what we deserve (bosco leroy x f!reader), nsfw, 11.4k words
summary: you're summoned by the eye to investigate a strange series of events involving the four horsemen. before that though, you meet a stranger in a club. after slipping away from an incredible night together, you meet again. now, following the events of now you see me: now you don't, you struggle with your feelings and just hope you don't end up alone.
warnings: nsfw, semi public sex, alcohol, implied bosco and reader aren't virgins, language, crime, mild violence. if there are any other warnings please let me know so i can add!
notes: dylan shrike's niece!reader, no use of y/n, she/her reader, part of the eye!reader. reader is older than june, but in her 20s. the newbies know about dylan!! PLEASE let me know what you think!!! and thank you for reading<3
Danny won’t arrive in New York until tomorrow, so you use your free night to go to a club.
It’s not often you’re able to let loose. Being free and having fun on a weekend like a normal person in their twenties is actually pretty rare for you, due to your chosen occupation and various ill-advised life decisions.
You were practically born into the Eye, your Uncle Dylan shaping you into a better magician, con artist, and liar than he ever could be. You love your Uncle Dylan with all you have, and you know in your heart the work you do helps the little guy and can change people’s lives for the better while taking down the most evil, privileged assholes the world has to offer, but it doesn’t leave much room for fun.
Most of your life has been filled with magic tricks, how to solve them, do them, create them. You know deception like the back of your hand and, if Dylan was to be believed, perfected a Disappearing Act before you could even walk. Many times.
It wasn’t all magic though.
It was secrecy, strategy, planning, and hours of practice practice practice until all your muscles knew thousands of skills and how to pull a trick off before your brain could even decide on which to do, until your lungs could stand at least five minutes with no air, because the traumatic loss of your grandfather is now your burden to bear, to overcome. It’s the only way your parents let Dylan train you. You wouldn’t be like the Great Lionel Shrike, you would be better. Had to be.
You and Dylan are the only members of your small family in the game, both of you being the ousted black sheep, so you made your own small herd.
From an early age, everyone knew you were different, more curious and awestruck by magic, the need to perform and take too strong to just fester within you, so Dylan took you under his wing, always an eye on potential, always betting on the long game.
Your family loves you, just not all the necessary crime and deceit that comes with your profession. No matter how much they attempt to reassure you (which wasn’t a lot, actually), you can tell by their tight smiles and apprehensive eyes that they do not trust you and never will.
Their limit began and ended with parlor tricks, Three Card Monty on thin ice, and robbing someone, whoever they are, only left you and Dylan on the receiving end of tight lipped displeasure.
Though, no matter how much they disapprove, they never snitch because they love you and Dylan—they just don't like you.
Suffice to say, you didn’t have a normal childhood. You expect your adulthood will turn out much the same.
So when J. Daniel Atlas, infamous magician and frontman for the legendary Four Horsemen, calls you for the first time in years and tells you about a tarot card he received from the Eye, you contact Dylan immediately.
You’re the only one who can.
You were the only one able to visit him in prison, and, not that the others know, the only one who knows where he is now that he’s out.
It took a lot of time and skills you had no choice but to pick up, but you and The Eye were able to get him out after a few years.
But you couldn’t tell the other Horsemen, and you still don’t know why.
You have hunches, yes. Maybe Dylan’s pride embarrassed him, maybe he didn’t trust the Horsemen anymore, maybe he had a secret so dangerous he couldn't even share with you, but you were instructed to never tell them. You hope one day Dylan would, because whatever the reason is, apparently it’s worth a near decade of festering guilt and ruined lives.
Dylan tells you he will investigate, because The Eye has so many networks he can’t keep up with them all, and to meet up with Danny in New York.
So here you are. The Big Apple. You’ve been a few times on a job, but never stayed long enough to sightsee. You were usually cooped up in an apartment or warehouse with blueprints and props and other Eye members to enjoy much of anything. Danny’s flight gets in tomorrow, and you had nothing better to do.
Clubbing it is.
It doesn’t bother you that you’re going by yourself, you’re pretty much always alone. What they don’t tell you among the adrenaline of a trick perfected and a job well done, is how lonely a magician’s life can be.
The pulsing beats and flashing lights of the club pull you in, and you take a chance on a fruity drink before you hit the dance floor.
While you’re not on a job or otherwise involved in reconnaissance, you never let you guard down. One drink won’t lower your defences, and whatever affects your blood will have worn off by midnight at the latest. Your inhibitions will remain intact and sharp, but you desperately want to have fun and alcohol is guaranteed to kickstart your night.
While your life is a somewhat solitary one, you’re more than experienced with social interactions and expectations, and how to elicit positive responses. You easily make friends with a bachelorette group who can’t be much older than you, and they take pity on your loneliness. You don’t mind, whatever this is won’t last, and you want to soak up every minute of their friendship you can.
You dance and sing and laugh for hours, feeling so close to filling that space with yourself that you never want to acknowledge, and the only other thing you drink besides water is a shot bought by the bride-to-be herself for her bridal party and you, having named you an unofficial member of their party.
Later, you’re spilling out of the bathroom with half the party after one girl felt that last shot come up the wrong way when you see him.
More specifically, you see him slip his hands into a pocket that was decidedly not his, and in a flash, transfer a wallet from one clueless person to his own sneaky one.
You watch him even as you’re led to the bar again (the girls knew not to get you an alcoholic drink at this point), and it seems as though you’re the only person in this packed club who is witness to the impressive thievery currently going on.
He’s swift and decisive, quickly determining who the easy scores are and who aren’t worth the trouble. He glides through the sweating bodies, occasionally stopping to dance with anyone trying to get his attention, and every time, that unlucky person will leave the club without an item or two less than what they came in with, completely blinded by his intense eyes and mischievous smirk.
His pockets must be endless with the amount of game he’s managing to stuff in there. He’s dressed as a typical twenty something year old guy would in a place like this and a goal like that: stylish, but nothing identifiable. Attractive, but not memorable.
You see him though.
His clothes, nice and clean as they are, are older and well-worn. It looks great on him, but you know it’s more for practicality and convenience. It’s probably one of the nicest garments he owns. His hair is a mess of curls, but not styled with product or tools. His mouth is always twisted so wickedly, but to anyone else unfamiliar with the streets would think it’s simply a cocky grin (it very much it is) but to you, it’s an act. All of it.
You pay closer attention.
His victims are those under the most influence, with the most influence, and have actual karats and ice on their bodies. This club isn’t exclusive, but with a ridiculous $20 door fee (that you did not pay, thank you very much), it’s trying very hard to be something it’s not.
He’s stealing from the richest people here.
