’s willing to put up with you and figure out how to save you. You admit you’re in love with her.“

John looks away, “So?”

“So why aren’t you fucking?”

He shakes his head, still looking at the ground, “You’re worse than Marcus.”

“I’m serious. You’ve kept her around, despite the obvious dangers of our world. But you’re still keeping her at arm’s length. Why?”

John exhales a long breath. If she had only asked him that question a week ago, he would have been able to respond without hesitation.

It was safer for both of them to avoid intimacies. Of course, he can’t say he wasn’t attached to her already. The stalking negated that in itself.

But sex complicated things. It always complicated things.

Then there was the matter that she was, technically, still his therapist. And though Helen was right, they did have god-awful boundaries, enough had changed over the course of the week that he couldn’t use that as an excuse.

And, if he was already being honest with himself, he didn’t think Helen felt that way about him. She was always so professional, even when she teased him. It never occurred to him that she might have feelings for him too.

By the time he found out, they were already in over their heads with DeLuca.

And, truth be told, it didn’t matter that she held some kind of affection for him, too. She was still too good for him. And despite what she said and thought, he would always believe that.

“I thought I could keep her away from our world. That if I didn’t cross that line, no one would come for her.”

Sofia nods, genuinely looking sympathetic to his plight. “Relationships and the Underworld don’t mix. You can’t go to bed with someone when you’re both clutching a knife under your pillow, but you can’t date outsiders. You can’t walk in two worlds.” She inclines her head, “But her contract went viral. And now, for better or for worse, she’s in our world.”

John shakes his head. “No. No, Helen can’t stay in the Underworld.”

“People aren’t just going to forget, John.”

“She has a life. Family, friends. A career that she’s worked hard for. I can’t take that away from her.”

“I know it won’t be easy, but she’s already in. There’s no turning back from that.”

He blinks and licks his lips, considering a thought he had never allowed himself to fully entertain. “What if there was?”

“There isn’t.”

“Helen’s only tie to the Underworld is me.” John says aloud, “But what if I wasn’t tied here.”

Sofia’s eyes narrow, “You mean leaving?”

It was unheard of, he knew. A near impossible task, especially for someone like him. Someone who had so many ties to the Underworld and virtually none in the real world.

He nods, more to himself than to her.

“Could you really give this all up?”

“For her?” John asks, nodding, “Yes.”

Sofia shakes her head, pushing, “Don’t just say that, John. Really think about it. If you cut ties from the Underworld, you’ll be isolated in a way you never have experienced. You won’t be able to come and go from the Continental. The High Table won’t protect you from legal trouble or the police. Friendships will be compromised because you can’t just walk between the two worlds. All those markers you’ve spent years collecting will be worthless.”

“You’d have to blend into the real world. And the rules are different there. No more fights, no more killing. You’d have to follow the social rules that exist for outsiders. And it’s a whole lot of bullshit. If someone disrespects you, you can’t just snap their neck. You have to take it.”

“And you’ll be utterly alone. You may love Helen and she may love you, too, but she won’t understand. She won’t get that the rules you two live by are different. She won’t understand the extent of everything you stand to lose—wealth, status, privilege. Because you’ll be nobody.”

“And, John, you hate to depend on anybody for anything. But you’ll need to depend on her to navigate the real world. You’ll need to trust her implicitly. Have to learn to let her take the lead. You, who have spent your entire life alone, will have to figure out how to let somebody in completely.”

“Now, tell me, do you really think that you can do that? That you can give up your entire life and livelihood for this woman?”

For her to be happy? To have her life back?

“Yes.”

 Sofia watches him, but he holds her gaze. He knows it wouldn’t be easy, but he also knows that he could do it. Without regret or hesitation.

After a minute, she softly asks, “Then what’s stopping you?”

“She deserves so much better and—”

“That might be the most misogynistic thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Sofia interrupts.

“What?”

“Your Helen, she’s smart, right?”

He nods, “Ridiculously.”

“Uh huh. And she’s emotionally stable?”

“She shouldn’t be, all things considered, but she is.”

“Then why are you doubting her ability to make her own damn decision about what she wants and what she deserves?”

The breath he has just taken now feels trapped in his chest. John is frozen in place as he realizes that is exactly what he had been doing. Not purposefully, but true all the same. Making decisions, calling the shots.

But that wasn’t his job.

Fuck.

“I have to go.”

…………………………………………………………………………

The drive is a blur and it’s a miracle he doesn’t get pulled over. He doesn’t touch the brake pedal until the moment he’s turning into the driveway of the safehouse.

Half his day has been lost in a car and he can’t bring himself to care as he throws the car into park. He slams the door behind him, hurrying up the stairs and into the house. Marcus looks up as John reaches the living room, eyeing him over a furrowed brow.

John ignores him, focusing instead on the sound of someone moving about in the kitchen.

Helen looks up as he rounds the corner and her mouth curves into a smile at the sight of him, “You’re back earl—mm!”

John places a hand on either side of her head, drawing her in for a kiss.

There’s a moment where she freezes, almost stunned, before Helen seems to realize what is happening. And then her arms wrap around him, reaching up over his shoulders as her lips part. She kisses back with fervor.

Her lips are softer than he imagined and, oh, he had imagined them a thousand a day for months.

He kisses her again, unable to stop himself now that he has begun. She tastes sweet and perfect and he can’t quite figure out how he’s made it this far without ever having done this.

Helen’s tongue brushes across his lip and he meets it, licking and sucking at her like a dying man.

And, fuck, he hopes he dies like this. Asphyxiated, drowning in her kiss.

Let this be how he dies.

He’s never wanted anything so badly in his life. Just release with her taste in his mouth, her body pressed to his. Oh, how he loves her.

Her hand winds its way into his hair, holding him to her. Unyielding. He growls in response, his own hands trailing down her body. Down her torso, his fingers digging into her flesh as he tries to learn and memorize the way her body feels under his hands.

“Fucking finally!” He idly hears Marcus exclaim but he literally doesn’t give a single shit.

His hands reach Helen’s waist as her teeth gently graze at his lower lip before sucking it into her mouth again.

John grips her hard, lifting her from the ground, pulling her body impossibly closer to him.

And his beautiful girl responds by tightening her arms around him, wrapping those perfect legs around him.

Good, he thinks, because they aren’t doing this here. Both for their sakes and for Marcus.

She doesn’t stop kissing him as he turns around to head back to their bedroom. Her wet mouth trails over his beard. Her lips press kisses across his face, his neck as he rushes down the hall before slamming the door behind him.

Helen unwraps her legs as the door closes and John, reluctantly, gets the hint and lowers her back to the floor.

Even as she stands, however, she doesn’t stop. Instead, she kisses him with renewed vigor. Her grip in his hair remains the same, pulling him down to her height.

He wants to get lost in her kiss.

Her warmth, her softness, her taste…

He needs to commit it to memory so he can never forget how she feels. To know what it’s like to kiss someone you love.

And no, this isn’t his first time doing this, but it’s like a puzzle is clicking into place. A realization, a moment of oh, this is what it’s supposed to be like when he kisses the woman he loves.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He wants to say them but his lips are otherwise preoccupied. Helen controls the kiss now, as his hands rest, one on her waist, the other wrapped around her.

Her tongue circles his and John barely finds the strength to maintain his balance. They each vie for a better angle, deepening the kiss and he wonders, to himself, if she’s as weak in the knees as he is at the contact.

He wants to swallow her; to consume her.

To be swallowed and consumed by her.

Is that possible?

And he’s not making assumptions. He doesn’t want to presume that this is going in any specific direction but his heart just about leaps out of his chest when she breaks the kiss. She steps back half a step, placing enough room between them where she can reach down. He watches her tug her t-shirt over her head. She discards it without a care.

He barely has a moment to soak in the sight of her, the dark blue of her bra standing out against her creamy skin, before her arms are back around him. Encasing him.

Helen steps backwards and John finds himself kicking off his shoes as she leads him back towards the bed.

She releases his hair only for her hands to drop to his chest. Releasing the buttons on his vest, and his jacket. John’s hand goes for his belt, undoing the clasp to allow him to pull out the ends of his shirt. She pushes the shirt off of his shoulders, taking the vest with it, as she turns so that John is the one walking backwards.

His legs meet the edge of the bed and she gives him a guiding push. He lets himself sit on the edge of the bed as she has wordlessly directed.

He can barely process a thought before she has climbed onto his lap, a leg on either side of him. Helen catches his face in her hands and kisses him again.

John never wants this to end, he thinks, as she rises up on her knees so that she is a head above him.

How can she be so gentle while she is being so passionate?

She breaks the kiss, only for the sake of oxygen. Helen gasps for breath as she rests her forehead on his, her eyes flickering open to look down at him.

Dark, like a Belarusian forest, her eyes gaze at him with a mix of adoration and curiosity. But she doesn’t ask, instead, drawing her head up so she can kiss his forehead.

Affection blooms in him anew and he knows, he knows that he doesn’t deserve this.

But Hels didn’t believe in deserving or not deserving. And Sofia had been right when she had reminded him that this choice didn’t rest on him. It was Helen’s to make.

She kisses his nose and his heart skips a beat.

I love you.

The words that had been trapped in his head, his heart for months on end. Rattling around, growing louder and louder every time he looked at her or heard her voice. Every time she entered his thoughts, which was all the time.

“I love you.”

Her hand slips down to his chin, tipping his head up so that he meets her eyes. “I love you, too.”

Her lips descend on his again before he can even process her response. She deepens the kiss, wrapping her arms around him to pull herself closer to his body.

And then, it clicks. Her words settle into his head.

John moves quickly, faster than she’s ever seen him. An arm comes around her and Helen is flipped from his lap onto her back. She gasps in surprise as John suddenly appears above her, straddling her.

He kisses her back, hard. His teeth graze at her lip before he demands, “Say it again.”

Helen’s breath hitches, her hand coming around to run over his chest, stopping at his heart.

“I love you.” She tells him, holding his eyes. Leaving no room for fear or doubt or disbelief.

His heart clenches.

No one, save her, had ever uttered those words towards him before. Not once in his life had that kind of affection ever been directed his way. Not in any language, by any person.

“I love you.” She repeats, bowing her head slightly to maintain eye contact as he starts to get lost in his thoughts. Helen pulls him back, like she always does. His life, his love, his anchor.

John kisses her again, keeping one arm wrapped around her. Her skin is warm and soft and he wants to touch and kiss every inch of it.

Helen presses a soft peck to his lips before her head veers to the side. She kisses his neck, licking at the exposed flesh. Sucking it between her lips and John feels his length aching and straining against his pants. He shifts to alleviate the growing tension. It only serves to remind him that he is atop her.

He moves his hands, trailing her torso. Feeling her curves under his palm. Her skin is soft and smooth, unmarred with battle wounds. Attesting to her innocence.

Her teeth graze at his neck and his fingers dig into her flesh. He can’t help but hold on to her at the sensation.

“Fuck!” He swears and he can feel Helen’s mouth form into a smile. She kisses the spot she had just grazed before kissing his mouth again.

She arches her back and moves her hands from his body, reaching under herself to the clasp at her bra. With nimble, practiced fingers, she undoes the latch. John pushes up to give her the room to discard the garment. Helen crawls backwards up the bed and he follows her, entranced by the sight of her breasts.

He feels powerless to stop himself, surging forward and kissing the swell of her chest. He licks at her flesh, dragging his open mouth across the soft mounds until he reaches her hard nipple. He swirls his tongue around the bud, reveling in the way she takes a sharp breath at the contact. She arches her back, pressing her breast further into his mouth.

He sucks greedily at her, his hand coming up to caress her untouched breast. His fingers do the best they can to mirror his mouth, squeezing her flesh and pinch at her nipple.

“John!” She gasps his name and it encourages him all the more. He nips at her tit, grazing his teeth along before he switches attentions.

He kisses her other breast as he switches hands, groping at her. He feels his own spit in his hand as he rubs her tender flesh.

She moans, her head falling back into the mattress. Her hips grind into his and it’s all he can do to not let his eyes roll back into his head.

Even still clothed, he’s harder than he’s ever been.

Helen reaches between them, her hand slipping into his pants, under the band of his boxers. He hisses as her hand brushes against his cock.

One hand weaves its way into his hair, pulling him up from her breast so she can kiss him again.

Is she as addicted as he is? He wonders, while her other hand wraps around his length.

Her hands are impossibly soft as she runs her hand up his cock and gently back down. He feels himself twitch in her grasp and he deepens the kiss. His tongue swirls around hers before he sucks the muscle into his mouth.

He loves her clever tongue. The gentleness that rolls off it in quiet, tender moments or the lashing of the storm in the moments she takes no shit. It tastes as sweet as her.

Helen’s thumb circles the head of his cock and he thrusts into her hand.

Is this real? He thinks. Is this actually happening? Or has he finally lost it?

He’d spent so long imagining what her touch would feel like, what her kiss would taste like that it couldn’t possibly live up to the expectations in his mind. But, fuck, she was better.

She pumps him in her hand and John shoots out his own to catch her wrist, to stop her, before it’s over before it begins. Helen whines softly at being stopped but releases him, only to reach for the edge of his pants to push them down.

He obliges, discarding them with the rest before hooking his fingers at the top of her leggings and dragging them down her body, along with her panties. He crawls down her body, kissing her chest, her stomach with every inch.

He can fucking smell her arousal. She kicks them off at the ankles and John parts her thighs, getting lost in the sight that befalls him.

And, again, he has dreamed of this. Of burying his face between her thighs and driving her wild with his tongue until she is an aching, quivering mess. A myriad of fantasies slip into his head where he has done just that.

He glances up at her, watching the harsh rise and fall of her chest as she tries to regain her breath. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she watches him.

His lips quirk into a small smile, holding her gaze as he bows his head. John’s tongue slips between her slick folds, tasting her essence. He growls at the tangy flavor, dragging his tongue up to her clit.

Her hips jolt and John smiles against her. He kisses the soft bundle of nerves before licking her again. And again.

John’s mouth dips to her opening, pressing his tongue inside as her wetness floods his tongue and coats his beard. Just like her very presence, he thinks of how easily it will be to become addicted to this. Her taste and smell. The way she grinds her pussy against him to alleviate the tension he knows must be growing within her.

And John has changed his mind. This is how he wants to die. Drowning in her pussy as she convulses around him desperately.

Her thighs hold him in place and he would be more than happy to remain here until he either asphyxiates or drowns in her.

He moves his tongue and Helen keens, her high-pitched moan egging him on. He swallows her down and nips at her lower lips before turning his attentions back to her throbbing clit.

He takes the bud within his mouth, teasing it with his tongue as a stream of swears and pleas escape Helen’s lips.

“Fuck, John! Fuck! Please… right there. Fuck!”

He rolls his tongue over the bundle and her please turn into a shriek. He doesn’t ease up.

Instead, he continues his ministrations, bringing a hand to her opening. He teases her with a finger. He coats it in her slick before sliding the digit inside her. She clamps down around him and John rewards her by sucking her clit.

She cries out again and John slips a second finger into her.

Helen’s leg comes up and around his shoulder. She uses the position to bring her pussy impossibly closer to his face.

John breaks away long enough to nip at the soft, sensitive flesh of her thigh as his fingers stretch her, preparing her. He turns his hand and curls his fingers up and Helen almost seems to levitate with the way she arches up into him.

Her words have lost meaning, slipping into a cacophony of non-sensical begging for his cock. His name on her lips drives him crazy.

He’s torn between tormenting her like this, riding his fingers while she grinds against his tongue, and giving her what she begs for.