Forgetting yourself, you grin into your drink.
“Please tell me you’re gonna talk to him,” a voice says next to you.
Startled, you turn around and are met with the bachelorette party you nearly forgot about. They’re smiling and giggling and drunkenly winking at you, and you know you’re absolutely fucked.
So, maybe you were staring. Maybe it was a little too long. Maybe you should never do shots again.
You dart your eyes around, and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “He’s cute,” you shrug noncommittally.
This guy is cute, no question. But it’s easier to feign interest than explain he robbed half the club and ruin his night. Besides, he didn’t take anything from the group you found yourself in, so it really doesn't matter to you what he has down his pants.
Well, now you’re thinking about something else. Fuck.
Shaking your head, you grin at the group, ready to brush this off, but they won’t let up. At once, they seem to all have an opinion and wish to express it. Loudly. In the middle of the dance floor. They’re going on and on about how you need to dance with him, to loosen up (you thought you were), have fun with a man.
“But I am having fun!” You insist, waving your hands in an aborted motion. “With you guys. I don’t need a guy to enjoy a night out.”
Finally, the bride-to-be turns to you, something twinkling in her eye. “No,” she says, taking the drink from your hand. “You don’t. But we want you to. He can help you in ways we can’t. Sorry about this, girl.”
Your eyes widen, totally blindsided and unprepared for that comment. “Sorry about wha—” You begin to ask, but your word morphs into a yelp as you feel hands on your shoulders, pushing you away. The sudden move unbalances you, and you stumble into a different pair of arms.
His.
You blink up at him, mouth opening and closing in a stutter as you try to explain why you so rudely ran into him, but nothing comes out. All you can do is focus on those dark, intense eyes you surveyed just moments ago, now on you. Only on you.
You weren’t planning on confronting him, and now he’s right in front of you, holding you steady with your arms holding each other, and you can’t find the words. Any of them.
He clears his throat. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” you say back automatically.
He chuckles deeply, the noise vibrating your bones. Your throat is dry as you swallow.
What the fuck. You’re not like this. You’ve never been like this. Not with anyone. You don’t bumble or stutter; on the rare occasion you have to honeypot for a job, you’re smooth and confident, knowing the right words to say to have your target eating out of the palm of your hand, while the other reaches into their pocket.
And now, all you can say is “Hi”?
“Psst!” a voice not so discreetly sounds from the direction you were forcibly ejected from. You and the thief both look over and find the entire bachelorette party staring. Some wave, others give you a thumbs up, the rest are swooning. “Ask her to dance,” the bride whisper-shouts, then gives you not one, but two thumbs up before turning around, leaving you alone with him.
“Friends of yours, I take it?” he asks. You whip your head back to the stranger, and he’s got a content look settled onto his face, apparently rolling with the interruption. He has an eyebrow quirked and the corner of his lips twitching up in amusement.
“No actually,” you say with a smile. His eyes widened with suprise, not expecting that answer. “I just met them a few hours ago. I came here by myself and they took me in. That’s probably the last time I’ll ever talk to them, actually.”
“Well that's no good," he mutters.
You reply with a shrug, “It’s okay. They were nice and I’ll miss the company, but it happens.”
“No, I mean—” The guy looks away for a second, then back at you, a small grin on his face. “It’s no good you’re here on your own.”
You feel redness creeping up on your cheeks, but you’re not shy as you reply. “I don't feel alone.”
“I don't either,” he responds, and your heart cracks in your chest. “Wanna dance?”
You do, so you say yes.
It only takes a few minutes to shake off the initial awkwardness and a well timed song before he spins you around, your back flush against his front, arms around your waist.
“Is this okay?” he mutters in your ear, breath hot against the shell of your ear, fingers pressing into your skin with intention. You’re shaking.
If you said no, you knew he would back away. You don’t know why you were able to read him so well. This guy is as guarded as you are, but it feels right to know him, to be confident you do.
“Yes,” you sigh, and lean back into him.
You dance together for what feels like hours, definitely longer than you two have danced with anyone else tonight, and you feel so young and free as you grind into him, as his hands run over every inch of your body he could without getting you kicked out for public indecency.
That’s when you feel it. You were wondering how long it would take him, the itch too strong to ignore.
His hand that was laced with yours slid down your wrist and arm, but you feel the exact moment he lifts your bracelet and drops it with the rest of his stuff.
Little did he know…
You turn in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck and his remain around your waist as you bring him into a slow dance. Inappropriate for the song currently playing, but perfect for you.
You get a good look at him, no hint of what he just did on his face, and you laugh. God, he's kinda perfect.
“What,” he drawls, low as a hum.
“What time is it?” you ask him, smiling so wide your teeth are showing.
He lifts his wrist where his watch is. Or was, before you.
You see the barely contained panic in his eye as he finally notices its absence, and he pats his pockets.
“What,” you say in a teasing tone. “Can’t tell the difference between your watch and the five others you have hidden in there?”
When he looks up, meeting your gaze and looking at you like he unlocked the secret to life itself, it feels like Heaven.
He blinks. Blinks again. That soft, mystified look is still there, never slipping off as he recounts every bit of your time together tonight, trying to place the moment you pulled one over him.
You hold his watch up. “Baby, I got a hold of this before we even started dancing.” You wink at him.
“You saw me,” he says in awe, clutching you closer. You feel every inch of him.
“I think I always will,” you admit, and that hole inside you shrinks and he tightens his grip and leans down. His face is so close that you're practically breathing into each other’s mouths.
His eyes bare into yours, almost desperate. “Do you wanna leave,” he practically groans out and god, you need to hear that noise again. And more. So, so much more.
“Yes,” you gasp, and he’s pulling you away.
***
He slams you against his bedroom door, holding you up as he attacks your mouth fervently. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and your hands are in his hair and scratching at his shoulders.
He pries open your mouth and kisses you like a man starved. It feels like he’s drinking you up, and well, maybe that’s exactly what he’s trying to do. You match his pace, for once not feeling that empty loneliness that’s been making itself known to you this time of night for the last decade or so.
It’s not there tonight, and it’s because of him. All because of him. You hope he doesn’t catch onto the fact that your kisses are also a thanks, because you’re not entirely ready to bare yourself to him like this, but you think maybe you can someday.
Your thoughts are pushed away as Bosco (you have since learned his name on the way to his place) does something so brilliant with his tongue that you cannot possibly think of anything else but him, and the fact that neither of you are naked.
“Clothes,” you gasp out. “Clothes. We’re wearing too many. Take this off right now.” You tug at his shirt incessantly. He chuckles and just spins you away from the door, then tosses you onto his bed. You lean up on your elbows and watch as he strips the offending article off.