John decides on mercy, if only for the sake they had both waited long enough.

He removes his fingers from her and sucks them into his own mouth, tasting her again. Addicted to the taste. Crawling back up her body, he rests himself between her thighs and he kisses her.

Her breath comes out in a stutter as he thrusts his tongue deep into her mouth. He forces her to taste herself on his tongue as he wraps his hand around the back of her head, his fingers becoming lost in her hair.

“Next time,” he promises as he breaks the kiss, holding her back from following him with his grip in her hair, “Next time, I’m going to fuck you on my tongue until your throat is too hoarse to scream.”

She tries to lift her head to kiss him, only for him to yank at her hair.

“John, please!” she rolls her wet core against him.

“Please what?” He kisses her jaw.

“Fuck me!”

His lips twitch as he presses his lips to hers, slanting his mouth to deepen the kiss as he reaches between them. John takes his cock in hand, leading it to her soaking pussy.

She brings her hips to meet him as he kisses her hard enough to bruise both their lips, and John slips inside of her.

Helen whimpers at the contact, again, wrapping her leg around him to take him deeper.

John chokes on his breath. He’d waited so long for this, for her. And now she’s here. In his bed, naked, beneath him. He’s buried inside her and he wants to savor it but he wants her to come undone around him even more.

He rolls his hips and Helen’s grip on him tightens all the more. He reaches down to her leg still stretched out and brings it up. Eagerly, she wraps it around his hips, like the other one. Clinging to him.

She was already close before they began and, already, she found herself on edge again.

He hopes she knows that he’s not letting her go after this. He can’t live without this now that he knows what it feels to be inside her.

His movements, which had started gently, slowly, pick up a pace. Become more frenzied.

Nails rake down his back.

He responds with a bite to her lip, grazing his teeth along. As they part, Helen curls her head into his shoulder. Her breaths come in quick, sharp increments.

Her mouth opens on his shoulder and she bites down, making John groan. His already frenzied thrusts start to lose control as he can feel pleasure building inside of him.

Helen screams, muffled by his shoulder, as she breaks apart. Her nails dig into his back as she thrashes into the mattress, but John doesn’t stop.

He reaches between them, pressing his thumb on her clit as he continues to thrust. The action prolongs her orgasm and he feels her pussy convulsing around him.

John feels dizzy, intoxicated as his own pleasure reaches a new height before he, too, comes undone. With a cry, he feels himself release, spilling inside of her as his hips start to slow, still rocking against hers.

He gasps for breath as her pussy milks him. He turns to kiss the top of her head, her face still buried in the crook of his neck. Her breaths are still uneven.

John swallows as he wraps his arms under her, holding her to him as he rolls to his side, taking her with him.

Helen curls into him, holding him just the same. He strokes her hair, still caught up in the stunned disbelief of what had just happened between them.

It occurs to John that he has lived his entire life with one foot in the grave. Ready for death, even if not expecting it. But as she holds him, clings to him, it breaks over him at once that he is not ready to leave the world behind.  

Salvation found in her kiss; heaven is where he is still buried deep within her.

Can he stay here forever?

He feels her lips shift into a smile against his neck and he kisses her head again.

Hels looks up, her eyes twinkling playfully. She reaches a hand to his forehead, brushing back sweat-soaked hair so she can see his face.

“What took you so long?”

[astyle-alex]

[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

I’m posting an older fanfic to kick off my attempt to be more involved with the Tumblr Fandom community!

Museum Mishap  |  Chapter 6/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

||  Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon  ||

Museum Mishap Chapter 6: Safe

           It’s five weeks after Jason disobeyed Batman’s orders to drop the idea of investigating the rumor that a random rich kid knew the vigilantes’ secret identities.

           Five weeks since Jason let himself be kidnapped by the upstart drug lord Lorenzo Sabini in an attempt to protect the kid who was Sabini’s real target – the kid rumored to know impossible things about Batman and Robin.

           Five weeks since Jason’s leg was broken – in the line of a duty he never should’ve been asked to shoulder, never should’ve been allowed to feel bound to carry – and Bruce Wayne rediscovered the impossible duality of being responsible for the life of a child that he’d somehow managed to forget. That had faded from his mind when Dick had grown up enough to go off on his own – without his Guardian having any legal say in stopping him.

           Batman has been able to bury the raging concern, the guilt he bears for introducing Jason to such a dangerous lifestyle – for not doing more to discourage his interest. Batman is able to silence the voice that says Jason acted honorably, if stupidly, by insisting that Robin needs to do better, to be better, so that he can keep the boy inside the costume safer.

           But Bruce is having trouble letting Jason heal.

           ‘Suffocating’ Jason calls his attentions, merely ‘stupid codling he doesn’t need’.

           Jason submitted to three weeks of strictly bedrest – a godsend if Bruce could ever believe in such things. He’d offered only mild resistance to being benched for six weeks – to rigorous and thorough PT, and light, careful exercise and a slow return to the training regimen that kept shaping Robin’s growing body into something more heroic than the average simple human.

           But there was no point in even trying to bring up the idea of retiring Jason’s pixie boots for good – of trying to convince him to stand down from the Vigilante fight.

           Bruce knows that, but he still tries it – once, in a terse conversation that gets shut down before he even makes it to the first point of reasoning – and then he swallows the rest of the worry and buries it in silence alongside his fury at Jason’s constant reckless disregard for his own safety. Bruce knows he can’t stop Jason, can’t force him out of the cape, so Batman vows to train him harder, push him further, make him stronger, make him faster, more durable, more prepared – keep him safer.

           It’s a compromise.

           And it has to be enough.

           Because Jason is already back on his feet.

           He broke his own way out of the cast almost a week ago – refused to apologize or sit for another casting – and though Alfred’s managed to somehow force him into a sturdy brace, guilted him into maintaining his use of the crutches… Jason’s been back inside the Cave twice already while Batman has been out – at least twice.

           The Cave’s security cameras have caught him on the Salmon Ladder the last two nights in a row – going through two sets his first night back, and four the next. So that was two nights, at least, that security footage showed Jason working out inside the Cave, but it was possible there were nights he wasn’t tagged on the Cave’s security footage. Dick had certainly learned to sneak down without being caught on camera. Bruce doubted that Dick would share his secrets with Jason – but it was not beyond possibility.

           Bruce kept meaning to add more cameras, to ensure that every inch of the cave was covered by an unblinking eye equipped with filters in Starlight and infrared, but that project kept getting sidelined somehow. He kept getting distracted.

           Because his kids kept getting hurt.

           But it’s been five weeks since Jason got hurt.

           He’s getting better, and his bullheaded determination is just the same as it was before the injury – the stubborn streak still apparent, now even more so if anything had changed.

           But there’s something else about Jason that’s different.

           Bruce almost can’t see it – almost convinces himself it’s not happening, because he’s so damn hopeful that it is happening that his chest constricts with this strange kind of joy or pride or something and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

           Because Dick and Jason are talking.

           Not fighting, talking.

           Alfred’s caught them playing video games. Together.

           They were supposed to be doing homework – Jason’s been back at school for three weeks and while Dick’s purposefully selected freshman college classes don’t require constant attendance, they do give assignments that need to be turned in online – but still…

           Dick and Jason are getting along.

           His adopted sons are becoming brothers.

           Bruce notices.

           And wants it to be real so badly that it hurts.

           Batman notices, too.

           But Batman notices other things, as well.

           Batman notices how the Wayne Boys have befriended the kid Jason got himself kidnapped alongside.

           Batman notices how Nightwing volunteers to swing off on his own every night for a cursory once over of deterrence through Coventry and around the area in the Upper West Side where Sabini’s gang and the rumors they’d acted on had run amok – had being the operative word, seeing as how the entire area had been scared so straight there hasn’t even been a purse snatching in over a month.

           Batman notices how quiet the supposed-civilian kid at the center of those rumors is when he’s home alone – which is often – how the only thing he talks about out loud, in range of Batman’s listening devices, is how much he admires the caped crusaders and how much he wants for their ramshackle team to work together as brothers and sisters in arms – to work through their issues and be a kind of family.

           Batman notices.

           And he watches.

           And he’s concerned by what he sees.

           So tonight, as Nightwing swings off towards Coventry – with a big smile and a wholly unnecessary flip – Batman decides to investigate the kid firsthand.

           The civilian’s name is Timothy Jackson Drake and he is twelve years old, enrolled as a sixth grader at Gotham Preparatory Academy Primary Campus. His parents are Jack and Janet Drake, famed globe-trotting researchers and archeologists, and the second generation of Drakes to head up Drake Industries – a leading Wayne Enterprises competitor. The Drakes reside in the mansion that neighbors the Wayne Estate – another statement of how DI both complements and competes with WE.

           Timothy Drake seems mostly unremarkable.

           He’s skipped two grades, and his teachers say he’s got a remarkable mind, but he lacks significant social skills and spends most of his time alone – tinkering with some project or other. He’s never demonstrated a particular drive to be anything when he grows up, but he’s applied to the Wayne Tech summer camps three years in a row – despite being under the age requirement – and his bedroom is littered with DI equipment and half-finished robots he’s clearly engineered himself in the hours and hours he spends unsupervised.

           Lucius Fox likes him.

           In the way that some people like puppies.

           Bruce isn’t even entirely sure how Lucius Fox discovered the Drake kid, but it’s in his files in the Batcomputer – Fox has his name on a recruitment list, circled in red sharpie with a smiley face next to it.

           So, Timothy Drake is a smart kid.

           But he’s just a kid.

           According to all of Batman’s information, Timothy Drake is just a kid.

           A civilian who happened to have a bad stroke of luck and got his name wrapped up in a rumor founded on nothing more than a junkie’s word and some evidence that the kid in question was a vigilante fan.

           Is still a fan, somehow, despite the circumstance that admiration landed him in.

           Timothy Jackson Drake seems like nothing more than a dedicated fan – a child, not a threat. But the evidence is so peculiar – there are ridiculously strong indications that the rumor carried truth, and yet… the notion that the child knows nothing is so convincing that Dick and Jason agree on it… which in and of itself makes the evidence seem suspect…

           Thus, Batman is set on investigating the matter further for himself.

           A twelve year old civilian would be in bed at this time of night, tucked safely into the labyrinth of the Drake Mansion.

           So as Nightwing peals away to the west, Batman plots a course northward.

           He’s planned this carefully. His choice of direction does not immediately alert Nightwing to his intentions. He’s been rotating where he patrols after splitting off from Nightwing, moving counterclockwise by a dozen blocks every few days. Now he’s pointed right towards the Robbinsville area, where he’s stashed one of his getaway vehicles – a rather bland, all-black motorcycle that’s nothing special, but is quick and maneuverable enough to get him to the Drake Estate and back before Nightwing realizes he’s deviated.

           He even has Batgirl prepped to back Nightwing up if something happens – Barbara is visiting her father this weekend and doing research for her own case in Chinatown. She might not be actively patrolling, but Batman had been sure to give her warning of his activities.

           He trusts her discretion, and he knows she would be as worried as him about Nightwing's probable – and possibly willful – oversight of the threat posed by Drake. Batman does not want to think Nightwing would be so foolish as to dismiss a threat simply because it doesn't seem actively threatening – or worse, because he wanted to curry favor with his adoptive brother – But it’s always better to be safe.

           So, Batman is tracking north – from slightly further east than he’d originally planned, drawn off course by what seemed to be a mugging, but quickly resolved as Batman ID'd a drunk man resisting as his friend took away his keys – and he’s determined to get to the bottom of Drake’s capabilities and influence.

           He’s about to swing down to the last tall building before the midrises and family homes of Robbinsville take over Gotham’s footprint when he spies a figure huddled on the rooftop.

           Had Batman been approaching from his planned route, he wouldn’t have seen the figure until he touched down on the roof – within easy knife throwing distance of the stranger, with no chance to react if an attack was imminent.

           Carefully, Batman swings around to the far side of the building and climbs silently up to roof level after landing on a balcony. He creeps close enough to ascertain that the would-be assailant is small – even with a massive jacket attempting to keep out the late January chill, the figure is miniscule… a child.

           Concern leaps, unbidden, into his chest as he wonders what could possibly bring a child onto a freezing cold rooftop in the middle of the night. The apartment building is not the lowest rent residence in the region, but it has its fair share of alcoholics and abusers. It would not be unheard of for a child to sneak away for what respite they can get and the Bat knows that this situation takes precedence to his Drake investigation.

           Batman is just about to announce his presence – From far enough away to hopefully prevent the kid from falling off the roof in fright, though he has his grapple gun ready just in case – when the kid shifts.

           An eerie blue glow lights up the crouching figure’s face as his phone flares briefly to life.

           It's Timothy Jackson Drake.

           Batman frowns, continues to silently observe.

           Drake curls more tightly around his knees. He huffs – breath turning instantly to steam that catches in the city's light – And mutters, “He should be here by now... There’s no sirens, no breakouts, nothing to keep him away… unless he’s not coming this way tonight… but he should be… he’s been moving north… but maybe I miss-counted the interval, or maybe I’m too far north… but this is the best vantage to check on Robinsv-”

           His mumbled monologue – which Batman is certain he is not intentionally speaking aloud – is interrupted by a sneeze.

           “Bless you,” Batman says, stepping from the darkest shadows.

           “Thanks,” Tim returns.

           A beat passes, and then Tim whirls around with a string of oddly pronounced Chinese curses spilling from his tongue.

           “Batman,” Tim breathes, awestruck and a little bit fearful.

           “Timothy,” Batman returns, “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

           It’s true, the kid had just mumbled as much. There was no one else he could possibly be waiting for here, not with the details he’d murmured about having tracked to find him.

           “Um, kinda,” the kid admits.

           He’s not as surprised by Batman’s recognition of him – of the Bat using his name directly – as Batman would’ve thought. He is nervous though, antsy. Batman scans him for weapons, but nothing notable shows up in any of his cowl’s filters and the coat is too cumbersome for any shapes beneath it to be positively identified.

           Tim does have something in his hands, though – something he’s clutched close to his chest. Bare fingers glow ghostly in the night, tremble in the freezing air.

           It’s not a weapon that he’s holding, or a camera – like might be expected and acceptable from a fan. It’s a set of note cards. Note. Cards. Like he’s practicing for a speech.

           On an ice cold Gotham rooftop in the middle of the night.

           Bruce Wayne is thrown by that. Far enough to make Batman pause.

           Batman regards the kid standing before him in the darkness.

           Timothy Drake stares back.

           “Did you have a reason?” Batman asks eventually.

           “Huh?”

           “To be looking for me, did you have a reason?”

           Timothy looks down at his hands, at the half-crushed note cards he’s holding. “Yeah,” he says slowly, quiet with the kind of resignation Batman knows is guilt.

           “Well?” Batman prompts when Timothy offers nothing more.

           The kid flinches, and Batman fights a wince of his own.

           The obvious reasons Nightwing has for underestimating this kid assert themselves plainly. He is a child, small for his age and easily frightened. There seems no reason to suspect him of anything – except that he was waiting on a rooftop for Batman, intentionally. A rooftop even Batman didn’t know he would be visiting until about a week ago.

           “I’m worried about Robin,” Timothy admits. “And Nightwing, and Batgirl, for that matter, but mostly Robin.”

           “Why?”

           Another flinch. Bruce Wayne consciously tries to reel back the Batman ‘grr factor’, as Dick has termed it. And yet… Timothy clearly knows more than he should. Perhaps the gravel and growl is worth it to extract that information.