He moves to climb over you, but you stop him with a heel to his sternum. He didn’t take everything off, and that wasn’t right.
“Just wait, baby,” he says with a low rasp. He reads you so well and fuck, did he call you baby? Just as you think this night couldn’t get any better, he takes your heel in his hand and bends down to kiss the inside of your ankle. Then he’s kissing up your calf, your thigh, and you're so wet you growl as he takes the time to slip off your panties at an achingly slow pace before finally diving under your dress, making you thoroughly lose your mind.
He’s blessedly rough as he licks you, tongue working as expertly down there as he was inside your mouth. He laps up your hole, darting in and out as you whimper above him. He adjusts your legs so they’re slung over his shoulders, and the new angle lets him go even deeper. You’re near sobbing when he finally makes his way to your clit, and your heels dig into his back and he sucks in your button. The pressure of his tongue is so intense and like nothing you’ve ever felt before that you can't even give him a warning before you flood his mouth. You moan deeply as you come, and you’re making pathetic little noises as he works you down your high.
You’re still panting as he makes his way up your body, bunching your dress up as he goes. You take the hint and sit up, peeling it off, the only thing left is your bra.
Bosco leans his forehead against yours as his hands trail along your body again. You wipe off his glistening mouth, and surge in to kiss him again, sucking at his mouth and moaning when your tongues find each other again. He’s kissing you almost desperately, and you pull away to tell him to take off his pants and your bra before diving back to his pink, inviting mouth.
The pants come off immediately but he’s slow to discard your bra, and his fingers trace invisible lines along your back in a way that makes your skin sing until finally, you feel it snap off. You toss it away, and climb into his lap.
“Can I touch you,” he whines, eyes round and watering and begging, “please?”
You’re a little taller than him now, so you lean your head down to touch your foreheads again. Then, you take one of his hands in yours, and bring it up to your breast. You sigh into his mouth as he squeezes you in his huge palm, and when he thumbs at your nipple, you dig your fingers into his curls and pull.
You feel Bosco hiss, your lips touching but not quite kissing, and suddenly both his hands are on your chest, and you become a puddle on his lap as he positively worships you.
At some point, you end up laying down and Bosco’s mouth is all over your tits, his fingers pumping inside you and you’re still a writhing mess under him. He wouldn't let you suck him off, saying he wanted to come inside you or not at all, before he began finger blasting you to high Heaven.
The fingers aren’t enough.
“Bosco,” you say breathlessly. “If you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to take everything you stole tonight and toss it into the Hudson River.”
He stops what he’s doing and his eyes shine. “You wouldn’t.” He muses, but crawls up to your place on his pillows, leaning on an elbow and running his fingers (the non-sticky digits, he can be a gentleman when he wants to be) through your hair. “You’d pawn it and donate it to the women's shelter we passed on the way here, about three blocks away.”
God, he’s right. A lifetime of studying socioeconomics and magical radicalization wouldn't allow you to throw away money so carelessly like that. No matter where it came from, money is money and money helps those without.
The fact that he knows exactly what you would do makes you throb even more.
“Bosco. Fuck me. Now.”
You’ve never seen him move as fast as he did to put a condom on, not even when he scored in the club. You’re grateful for his swiftness, because the second he sinks into you, you see stars.
He starts off slow to let you adjust, but he picks up the pace as you move against him, not wanting him to be gentle, but to fuck you like he meant it.
This primal urge shocked you. You really do not get out much, and while you have experience in this area, it is certainly minimal. With Bosco though, it’s easy to forget all of that and just be with him. To listen to your bodies and screw the life out of each other because you can.
It’s nice, feeling like this. Hot, needed. Not alone.
Bosco makes a very impressive thrust that has you gasping, and he wraps a hand around your thigh to bring it up, and now he’s hitting your sweet spot relentlessly, both of you babbling, grunting messes from how insanely good you feel together. You match his pace, working together to bring you both to the edge. It’s so good your nails rake along his back, and he keens at the sensation.
Suddenly, you feel it coming, and you warm him.
“It’s alright, baby,” he moans. “I got you. I got you.”
It’s the way he cares for you, physically and verbally, that pushes you off the edge. You cry out in pleasure as you come, and a few seconds later, Bosco whimpers into your ear as he spills into you, and you don’t think there's a word in this world for how beautiful that sound is. A sound he made because of you.
After your highs wear off, he slips out of you and buries his head into your neck.
This is everything. He is everything.
“You’re everything,” you whisper, stroking his curls. You feel him smile, then he peppers kisses to your skin.
You lay there for a long while in each other’s company, knowing you need to get cleaned up eventually, knowing you need sleep, knowing this can't last forever. For now, the two of you lay in the wet, sticky mess you made together, basking in the afterglow and not caring about anything but each other. This is contentment, this is fulfilling, and freeing, and the dark hole inside you seems so filled it’s almost bursting. This is him, and you, and nothing matters except the kisses you share and sweet nothings you exchange until you’re both so tired it all comes out as nonsense. You fall asleep together, in each other’s arms, and for once you feel at peace.
***
It nearly kills you to leave him.
You slip out just before dawn breaks, stopping for a moment to take in the man sleeping, face entirely at ease and not the tense, determined expression you were first introduced to.
You close the door behind you, and your heart shatters.
***
You meet up with Danny later that day after hearing from Dylan.
Apparently, the Eye did not send out cards to the Horsemen, and it’s your job to investigate the mystery behind it all. The Eye says it doesn't seem malicious, but to be on guard as they can’t know for sure. Unfortunately, Dylan also emphasized that Danny, and whoever else got a card, did not know about anything. You were to work behind the scenes and tag along with Danny on this adventure, doing whatever it takes to unmask the truth.
They warned that the architect behind this might not be so welcoming with your unexpected intrusion, and you assure them you would be cautious moving forward and would make yourself an indisposable member in their plot to avoid being pushed out.
You’re one of their best, they trust you.
You hope.
In any case, you know whatever happens Danny will defend you. You’ve only met a few times in person and got into contact with each other when necessary (and sometimes, on Danny’s end, unnecessarily), but you know he feels a kinship toward you.
You met after their first performance during their year of hiding. You were so young, but Dylan wanted the most important people in his life to meet, and you think, maybe, the protective streak Danny has over you is because of the guilt he’s carried for nearly a decade over Dylan’s imprisonment.
On occasion when he looks at you, it feels like he’s seeing someone else. His eyes pass through you and settle on a shadow, and the thing about shadows is you can always trust them to follow. Always.
You’ve met all five Horsemen and love them as much as your uncle, but Danny is the one who keeps in contact the most. You think he needs the company more than you.
Maybe it’s not a shadow he sees in your eyes. Maybe it’s himself.
You’re together now, and you both hesitate for a moment before hugging. It’s nice, and you feel him exhale in what sounds like relief as you tuck your head under his chin.
Danny pulls away awkwardly and is clearly eager to get started, and whenever the two of you are in close proximity, you plan. He shows you all the files the “Eye” sent him on Veronika Vanderburg and her stupid diamond, and after reading up on her, he tells you that someone is using the faces of the Horsemen to do a show tonight and that you need them.
You hadn't heard about that, but you’re positive that whoever these imposters are, they’re just luring the Horsemen into their act. Danny is the only one here, so where is everyone else? What are these people trying to achieve?
Later, you and Danny dress inconspicuously and head to the venue. It’s packed when you get there, and you head to the balcony on the second floor to get a better vantage point. It starts soon enough, and Danny even tsks in irritation as he's met with himself. He doesn't fool you, you can tell he’s impressed.
It took a few moments, but you deduce these images were constructed by a master at graphics, obviously pulled from their previous shows (which would explain why this one only had the original crew and Lula was nowhere to be found), and were made possible with high tech projectors angled perfectly.
By chance, you look in the direction of the bar just in time to see a girl pickpocket what looks to be a gold phone. She swipes a few more from Gold Guy’s friends and Jesus. They’re textbook douchebags.
The girl, who cannot be much younger than you, shares a smirk with the bartender, who had gone unnoticed to you until this moment.
A hooded figure slinks past, and the figure is so familiar it makes you stop. You see the girl pass him the phones, and he disappears into the crowd.
Ah. So, it's the three of them, then.
You share your observations with Danny, who immediately pulls out his phone to research them. Unfortunately, the mystery figure has yet to show his face, so for now you only have information on the bartender and girl. You can’t stop thinking about the figure, feeling like the answer you didn’t even know you were asking is at the tip of your fingers, just out of reach.
When the faux Horsemen randomly pick from the audience (nothing is ever random at these kinds of shows), it’s the hooded figure who cheers and hauls himself on stage.
Your body freezes.
It’s him.
Bosco.
The man you left this morning and cried about in your hotel room for hours until Danny knocked on your door.
You suck in a sharp breath and have to grip the balcony’s rung to stop yourself from stumbling forward.
Well fuck. Nothing is ever random, is it?
Danny spares a concerned glance your way, and you give him a smile you know is distracted, assuring him you’re fine. He quirks his eyes in that Danny way he does, but trusts you to work through whatever slipped you up and turns his attention back to the stage.
You do too, and can’t help but admire Bosco. Without question, he’s in his element with an act to perform and an audience to feed it to. Lapping up the attention like it’s natural, damn near peacocking on the stage as he does incredible impressions of the Horsemen.
Merritt needs work though.
The visuals are stunning and so is he, the trick impressive and deserved. The douchebags get what they deserve, and soon everyone is tearing off in fear of the cops.
You’re still reeling from the revelation that the sweet, mischievous guy from last night is behind your newest job, and you stop as you realize you and Danny have to confront him. Tonight.
Well, them. But it means you have to see him again. That he will see you, and you have to work together because the Eye said so, but no, they didn't because these kids sent the cards but actually, the real Eye said to do what was necessary to unravel everything so technically they did tell you to work together and—-
God, it’s too much. It’s all too much for you and you hadn't even started yet.
You shake your head and catch up with Danny.
He shares the information he learned about the three kids, and you listen to him relay Bosco’s entire life story, some which you gathered yourself last night. You remain cool in front of Danny, but the way he talks about Bosco, so cold and clinical, like Bosco’s just another pawn in the game and not someone warm and inviting and complicated, whose laugh sounds like magic when mixed with yours, felt wrong.
You beat the three to their illegal hideout, and you shudder as you recognize the building.
Flashes of open mouth kisses against the aging brick, laughter ghosting over lips, and fingers drawing on skin cross your mind, and your stomach turns.
You swallow as Danny instructs your entry and how to sneak in, where you’ll hide and how he’ll take the lead before he decides it’s safe enough to reveal yourself.
Now inside, you hope the wall you’re crouching next to swallows you whole before Bosco gets the chance to see you.
When you hear his voice, that familiar, low, sexy drawl, you squeeze your eyes shut and wait.
You listen to them bicker, and when Danny determines that they’re harmless, he discreetly signals you. You sneak into the kitchen and hop on the island counter, no one noticing your arrival.
You cross your legs and rest your palms on the countertop as you watch the scene unfold, and when in typical Danny fashion, he comes after Bosco’s name, you roll your eyes.
“Okay, Atlas. What’d your mom have sex with a map?” And you can't help it. Bosco’s sarcastic delivery and thorough takedown of Danny on his high horse is way too hilarious to not laugh at.
You’re still snickering as the three look at you in bewilderment, clearly wondering who you are and how you got in. Charlie and June were, at least. Bosco looked like someone punched out all the air in his lungs.
You only hesitate for a moment, then your mouth slips into a smile. “Hello,” you sing, wiggling your fingers in their direction. “Can I just say that you guys were amazing out there? Danny would never admit it, but he was impressed too.”
“Haha,” he deadpans, and explains that you’re with him. As Danny is introducing you, taking care to not mention your semi-nepo status, you can practically see Charlie and June masking their shock, running through scenarios on the inside on how to make this work, sizing you up to see if you’re worthy enough to join their game.
You know you have a part to play, your own mask to hold up, but all that flies out the window as your eyes meet Bosco’s.
It’s been less than a day since you met, but you feel so rattled with his attention on you, and you’re just sitting on his counter, in his safe space, like you didn’t run away from the first meaningful connection you had in a long time. All you left him with were memories and, when he asked, a whisper of your name given in between lovebites.
You wonder if his sheets smell like you.
He looks positively wrecked, and not in the pleasurable way he did last night. His face folds in on itself, his body completely tensed up, and his eyes—those once beautiful, dark eyes—are broken. All because of you. You want to tell him so badly, how if you only knew who he was last night you would never have left him. That you would've stayed.
But now isn’t the time. There’s a job to do.
So you sink into a persona not entirely unlike yourself, but something more confident and unfazed. It was the only way you could get through.
You all debate heavily about going to Antwerp, with Bosco firmly on the opposing side. You had a hunch last night, but you didn’t realize until now just how frustrating he could be.
“Look, the Eye needs us there,” you interrupt. “All of us. This Heart Diamond can change people's lives, and it’s in the wrong hands. We have the chance to make it right; we should take it.”