           “Because they need you to listen to them – that’s why you fought with Nightwing to begin with, right? You, um, you passed his mantle on without letting him explain why he didn’t want you to?” Tim’s actively struggling to make eye-contact.

           Batman doesn’t verbalize a response.

           He’s evaluating how this kid could possibly know what he does without knowing the names beneath the masks – it’s possible, he supposes, but extremely unlikely.

           “I get why you didn’t, he was still a kid and not very good at making his important points clear, but when he went to California, he didn’t want you to let him go, he wanted you to bring him home,” Timothy rambles, losing his battle for eye-contact.

           Batman scowls.

           Timothy swallows dryly. Consults his notes.

           “They need you to help them,” Timothy says.

           Batman’s scowl deepens, and he must make some sound because Timothy doesn’t just flinch this time, he yelps and curls into himself. His cards get squeezed so tightly they pop out of his hands and scatter across the rooftop. Timothy dives after them, but the roof is wet with the afternoon's snow shower and the antifreeze that keeps it from becoming ice.

           There is no recovering the careful presentation Timothy clearly had planned for this meeting. But Timothy isn’t willing to admit defeat immediately.

           “Timothy Jackson Drake,” Batman says as the kid in question scrambles with his wet paper, frowning at the smudged and ruined ink like he should have been able to plan for that – like he should’ve had a contingency.

           At Batman's voice saying his full name, Timothy freezes and stares up at him like a frightened deer.

           “Tell me how and why you have come to know so much about the relationships between the Gotham masks.”

           “That’s not important,” Timothy says. Quick, dismissive, like the point truly doesn’t matter in his world-view, or to his understanding of his place in it.

           “It’s not?”

           “No. What’s important is that you’re not letting them do their jobs,” Timothy accuses.

           And then he promptly freezes and stares up at Batman like he just then has realized not only what he said, but how – how direct and confrontational it was.

           “They don’t have jobs,” Batman replies, level and calm. “They are children.”

           “Not when they're wearing masks,” Timothy snaps back immediately. “When the masks are on, they’re vigilantes. Nothing else.”

           Batman narrows his eyes at Timothy's temerity.

           And fights himself to keep from agreeing with Timothy’s point. But his disagreement doesn’t make it any less true. No matter how much he wants to remember that under the masks the heroes who have joined his crusade in Gotham are children, he can’t ignore the truth of Timothy Drake's words: when the masks are on, they’re not children – They can’t be.

           Batman cannot ignore that – can’t pretend it away.

           But he can insist on one smaller truth. “They do not have jobs.”

           Timothy glared – actually glared at Batman in full cape and cowl and scowl – and said firmly, “Their job is to make sure you remember why is it that you do yours.”

           Batman blinked behind the lenses of his cowl.

           “That’s not how it works,” Batman defends. Weakly – he knows.

           But he’s not entirely sure what to do with this child, this strangely mature tiny human with hope and sweetness and innocence – and uncomfortably valid points – lecturing him like Batman is the errant child here.

           “You can’t possibly be that stupid,” Timothy says – a moment later looking wide-eyed and horrified by his words, yet still going on with speaking as if his mouth had detached itself from is brain and was running on a will of its own. “They care about what happens to you, which makes you care about it. They need you alive, and you – on some level, at least – recognize that need. It keeps you safer. And it makes you be a better person, in trying to set a good example for them to follow. And that’s important.”

           Tim pulls more air into his lungs, enough for another leg of his tirade, and goes on, “Without Robin, Batman is too violent, too aggressive… like Green Arrow starting to gain ground in Star City; you’re too much like the criminals you hunt to make a genuine, lasting difference. Without Robin, you’re just scary. Robin tempers you; makes you an inspiration – makes people believe that you aren’t just hurting bad guys, but also protecting good ones.”

           Tim manages to close his mouth and keep it shut after that – if only by the simple force of his clear mortification sealing off his words.

           “Timothy.”

           Terrified eyes peer up at Batman.

           “What do you know about us capes? There was a reason Sabini had an interest in you and I’m not convinced it was just a junkie’s word and evidence that you’re a fan,” Batman lays out simply – calmly, regaining control of this discussion.

           “I know that you’re necessary,” Tim replies in a squeak.

           Eyes narrow behind the lenses of the cowl.

           Tim ducks his head, fully aware that he has not answered Batman’s question.

           “I know that Gotham needs you,” Tim reiterates. “I don’t know who you are beneath the masks, and I don’t want to know. I just want to help you keep Gotham safe. Because I’m not a mask, I’m just a fan… but I can still help.”

           Batman regards the young civilian carefully. He has Jason’s spirit and determination, Dick’s unyielding sweetness, and Barbara’s practical acceptance of humanity’s flaws.

           “You don’t know our civilian identities?”

           Tim shakes his head. “I don’t care about them.”

           Batman does not believe him – does not believe that he doesn’t know, or that he doesn’t care. Timothy Drake knows more than enough to be dangerous.

           Dick has always been a terrible judge of character – in some ways, he always sees the best in people, in their potential – so his support of Timothy Drake as a non-threat means little.

           But Jason is the most astute observer of humanity Bruce has ever encountered – he can read a person’s entire psyche in a gesture, find their cracks and weaknesses and apply just the right leverage to break them. And he’s never thrown from thinking that a seemingly innocent person is capable of doing a great deal of damage – would never underestimate a threat like that.

           Case in point: how he hadn’t let go of the potential threat Tim posed to begin with.

           Jason had decided Tim was safe.

           Batman decides to trust his Robin’s judgement; Bruce puts faith in his son.

           Batman heaves a sigh.

           “It’s time to go home, Timothy,” he says. “This is no place for a child to be, and you shouldn’t be out at this time of night.”

           Timothy frowns.

           “It’s my city, too,” he mumbles.

           Batman takes no quarter and as soon as he gets a nod of permission – Jason’s taught him how to work with children who aren’t like Dick, with an insatiable desire for physical contact – Batman hoists Timothy up and settles him on his hip. Batman holds tight to the child and shoots his grapple gun to carry them down to street level. He sits Timothy on his motorcycle and speeds across the city to Drake’s own door.

           There is no one home.

           Concerning in a very different way.

           Batman knew the Drakes were away. Bruce didn’t realize the implications of that beyond how Timothy was left unsupervised – hadn’t until right now.

           “Do you want me to come in,” Batman asks, awkward and uncertain of whether it would help at all to walk the kid to his bedroom. Batman should not linger – should not even consider the idea of tucking this neglected child into bed – but Bruce cannot quite bear to drag himself away just yet. He needs to know that Timothy is safe.

           Timothy is staring at him like he’s shown up as Batman to a career day at school.

           “Why?”

           “No one’s home.”

           “No one’s ever home,” Timothy replied blankly, adding. “I don’t need a real babysitter, let alone Batman. But Nightwing probably needs backup.”

           Batman nodded. Accepted that he needed to push the Bruce in him down until they finished with the night’s patrol.

           Tomorrow he could look into Timothy Drake’s circumstances.

           “Be safe, Timothy,” Batman fare-wells. “Stay off the streets, and be careful, or this will not be our last conversation.

           “You be safe, too,” Timothy replies. “Or I’ll just have to find you again.”

           Batman almost chuckles. He waits until Timothy locks the door behind him, and then he takes his motorcycle back to where he’d stashed it across the bridge from Robbinsville.

           He meets up with Nightwing and finishes patrol.

           If he’s more reticent than usual Nightwing doesn’t comment.

           The teenager is still wearing the blinding goofy smile of his, broader now after a successful sweep of Coventry – no new rumors of Tim Drake. And he’d saved a cat from where it had gotten stuck on a gargoyle after it had slipped out of its apartment and ventured off an inopportune ledge beside the balcony.

           And because that’s the kind of hero Dick is, he chatters on incessantly about the cat and how it wailed and scratched him at first and yowled as he swung around the building, but then it purred and refused to let him go when it realized he’d brought it home.