Bosco scoffs, and you whip your head around at the offending noise. You raise your eyebrows at him, daring.
“Us. We,” he mocks, tone ice cold. “Who even are you, anyway? I’m pretty sure Atlas got the tarot card, not you. Why are you even here?”
You inhale shakily, willing yourself not to lose it. You know he’s upset with you, you know he’s angry that you’re brushing him off, but you know that he’s arguing for the sake of it, acting like the three of them don't have a trick up their sleeve involving the Heart Diamond and he’s being contrary just to be a subversive asshole because apparently someone in their group has to be.
“I’m Dylan Shrike’s niece, alright?” you admit, practically in his face. Whatever. His fault for crowding you. He blinks in surprise. “I was born into the Eye, magic is all I know and I am good. You’re right, I don’t have a card, but the Eye sent me with Danny, so that’s where I’m going. You don't have to come, but—” You cut yourself off abruptly.
“But what,” he persists, a flash of curiosity amidst the irritation.
You chew the inside of your cheek and go for it. “But you will.”
“I will?”
“Yes, you will.”
“And you just know that, huh?”
“I do.”
“Oh really.”
“Yes, you asshole.”
“...”
“...”
“Fine.”
“Thank you!” Danny mutters, throwing his arms up.
That’s how you find yourself spending the night in the same building for the second day in a row, but in a different bed.
Despite their plans getting messed up with your arrival, you can tell they’re able to adjust easily to your presence, especially knowing who you are and that you’re actually part of the Eye.
You and Danny head back to the hotel to grab your stuff and get dinner for everyone, because they seem to live off take out and beer, and it’s much easier to make arrangements when you’re all together, and Bosco makes a snarky comment about how Danny should've led with a free trip to Europe.
As a control freak is wont to do, Danny is never done planning. His perfectionism a fatal flaw as well as an asset, but you tap out. June offers her room, one part excited to not be the only girl for once, the other curious to know you.
So you and June end up on her bed, giggling under her sheets as you recount a card trick you pulled on a sexist finance bro a few weeks ago during street hustle.
“Oh my god, you have to show me that trick.”
“Of course! It’s actually really easy. I’ve done it so many times.”
June sighs. “That sucks. We’re magicians in our own right and we deserve to be treated the same as any other street performer. We shouldn't have to fight to get an audience to suspend their disbelief, men never have to do that, they get it just by being men.”
“I know,” you agree sadly. “You wanna know the best part about being a female magician?”
June nods her head eagerly. “We always have each other’s backs no matter what. I’ve seen it and experienced it firsthand and June, I promise I will have your back.”
June is a little teary eyed, and she holds up a pinky. You hold up yours and lock them together. “I promise to have yours,” she says.
She falls asleep soon after, and it hits you just how young she is. You can see how close she is with Charlie and Bosco, but you doubt she would be as vulnerable with them as she was with you just now. You’ve seen her in action, how she puts up a stone cold, untouchable wall. She has to, to get where she wants to be. She plays everything so cool and she is, but you wonder how much longer she can keep it up before the wall cracks.
Whatever happens, you’ll be there for her.
Only, on the plane, you start to regret this.
She would not stop bothering you about Bosco.
It’s your own fault, admittedly. Neither of you were subtle with all your weighted gazes and bickering, anyone could see there were hidden meanings behind them. Danny refused to bring it up with you last night, vaguely reminding you to keep your focus.
She spoke in quiet, teasing tones, taking care even though Bosco had headphones in and his eyes shut in the row behind you.
“Come on, there’s something there,” she insists. “I know what I saw.”
You shake your head, “What you saw was two people with explosive temperaments passionately disagreeing. He gets under my skin, I get under his. There’s really nothing more to it.”
“Passionate, yes. Nothing more to it, no. Honestly, the way you speak to each other makes me think you already know him or something.”
You stay silent.
“I mean, the three of us can read each other pretty well, so I know he’s hiding something from us. About you,” she continues. “Which is so weird because normally he doesn’t shut the fuck up—don’t get me wrong, I love the guy—it’s just so weird. The way he's acting, I mean. About you.”
You sigh, the familiar pinch of a headache creeping up.
“June, I’m sure whatever his hang up is with me is personal. It’s really none of your business how we know each other.”
You startle at June’s sudden squeal. “Wait, you said ‘how we know each other.’ Which implies you do. You do, right? You met before yesterday?”
Ah fuck. Normally, you’re more careful with your words, ethos being a powerful tool you wield well. But you're so tired and stressed and no matter how much you travel, planes suck. June is so disarming, and you’ve felt affection for her ever since she nicked that douchebag’s ridiculous phone.
Really, it’s her incessant questions that make you spill.
You slam your head against the headrest. “Jesus Christ, fine. I’ll tell you but it has to stay between us, okay? I don’t want it to distract from the job, got it?”
June nods her head rapidly, eyes alight, her cheeks sucked in and—is that a tiny smirk?
Damn, you think. She’s good.
So you tell her about that night. Catching him, meeting him, feeling for him, going home with him.
“That was you!?” June nearly shrieks, incredulously.
You shush her.
“You were there?” You whisper furiously, noting a few heads turn your way on the otherwise quiet plane. “He told me his roommates were gone!”
June huffs. “Well we were. We came back early but had to leave again because we heard him fucking a girl within an inch of her life. You! What the fuck. Is sex supposed to be that loud or were you trying to help him win the Most Obnoxious Roommate Award? Cohabitating with Charlie isn't always easy but I’ll take obsessive late night rambling over whatever you did to Bosco. You guys are freaks. Eugh,” she shutters.
Despite it all, you snort. What you and Bosco did wasn’t nearly as freaky as it could've been, so June should thank her lucky stars the two of you didn't stop long enough to discuss kinks.
Crossing your legs, you begin to wonder what else gets Bosco Leroy off.
***
By the time you land in Antwerp and check into a hotel, you’re kind of over playing double (triple?) agent.
Danny is a softie at heart, so all it takes is one tiny mention of chocolate before the four of you are begging him to get you something artisan, and you’re finally alone with them.
“Look,” you assert. “I know you sent the tarot cards. I’ve been part of the Eye for as long as I can remember, and you might've convinced Danny, but I know how they work.”
The three of them tense up, their faces closing and eyes assessing you similar to how they did at the apartment. You need their trust; it’s now or never.
“The Eye sent me with Danny to determine if you were dangerous or not, and I don’t think you are. I don’t know why you’re targeting Veronika Vanderburg, I know there’s more to it than exposing a money laundering scheme. This screams personal, seriously.” You huff at their disbelieving faces. “I’m not going to tell Danny or the others—oh don’t look at me like that of course I know they’re gonna pop up at some point. I’m sure there’s a reason you’re not telling anyone. I know the Horsemen. I want to help. Let me help you.”