           Beneath the cowl, Batman almost smiles.

           When he and Nightwing make it back to the Cave, Jason is not down there – the only evidence that anyone has been down there since he and Nightwing left is the snack left out for them by Alfred. Jason is in bed, asleep and dead to the world when Bruce slips in to check.

           Jason is safe.

           And Dick is safe.

           And Alfred and Barbara are safe.

           His family. Safe.

           And Tim is… safe enough for the moment.

           Tonight, Bruce will sleep.

           Tomorrow he will reevaluate the child and his circumstances.

           But tonight, Bruce Wayne basks in the truth that has a Family.

           And his family is home, and safe.

           It’s a foreign feeling.

           But a good one.

||  Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon  ||

[hopesilverheart]

Title: I loved your colours (before I loved you) Artist: @calliartss​ Rating: Explicit (Chapter 10 only) Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Alec Lightwood & Clary Fray, Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood Word Count: ~95k Summary: Magnus Bane is a journalist who's always dreamed of modelling for Lightwood Fashions. When the CEO Alec Lightwood starts looking for new models for their spring collection, he jumps on the occasion.

In the meantime, Alec Lightwood is struggling with the idea of finally announcing his role as co-designer. When Magnus Bane strolls into his life, Alec is torn between keeping his secret or throwing all caution to the wind.

This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter 3: You lie a million little times

Magnus still couldn’t quite believe he was about to do this.

A week and a half had passed since his audition at Lightwood Fashions. A week and a half of having an official contract as a model. A week and a half of planning and phone calls with his new managers and running around trying to handle both his job at Fade Media and his increasingly busy schedule with Fray.

He had never been happier. And now he was going to make his life even better by quitting the job he had hated all along. This way, his new team would never have to find out about his past with their competing Media company. Not that he thought anyone would judge him for it, but he would rather not have to speak about it again. Ever, if he had anything to say about it.

He knocked on Lorenzo Rey’s office door, a smile on his face. His boss called him in less than a second later, and Magnus let himself in, dropping a pile of files and loose paperwork on the man’s desk.

“What is this?” Lorenzo asked, pushing the pile aside with a frown. “Have you finally decided to catch up on all the work you’ve been missing this past week? You’ve always been one of my best employees, Magnus, but you’ve been letting yourself go lately.”

“I have indeed,” Magnus nodded, smirking smugly at his boss. “I’m quitting, Lorenzo. I signed all the necessary papers with Fade this morning, but I thought I would stop by and say goodbye to you, too. Those papers are all the articles I started over the past month but won’t be able to finish, as well as advice for the colleagues I actually like. I wish I could say it was a pleasure working with you, but I’d be lying. Good luck trying to find someone as good as me to fill the spot I’m leaving behind.”

“You’re quitting?” Lorenzo exclaimed, eyes wide and fists clenched over the edge of his desk. Magnus’ smile widened at the man’s obvious distress. He had always known he was a vital part of the company, but it was nice to get confirmation from his boss himself. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing? You can’t have possibly found a better job than the one you currently have. The only company that surpasses us is… No.”

“Oh yes,” Magnus grinned. “I was offered a contract by the Lightwoods and I would be a fool to refuse it. Your competition is about to crush you now that they have me on their side.”

“You’re their new Head Editor?” Lorenzo asked. Magnus almost opened his mouth to correct him, but then he saw the fearful look in his former boss’ eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time his pride got him in trouble. Instead of denying it, Magnus shrugged nonchalantly, staring down at his nails. “I can’t believe it. I thought Maryse was still looking for someone, but I guess she wanted to keep this particular coup de maître under wraps. Damn it, Bane, do you have no loyalty?”

Magnus tensed and narrowed his eyes at Lorenzo, anger simmering underneath his skin.

“Not to you, no,” he seethed. “You have treated me like an errand boy for the past few years, acting as though you’re so much better than me for getting the position I rightfully deserved. I have worked harder than anyone in this office, you included, but was still pushed to the side because of my ex’s pettiness. So no, Rey, I don’t have loyalty when it comes to the people in this company. The Lightwoods were eager to give me the promotion I’ve been denied here, and I would have been a fool to refuse it.”

It wasn’t all a lie. He would have been a fool to refuse the contract Lightwood Fashions had offered him. However, that wasn’t what Lorenzo thought he was talking about and Magnus knew it. He just didn’t want to be mocked for his life choices. He may not be leaving to become Head Editor, but he would still be happier with Fray and her team than he had ever been here. He didn’t need Lorenzo throwing that happiness in his face by telling him modelling wasn’t a proper career.

“Well then, I look forward to seeing your pieces in their rag,” Lorenzo snarled, dismissing him with a single wave of his hand.

The man’s last words echoed inside Magnus’ mind as he walked out of the office, out of the floor, out of the building. Lorenzo was expecting to see Magnus’ name in future Lightwood publications. If he didn’t, he would undoubtedly figure out that Magnus had been lying about his position and new job.

That was something Magnus was desperate to avoid.

It took him a while to figure out what to do about it. He walked around aimlessly for what felt like hours, barely aware of what was going on around him. He knew what the easiest and most logical solution was. He could easily avoid Lorenzo forever and pretend like he had disappeared off the face of the earth. Sure, his former boss would probably figure out what Magnus had been up to eventually, but hopefully he would have forgotten about his claims of being Head Editor by then.

However, Magnus wasn’t always the most logical person out there. He was fiercely competitive and more than a little resentful about the years he had spent locked in an office that didn’t reflect all the work he put in. So, instead of putting together a rational plan that would keep him out of Lorenzo’s way, he came up with another idea.

An idea which, in hindsight, was absolutely terrible. He knew, even as he pulled out his phone to call Raphael, that he would regret it later. The truth had a way of coming out, and this plan was tempting fate to do just that.

Once again, Magnus wasn’t claiming to be completely logical.

“Magnus, what is it?” Raphael asked him, sounding harried. “I’m a bit busy, so please make this fast.”

“I need a tiny favour,” Magnus answered immediately. He had planned on explaining everything to his friend and maybe have him talk him out of his terrible plan, but… “Do you have Isabelle Lightwood’s number?”

A pause, then a shuffle. Magnus hadn’t even realised Raphael was in a loud room until the background noises disappeared.

“Why on earth do you need Isabelle’s phone number?” Raphael sounded suspicious, not that Magnus could blame him. Whilst his question was seemingly innocent, his friend knew him well enough to understand something else was going on. “I swear Magnus, if you’re trying to get into Alec’s pants already, I’ll make sure the entire office knows about it.”

Magnus scoffed indignantly. Yes, he found Lightwood ridiculously attractive, but he wasn’t about to ask him out so soon after meeting him. He wasn’t even sure the man was interested, for heaven’s sake.

“It’s not about her brother,” Magnus rolled his eyes, hoping his friend couldn’t sense it through the phone. “I swear, I just need her number for friendship purposes. She’s a nice woman, we got along well the few times we talked, we’re going to be working together a lot, and I just want to talk to her. Is that so hard to believe?”

The answering yes was silent, but Magnus heard it anyway. Once again, he understood why his friend was so suspicious, but he didn’t want to argue with Raphael about a stupid phone number all day. He had other things to take care of, and he couldn’t do that if he didn’t have a way to contact Isabelle.

“Fine,” Raphael sighed after a few seconds of silence. “But I don’t want to be blamed for anything if this is another one of your hare-brained schemes. I like my job, Magnus, and I don’t want you to screw things up for me because of some weird seduction you have planned.”

“Once again, not a seduction!” Magnus exclaimed, stepping into his apartment building – he wasn’t even sure when he had gotten there – and taking out a pen to scribble Isabelle’s number onto the back of his hand. “But thank you for this, Raphael! I’ll buy you dinner or something later, I promise!”

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Raphael sighed, hanging up without waiting for Magnus to answer.

A good thing, too, since Magnus would have had to lie to satisfy his friend. Whilst he had done stupider things in his life, this definitely ranked in the top ten. Part of him wished Raphael hadn’t been busy so he could talk Magnus out of his plan, but another – bigger – part of him felt like fate was telling him to go through with it.

So he threw himself onto his sofa and pulled up a new contact, typing out a message before he could talk himself out of it.

It was foolish and would not end well, but Magnus didn’t let himself think about it too hard. He didn’t let himself think about all the ways in which this could go wrong, all the ways in which it was wrong. Instead, he told himself it was his way of making a point, of proving he could achieve what everyone had denied him over the years.

Pride, he told himself again, would be his downfall.

He sent the message to Isabelle and didn’t let himself second doubt his words.

***

The coffee shop Isabelle had asked him to meet her at was on the same street as the Lightwood building. It was bigger than what Magnus was used to at his usual coffee shops, but it was light and airy and the man at the counter had been nothing but kind to him, so he let himself enjoy the few minutes of calm left before the storm. A storm he was bringing upon himself, but a storm nevertheless.

“Magnus!”

He looked up from his phone and sent his most convincing smile Isabelle’s way. He couldn’t let her know something was up from the very start. What he was about to ask her was more than a simple favour, and he needed to make sure she wasn’t about to spill his secrets before he told her anything.

“Isabelle, thank you for meeting up with me on such short notice,” he greeted her, watching her wave the barista over. The blond man rolled his eyes at her but came up to them anyways.

“Izzy.”

“Jace, my favourite brother in the world, would you please bring me my usual drink,” the brunette batted her eyelashes at Jace – her brother, apparently, not that Magnus could see the resemblance. “I promise I’ll pay you later.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it,” the blond barista grinned, going back to the counter and – presumably – getting Isabelle’s drink ready.

Once that was done, the brunette turned back towards Magnus and grinned at him widely. To her, this was probably nothing more than a meet-up between two people who wanted to get to know each other and become friends. Magnus felt bad for having to lie to her and use her for his own gain, but she was his only shot at making sure Lorenzo didn’t find out about his tiny, white lie.

“I wasn’t aware you had another brother,” he started, glancing at the barista again. The two of them looked nothing alike, though he knew better than most that family wasn’t always a question of blood.

“He’s adopted,” Isabelle chuckled. “Our parents took him in when we were younger, and he’s been a part of our little family ever since. He’s the only one who didn’t want to work in the family business, hence the coffee shop.”

“It’s very nice,” Magnus said stiltedly. He wasn’t usually this bad at small talk, but his nerves were getting to him.

“It is,” Isabelle hummed. “Now, how about you tell me why you’re really here? I’m never one to turn down coffee with an acquaintance, but I have a feeling there’s more to this than a casual encounter.”

“You’re not wrong,” Magnus winced.

He hadn’t wanted to jump straight into the thick of things, but Isabelle clearly wanted to get to the point of their meeting. Once again, Magnus took it as a sign of fate that this was the right thing to do.

“Tell me, Isabelle, do you know where I work?” he asked, wanting to see how much Isabelle and the rest of the Lightwood team knew about him. Out of everyone, Isabelle was the one most likely to have heard of him before, and therefore the biggest liability. “Besides Lightwood Fashions, of course.”

“I assumed you worked for another media company,” the brunette shrugged. “Although my brother and the fashion team are under the impression that you work for Lightwood Media, for some reason. Did you purposely mislead them, or did they come to that conclusion themselves?”

“I never mentioned the company for which I worked, but I didn’t tell them I worked for your mother,” Magnus shrugged. He truly hadn’t wanted to lie about his job, although he hadn’t wanted to talk about his position at Fade Media either. “I didn’t know they would assume I worked for Lightwood Company already. However, that might- It might work in our favour if you agree to help me with this slightly insane plan I have in mind.”

“Insane plans?” Isabelle asked, her lips twitching into a mischievous smile. “Those are my favourite kind. Good thing you came to me and not anyone else on the team, because I’m pretty sure they would all have stopped listening as soon as you mentioned a plan.”

“Lucky me,” Magnus grimaced. “I would really appreciate your help, but I’ll also understand if you can’t help me with this. It’s a little bit… I wouldn’t say illegal, because I don’t think it is, but it would definitely involve a lot of lying and covering things up and a few manipulations here and there.”

Isabelle cocked her head to the side as though she was looking for something on Magnus’ face. He didn’t know what it was but, when she shrugged and nodded after a few seconds of examination, he figured that he had passed her test. It wasn’t acceptance, since saying yes to something before knowing the details would have been a stupid thing to do, but it wasn’t a rebuttal either.

“I told my former boss that I was quitting my company in order to come work for the Lightwoods,” Magnus explained slowly, glancing down at his coffee, and fiddling with the cup in an attempt to settle his nerves. “I didn’t tell him I was joining as a model, so he assumed your mother had hired me as her Head Editor for the Media side of things. I’ve been vying for that spot within my former company for years, so I understand why he assumed that. The thing is, I sort of hate this guy, so I didn’t…”

“You didn’t deny it,” Isabelle finished for him, looking torn between exasperation and amusement. “Oh god, Magnus, you are so screwed. Head Editors are mentioned all over our magazines, so there’s no way he won’t notice you’re not on there. You should have just told him the truth, it would have been a lot less humiliating than what you’re going to go through when he realises you lied.”

“About that…” Magnus grimaced, hoping Isabelle would catch his train of thought. He really didn’t want to talk about his half-assed plan out loud, especially since he knew it would probably sound a lot worse in words than it did in his head. “That’s when you would come in, if I were to put my plan into effect.”

“Where I- no,” Isabelle gasped, her eyes widening comically. “Magnus, please tell me you’re not implying what I think you are. Are you asking me to put your name into our magazine even though you don’t work for us? Because if you are, I’m not sure that’s something I can do. My position is pretty good, yes, and I have access to a lot of things thanks to my mother, but if someone found out…”

“No one would have to find out!” Magnus exclaimed, desperate to get her on his side. “Look, your brother and the fashion team already think I work for you, so it’s not like they won’t believe it if we tell them I was recently promoted. From what I understand, your mother is really only involved with the administrative side of things, so I’m sure you could come up with a cover story, and… And I could still do the job, alright? I know I can’t get paid unless your mother actually hires me, but you could tell her this is a test run of sorts.”

“You want me to tell my mother I’ve found us the perfect Head Editor and convince her to put you on a trial period?” Isabelle repeated, her eyebrows raised and her lips pressed together. “All the while telling the rest of the team, both Media and Fashion, that you were officially hired a few weeks or months ago? Do I have this right?”

Magnus winced again. He had known it would sound terrible once someone laid it out in front of him. Instead of calling the whole thing off, however, he only nodded affirmatively. It was a crazy plan, but it was his crazy plan, and the only way to make sure no one let the wrong thing slip out at the wrong moment.

The only person who would know the full truth was Isabelle, and probably Magnus’ friends since he couldn’t keep anything from him. The rest of the Lightwood employees would just assume he had been there for a while but had only recently climbed up the hierarchical ladder and, by the time someone looked into it, Maryse would have hopefully hired him. It wasn’t perfect, but he had done worse in the past.

At least he had been sober when he had come up with this particular plan.

“Look, I know this sounds insane,” Magnus sighed, chuckling mirthlessly at Isabelle’s dubious gaze. “Fine, it sounds downright impossible to pull off, but I promise it isn’t. The hardest part of this whole thing is getting your mother to agree to have me on a trial run. However, I’m quite sure I could convince her if you really can’t.”

“This is absolutely crazy,” Isabelle groaned, resting her head in her hands and shaking it for a few seconds before looking back up at him. “You do realise people won’t take it well if they find out you’ve been lying to them, right? Being a model means maintaining a good relationship with your team, and if anyone figures out you’ve been lying about something as important as your job…”

“They won’t,” Magnus said decisively. “The only people who will know about the deception are you, your mother, and myself. My friends will probably figure it out too, but they won’t tattle.”