You wait for their judgement, shocks of emotions running through their faces. To be honest, they didn’t really have a choice, but you hope they let you be part of their trick. You may be a member of the Eye, but after meeting these three, you felt that being with them makes you part of something greater.
They take you in for a long moment, and your palms begin to sweat. You’ve been shot at, threatened, ran for your life, and been suspended hundreds of feet in the air with nothing to catch you if you fall, and yet, nothing has ever made you more nervous than you are right now.
Then, a smile blooms on June’s face. You only had a second to prepare before she squeals and launches herself at you, yammering something incoherent, yet excited all the same. Over her shoulder, you see Charlie with a similar smug grin and he shrugs.
He admits, “I knew it. I had a good feeling about you. We didn't plan on you being here, but I’m glad all the same.”
You don’t know Charlie that well, he’s pretty closed off and you suspect he’s the one with a score to settle with the Vanderburgs. Shortly after seeing him in action (or not in action, you should say) and reading up on him, you knew immediately he’s a Chameleon.
That’s two down.
June has you in a side hug, apparently latching herself to you for the foreseeable future, and you’re glad for the support as Bosco stares you down.
He’s so… unreadable. You thought you knew him but after what you put him through, he shut down. You know you have to talk to him, explain yourself, and relearn him; you just hope he gives you the chance.
He doesn't say anything for so long you’re afraid Danny will come back before it’s all settled.
Finally, after standing there agonizing like a lovesick fool, his lips pull up slowly, then all at once.
“Welcome to the team, Shrike,” he says, voice just as inviting and syrupy-sweet as you remember. It’s not your last name, but you’ll take it, relief hitting like an avalanche.
Charlie and June whoop, and the four of you are a mess of limbs as you’re pulled into a warm, enthusiastic embrace.
Oh, you think. So this is what it’s like.
All huddled up, your gaze meets Bosco’s, sending him a small, hopeful smile. He scoffs, an amused little puff of air, and winks. Your stomach flutters. Head dizzy. Heart bubbling.
Danny comes back a little later, bitching in his signature way, and you’re ready to get started.
You’re used to strategizing, picking apart a blueprint of a building, determining what supplies you’ll need and when to use them, and running recon.
Nothing prepared you for Charlie.
The aptitude on him was off the charts, and at least twice he makes such small, precise suggestions that when Danny comes up with an idea, you know it was actually Charlie’s.
You’re not sure what you expected, but the acute manipulation of one J. Daniel Atlas has you nearly applauding. A Chameleon, indeed.
Later, Danny heads off to bed, the old man. June and Bosco are snoozing on the beds, having retired a while ago claiming jetlag.
You take a second to admire that same peaceful look on Bosco’s face. He’s so cute when he sleeps. You’re tempted to slip under the covers next to him, but he’s sharing with Charlie and it would be a mess and a half to explain anyway.
You take a peek at him, and you realize he’s already looking at you, eyebrows raised knowingly. Goddam it.
“Shut up,” you bite.
He snickers. “It doesn't take a genius to figure out what’s going on between you and my guy over there.” He nods his head in Bosco’s direction.
Completely done and most definitely influenced by lack of sleep, you hurriedly change the topic like a coward.
“You are though. A genius. I meant what I said the other day—you really are amazing.”
He blushes. “I’m not Bosco, stop flirting with me.”
You roll your eyes at his obvious deflection. “I’m being serious, dude. Take the compliment. Own up to your genius.”
He looks down sheepishly. “Thank you.” Then he looks back up with a devious expression. “Are you going to own up to your feelings for Bosco?”
Something inside you snaps. In a hushed tone, you snark back, “I never once doubted what I feel for him, it’s just not the right time. I fucked up, Charlie. I don’t even know if he likes me. I probably ruined whatever we had and he deserves a lot better than what I gave him.”
You plop down in a chair, utterly defeated.
Charlie comes up and sits beside you, a hand on your shoulder. “Just talk to him. He might be an asshole, but he’s an asshole who cares. He’s not like me—he doesn't hold grudges. He’s a lot more understanding than what you give him credit for.”
So you sit with that, all your nerves firing and twisting all complicated inside of you.
You want, too. You want and want and want. You hope he wants you too.
***
The heist goes off without a hitch, sort of, and you pick up three more people.
The Horsemen.
Except Lula, which upsets you, but Charlie explained that there weren't enough images of her to deepfake, and the ones he got his hands on were too grainy to use. Apparently, he actually had no idea where she was no matter how hard he searched, and hoped Jack would bring her along. Like a plus one on a wedding invite.
Jack decidedly did not bring her along, and you silently thank Merritt for asking her whereabouts.
It gets you thinking though, because you were positive Jack and Lula were a sure thing, having seen them together on occasion and they always seemed so in love and infinite. But now they're not together, and that frightens you.
You think about Bosco.
If you start something with him, who’s to say it’ll last? You’re not experienced with romantic relationships and you can barely maintain a friendship, what if you blow it? Well, actually, now that you’re thinking about Bosco, irritation flares inside you.
You know he’s an actor and you know he had to distract Veronika, but seeing him with her, flirting and attempting to dom her felt so wrong. Disgusting. That wasn’t him, and you know it was for the job but it pisses you off all the same.
So, you're mad at him.
It was easy to ignore these annoying, stirring feelings as you ran and fought for your life and reunited with everyone (who were glad to see you again, all grown up, if not slightly confused by your presence). Now, standing around on a rickety little boat, you have time to sink into vexation as everyone argues.
They were trying to split off and repress their issues again, everyone eyeing you carefully at the mention of your uncle, so you and Charlie take that as a cue to jump in and convince them to stay.
Later, exploring the mansion, you curse as you lose sight of your adventure buddy Merritt.
“How do the elderly move so fast,” you mutter under your breath. He could be literally anywhere, and you’re not paying attention when you turn the corner and run straight into Bosco’s arms.
“Hi,” he says, voice low.
“Hi,” you croak.
The way he’s looking at you in that soft way he does, holding you like you’d fall to pieces without him, brings you back to a few days ago. His familiar warmth relaxes every part of you, and his crisp scent is like coming home.
He’s so close, and it’s such a dizzying position to be in that you almost miss when he speaks.
“God, I thought I would never get rid of Atlas. He’s such a control freak, it’s crazy.”
You giggle and bite your lip. “Well, you’re defensive and kind of a dick so it evens out. Merritt and I found a room that’s literally just mirror, you two should check it out. Do some reflecting. See what I did there?”