“I want to help you, Magnus, I really do,” Isabelle said after a few seconds of silence. “I think you’re a good guy, and I believe you’ll be an amazing model for this collection. On top of that, my brother already likes you, which is a miracle in and of itself. I’m also sure you’d make a wonderful Head Editor, but this… You realise if this comes out, people will paint you as someone no one can trust, right?”

“I know,” Magnus told her seriously. “But look, the place where I used to work… Lightwood Media is my only chance at getting a better position than the one I wanted over there. It’s my one shot at proving I’m as good as they knew I was, my one shot at proving they should have promoted me from the get-go. If this works out, I’ll have everything I ever dreamed of having, and Lightwood Media will have the best goddamned editor in New York City. Your brother will still have his model, and it’ll be even easier to work around my schedule if I’m part of your Media team. I know the fallout could be horrible, but this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“If my mother agrees,” Isabelle added.

“If your mother agrees,” Magnus nodded. “Although she can’t know I’m doing this as a way to get back at my boss. As far as she’s concerned, I’ll have to be nothing more than an amazing editor who quit his job just to join her team.”

“That’ll definitely appeal to her ego,” Isabelle hummed thoughtfully.

As soon as he saw the calculation and determination in the brunette’s eyes, Magnus knew he had won her over.

“So you’ll help me?” Magnus bit his lip, glancing at Isabelle hopefully. “Even though this is insane and probably a terrible idea and will more likely than not end disastrously?”

“I will, even though everything you just said is absolutely true. The things I do for people, I swear. You’re going to owe me a lot, Magnus. I want free coffees on my desk every morning and shopping days with you as well as your unconditional friendship. Also, you have to promise me you won’t drag me into anything crazier than this, because I’m not sure I could handle it.”

Magnus nodded, knowing very well she deserved all of that and more for what she was going to do for him. He thanked whichever god had created Isabelle Lightwood and thrown her Magnus’ way, because he wasn’t sure he could have made it through this impossible situation without her.

He also thanked whichever deity had given him a friend who was just as insane and reckless as he was. In between Raphael, Catarina, and Ragnor, Magnus usually got more speeches bringing down-to-earth than offers to help. Not that he could blame his friends, given how crazy he got sometimes.

“Thank you, Isabelle,” he murmured, squeezing one of the woman’s hands with both his own. “Seriously, this means the world to me.”

“Don’t mention it,” the brunette grimaced. “Seriously, let’s not talk about this ever again. I’ll get you your trial period, and you’ll start working on Monday. Feel free to tell everyone else you just recently got promoted, but don’t mention that god-awful plan ever again.”

“Works for me,” Magnus shrugged, eager to change the subject. He racked his brain for a topic and grinned widely when his thoughts strayed back to a particular redhead. “So, want to talk about your crush on Clary Fray instead?”

Isabelle’s face turned bright red, and Magnus burst out laughing. Perhaps the beginning of their friendship was a bit strange, but he didn’t doubt Isabelle and he would get along perfectly.

***

He got a text from his new friend and colleague less than a day later, confirming his new job as Head Editor. Apparently, Maryse Lightwood and Isabelle didn’t always get along, and the elder saw this as a way to get back on her daughter’s good side. Magnus wasn’t about to complain about the subtle bribing, not when it meant he was officially an employee of Lightwood Media. Or at least, as much as he could be for now.

“What’s got you looking so relieved?” Catarina asked him, raising a curious eyebrow at him and gesturing towards his phone. “Got a date with that hot boss of yours?”

“A date with Lightwood?” Magnus asked, frowning. He had barely even seen his new boss. Fray and the man spent their days locked in their offices, probably getting ready for the collection and the photoshoots and everything else that needed to be organised. “No, although I did just receive amazing news from his little sister.”

“Ah yes, your fellow model. What good news would this be, then?”

Magnus froze, suddenly realising he hadn’t told Catarina about his plan. He hadn’t wanted to alarm his friends too soon, especially not since his position within the Lightwood Company hadn’t been confirmed yet.

And perhaps he also hadn’t wanted to deal with their judgement and disappointment whilst he was still trying to sort out his own warring feelings. He could already imagine the exasperation on Catarina’s face, the frustration on Raphael’s, and even the amusement on Ragnor’s. He could also perfectly imagine what they would tell him once they found out what he had done.

“The delightful Isabelle may or may not have gotten me a job at Lightwood Media,” Magnus started, not wanting to reveal too much too soon.

Catarina’s face lit up, a congratulations undoubtedly at the tip of her tongue, but Magnus saw the moment when she realised something was off. She snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes in his direction, clearly not believing this was just some innocent job at the bottom of the chain. She knew him too well for that.

“Magnus, what did you do?”

“Always so suspicious,” Magnus sighed dramatically, though he dropped the act when Catarina failed to laugh. “Alright, I may or may not have concocted a bit of a plan with the lovely Isabelle. It’s not my fault, though, I swear! It’s just that Lorenzo was being so smug about me quitting and then I mentioned the Lightwoods and he assumed I had been hired as their Head Editor, and I…”

“And you let your pride get the better of you again,” Catarina completed for him, groaning and burying her face in her hands. The gesture reminded him of Isabelle’s reaction and Magnus had to hold back the completely inappropriate giggles that almost spilled past his lips.

“It’s not that bad, alright? The fashion team already thought I was a part of their media company, so they won’t suspect anything. The media team will be fed some white lie about me wanting to keep my importance a secret for a while. And Maryse Lightwood herself accepted to put me on a trial run. Isabelle may or may not have misled her about a few things, but it’s all clean and real. I actually do have somewhat of a job there.”

“One that you got because you convinced your new friend to help you out of a sticky situation,” Catarina pointed out. “I know you wanted that position badly, Magnus, and I understand why you didn’t want Lorenzo to think any less of you, but you do realise this could go horribly wrong, right?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Magnus sighed. “Look, I’ll admit I could have come up with something a little smarter and a little less impulsive, but Lorenzo threw me off guard and I reacted before I could sit down and think.”

Catarina shook her head exasperatedly, but at least she didn’t comment on his stupidity and lack of forethought any further. She clearly didn’t agree with his choices, but she wasn’t about to repeat herself a hundred times, especially since the deed had already been done.

“Raphael is going to be so mad,” she said a few minutes later, once she had downed the rest of her wine. “He gets along well with the Lightwoods, and if they find out and think he was involved in this whole mess…”

“I’ll make it clear he wasn’t if it comes to that,” Magnus waved her concerns away. “Raphael means too much to me for me to throw him under the bus like that. If possible, I’ll even try to keep Isabelle out of it. I’m the one who came up with this entire plan, and I don’t want anyone else to pay for my poor decision making.”

If anything, that only seemed to annoy Catarina further. Her brows furrowed deeply and she pursed her lips as she always did when Magnus said something she didn’t appreciate.

“I hate that even when you do these dumb things, you’re still one of the best people I know,” she breathed out. “But just so you know, this is one of the most idiotic plans you have ever come up with.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that,” Magnus smiled at his best friend sheepishly. “What can I say? I love a good challenge once in a while. But this isn’t all bad; I’m getting a new friend out of it, for one, and I’ll get to show Lorenzo up, even if things come out eventually. On top of that, I get a job at a place I actually love, which is exactly what you’ve been telling me I need all along.”

“And I stand by that,” Catarina sighed. “I just wish you didn’t have to lie and manipulate your potential future boss to achieve your goals.”

“Oh please, what’s one small lie in the grand scheme of things?” Magnus chuckled. “The probability of people finding out is a lot lower than the probability of this remaining a deep, dark secret for the rest of my life.”

“For your sake, I certainly hope so.”