His grip on you feels stronger now. “What,” he says flatly, “ever.” His gaze is severe, and you notice how zero’d in on your lips he is. Unconsciously, you take a step forward and have to tilt your head to look at him.
“You’re so cute,” he grumbles.
All at once, you feel like mush.
How can he bring out so many of your emotions? Now that’s a real magician. Every time you’re around him, you feel them all. Which reminds you.
You close your eyes for a brief moment, then attempt to harden your gaze. “I’m mad at you, by the way.”
“What,” he narrows his eyes at you, clueless. “I thought I was mad at you. When did we agree it was your turn?”
“When you spent half the night flirting with Blood Diamond Barbie,” you snap. “I mean seriously, did you need to lay it on that thick?” You were relatively calm bringing it up, but now you're lowkey fuming. “Like, be so for real. A woman as powerful as her should not have been so easy to seduce. Do you think she was desperate? I think she was desperate. I guess money can’t buy you everything. Which is weird, because she can certainly afford that if she really wanted to."
Your rambling trails off after catching the unexpectedly hurt look on Bosco’s face.
“Desperate?” he asks quietly, there’s an uncertain edge to his voice you’ve never heard before.
Wait, did he think—? Your clasp on him tightens.
“No, no baby, I didn’t mean it like that,” you reassure him, and just like that you’re back to how you were that night. Together. Intimate. Understanding.
You bring a hand up to cup his cheek and he absolutely melts into you.
“I mean Veronika Vanderbitch has all the money in the world and probably pays that security guard to fuck away the emptiness inside of her, and she might say diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but at the end of the day, it’s just ice.”
He chuckles, and you feel it go down to your very core.
“You aren't making any sense,” he comments. Yet, he’s grinning from ear to ear.
“I don't care,” you reply, “Are you okay now?”
He nods. “Yeah. I just. When you said ‘desperate’ I—” You cut him off, needing to put an end to that insecure train of thought.
“No, that night I wasn’t deperate to fuck someone and decided you were good enough. I was desperate to fuck you.”
You barely finish your sentence before his head dips down and his mouth is on you.
You moan into him, his tongue immediately finding yours as he gives you a hot, desperate kiss. God, you missed this. Your lips sucking at each other and so demanding. It’s so right, so balanced, and you nearly fall apart as he whimpers into your mouth.
“Atlas was being an asshole,” Bosco says, breathless. You don't care and pull him back in.
A few moments later, he breaks away again. You want to scream, but decide to attack the exposed skin of his neck as he talks since he evidently has to. “And I wanted to get rid of him, right? Oh fuck please keep doing that, mhmm. Guess what I found? A bathroom. It’s really nice—god your mouth feels so good—and quiet.
In seconds you and Bosco are in the bathroom (he’s right it is very nice), struggling with his belt and feeling murderous.
“Why won’t this stupid thing come off, I swear to god. Why do you have the stupidest belt in existence, take it off. I don't ever want you to wear this thing again, this is so stupid.”
Seriously, seriously, if you’re not getting railed within the next minute you might actually strangle Bosco with his own belt.
He laughs at you and you punch his shoulder, but he acquiesces because try as he might, he’s just as hopeless and needs to get inside you.
No sooner than his difficult, stupid belt is off is your hand inside his pants, stroking his girth and bringing him to tears.
Both of you know it has to be quick, so you just shove your bottoms down and face the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink.
You can’t help the whine that escapes you as he pushes in from behind, no prep because you told him it’s now or never, and he’s fucking into you furiously.
You’re grateful and touched that the cheeky asshole brought a condom, because watching his blissed out expression in the mirror as he pumps into you again and again feels like a sick kind of baptism. Unlike before, both of you are on the same page, and it feels like a renewal. A clean slate you both get to write on.
He slams into you, and you groan a vow.
You arch your back as he slides his hands up your shirt to cup your tits. His hands are warm, and you're so overwhelmed with affection that you twist your head around and capture his lips.
“You’re a fucking dream,” he growls and you know it’s his vow to you.
He quickens his pace, snapping his hips with such finesse you nearly stumble, and you can tell he’s getting close. You want to come together, so you bring one of his hands in between your legs and he rubs your clit until you're gasping your release into his mouth, and he’s mewling into yours as he spills inside you.
You take a few seconds to stand there, both holding each other up and breathing the other in, not caring you're half naked messes. Your hand reaches back to stroke his hair, the curly wisps calming you down. His eyes are shut as he rests his face next to yours, arms around you tight.
This is the moment you know.
***
You’re struggling with a police officer as they yank you and June into the bullpen. As Veronika attempts to persuade the cops to release the two of you into her custody, your eye catches onto an achingly familiar woman.
She’s hunched, dressed in rags, and her makeup makes her look decades older, but you’re sure it’s her.
Soon, a fire breaks out, and so do you.
It’s a full on brawl getting out of the police station, and you’re flying over cops and dodging their attempts to grab you. You’re doing well, but your attention is split between securing your own freedom and checking on June’s well-being.
She’s holding her own, twisting and deceiving like a magician does in a street fight. You notice she copies a defensive move you made moments before, and you feel pride swell in your chest.
In your distracted state, you don’t notice the cop creeping up behind you. He grabs you by the hair and slams your head down into a desk. For a moment you feel nothing but shock, then you cry out in pain, and you struggle against him as your head explodes. Distantly, you hear a panicked June shout your name.
Like a papa bear, Merritt barrels into him and you take the opportunity to stand straight. The head rush that comes immediately after has you stumbling. You’re caught by June, and she holds you up.
“Get her out of here,” you hear Merritt yell. You want to protest—you couldn’t leave him alone in this place!—trying to push June off but in your hazy state, she easily overpowers you and you’re running for your lives. June is strong as she maneuvers you to safety, but you can feel her shivering.
When you meet up with Jack and Lula, they’re on you in an instant, asking you what’s wrong and if you’re okay, and all you can think about is Merritt. Alone. With the enemy.
Slowly but surely, the four of you (it should’ve have been five, fuck) make your way to the a safehouse. You’re still disoriented, so Jack and June help you walk while Lula leads the way.
Once inside, everyone rushes to you. You’re grateful for their care and attention, it fills you with so much warmth you feel buzzed, but you only want one person.
You and Bosco collide, holding each other so close you’re not sure where you end and where he begins. You breathe him in deep, his hands holding you secure, and you feel so much better. You stay there, hugging and holding and so so thankful.
You feel more arms wrap around you, Charlie and June joining your hug. It’s a powerful thing, the four of you together. Distantly, you hear your uncle's voice in your head: a single organism.
Eventually, the adultier adults give you an ice pack and have you lie down on a couch. Soon after you, Henley, Lula, and June have your little female magician moment of solidarity, the arguing begins again, but you fall asleep in the middle of it all.
You’re not entirely sure what happened after you conked out, but now everyone is ready to get Merritt back and take down Veronika and her bloody empire.
You feel a lot better after resting, and they make sure you’re okay to join this act. The wheels are turning, and Charlie discreetly clues you in on his own plan, giving you a job within the job.
On the plane ride there, you confide in Bosco about your guilt from leaving Merritt. He takes your hand in his and is quick to correct you.
“There was literally nothing you could've done. There were too many of them, and Vanderbitch has them in her pocket. Did you expect him to do anything other than protect you? They might act all exasperated, but these old timers love us.”
You swat his arm. “Do not call them that,” you say, but you’re smiling. He is too, but then his face pinches together.
“I get it. Do you know how guilty I was when we all got separated and you got arrested? I was ready to charge in, no plan, until they talked sense into me. I felt like it was my fault. If I hadn't gotten into a pissing match with Atlas then we would have had time to escape. All of us. You wouldn't have been hurt, Merritt would never have been kidnapped. And Thaddeus—”
“Stop,” you command. “Don’t go there. That was no one’s fault except the cop who shot him.” You bring your foreheads together.
“Can we agree then,” he says quietly after a few minutes, “to not feel guilty about anything that happened these past few days?”
You make a strangled noise. “I… don't know if I can do that,” you respond. Your chest constricts, and tears well up in your eyes as you thought about that night. “If I knew who you were, I never would have left, I swear.”
“It’s okay,” he tries to calm you. “I get it.”
You shake your head. “It killed me leaving you after all of that. I’ve never regretted anything more.”
Your foreheads are still touching, and Bosco takes your head in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “I get it. You were in an impossible position. I forgive you, and we're here now. You’re not going to—”
“No,” you gasp out in agreement. “I’m not leaving you. Ever.”
“Good,” he swallows. “I’m not leaving you either.”
Then, he kisses you so sweetly you melt into his mouth.
***
Once you land in Abu Dhabi, it all happens quickly.
The Horsemen are getting Merritt back, and you’re following Bosco as he swerves around the city in the stolen Formula One car. It’s not easy, and you’re pissed when he gets arrested, but seeing him swagger out of the police van in victory is so fucking hot.
“You’re so fucking hot,” you tell him as he jumps in your car. You lean over the console and crush your mouths together.
“Fuck you’re amazing. Are you alright, baby?” he asks in concern, searching your eyes for a hint of pain or discomfort.
You brush a thumb over his cheek. “Just a small headache. But I’m fine.”
He takes your hand and kisses your palm. “Good. Now, let’s help Charlie get his revenge.” You kiss him one more time, then floor it.
***
In the end, Charlie steps into the light, the Horsemen are together and gain four new members, and you? You get everything.
***
You’re giggling into Bosco’s mouth as he presses you down onto his mattress.
“Get off, they’re going to be here any minute! We have to get ready,” you say, not attempting to get up at all.
In a melted tangle of limbs, Bosco’s half on you, and one hand trails up your naked thigh. You keen at his touch.
“See, why would I leave this bed?” He leaves butterfly kisses in the crook of your neck, and you hum in appreciation. “It has the most beautiful girl in the world in it, and she’s all mine.” He latches onto your collarbone and sucks. You hiss in pleasure. “Out there, I have to share her.”
You breathe in deeply and hold his face in your hands. “Okay. Okay. Fuck it. C’mere,” and you drag him down, lips on yours. You’re so lucky your boyfriend is a good kisser. He’s lucky he makes you wet.
You’re still kissing as he grips your thigh and hikes it over his waist. At this angle, he easily slides inside of you, and makes a little noise in the back of his throat.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. So wet and tight for me.” You nod and mumble in agreement. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, and you take the time to enjoy each one. He treats you so well.
“Mhm, you’re so deep. Filling me up,” you whisper praise in his ear. You rock against him. “So good. Harder, baby. Please fuck me harder.”
Bosco groans above you, completely losing it at your words. It never gets old, hearing you say them. He’ll never get used to you wanting him. You’re a vision, and you’re his, and he’s so happy he could die.
He fucks you so hard you bite his shoulder when you come to stop yourself from screaming so loud.
He hasn’t come yet, but he takes a second to check the damage in the mirror. When he sees the indent you left, he blurts, “I love you.”
Now it’s your turn to push him down on the mattress and straddle him. He looks so pretty and pliant underneath you, and when you start to ride him, his face crumples.
“I meant what I said the night we met. You’re everything. Of course I love you,” you confess, and he floods your pussy instantly.
You’re both giddy and blushing as you clean up and pull on clothes. You each spray on a fragrance to mask the scent of sex. There’s a kiss stolen here and there as you get ready, the afterglow of sex and love too strong to come down from.
The two of you trip out of his room, beginning to think you got away with it when you’re met with literally everyone. They have mixed expressions. June and Charlie are used to this by now, and they’re laughing at everyone else. Lula and Henley are by far the most pleased with this turn of events, both of them giving you nods of appreciation and Lula cheers for you. Jack and Merritt are kind of confused with this development, but out of the corner of your eye you see both of them silently giving Bosco fist bumps. (You would have been more annoyed had they each not given you one later on.)
Danny is plain horrified. He stutters even more than usual and talks in circles, then finally the most coherent thing he manages to jabber out is an incredulous, “Was that you two in the bathroom? In the mansion?” There are gasps.
Motherfucker. You weren’t going to tell anyone about that.
“Atlas,” Bosco admonishes, a red flush climbing up his neck. “C’mon man.”
This is as good as a confession, and pretty much everyone is screaming at you guys or just screaming in general. It’s all in delight and shock, mostly teasing and others slightly disgusted.
“What!”
“That’s my girl!”
“You hooked up in the mansion? That’s like, sacred ground for magicians, guys, gross!”
“How did you even have time?”
“When I lost you after the mirror room I was worried sick, young lady. Only to find out you were getting a little hanky panky? Well I’ll be damned. Kids these days."
“This is… Gross. I can’t handle this, I just can't. Ugh. I’m going to bleach my brain."
Through it all, you knew they were happy for you. You used to be so lonely, and now you have all of this. You’re not alone, and you never will be again. The thought makes you fuzzy inside.
Bosco wraps an arm around your waist and leans down. “You deserve this, you know,” he whispers.
You turn to him and rest a hand on his chest, beaming. “You do too.”
