In another life, he wouldn’t need to punish himself with half-formed memories of you—images that lose their edges a little more each year.

In another life, he would be in his bed with you tucked against him, his face buried in your hair, breathing you in like something he’d waited lifetimes to find. No collar. No rules. No shame. Just a man who loves you the only way he’s ever known how: with his whole damned chest.

He imagines mapping you with his hands, learning you the way other men learned scripture—page by page, breath by breath. He imagines discovering what makes you sigh, what makes your back arch, what makes you melt beneath him until you’re saying his name like certainty instead of sin.

He imagines watching you the way people watch their favorite film—again and again, even when he knows every frame, even when he knows the ending still might break him.

In another life, he would choose you without hesitation. Without a second thought toward heaven or consequence. He would choose you and keep choosing you.

But in this life he’s damned to love you from the wrong side of the door, to ache for you with hands he’s not permitted to use, to crave a world where your body is the faith he kneels for. Damned to carry you like divine temptation. The kind that ruins a man long before it ever thinks of saving him.

In this life he is a priest, bound by vows he questions more each day, and no matter how violently he longs to close the distance between holy and damned, he will not gamble your soul for a desire he knows is already a lost cause. Even if it kills him.

thanks for reading :) let me know if you liked it 🩶

The sheer, unmitigated gall of his tone felt like the final straw for the evening. You didn't say another word. With a glare that could freeze fire, you stepped inside your apartment, slamming the door directly in his smug, handsome face. The wood shuddered in its frame as you flipped the deadbolt into place with a satisfying thud. Your body sagged against the door, heart pounding. A small, victorious smile played on your own lips. Let him try to get past that.

      Click

      The sound was faint, metallic, and came from the lock itself. Your blood ran cold, and you spun around just as the doorknob turned and the door swung open.

      You barely had time to step back as Bosco let himself inside, casually closing the door behind him as if he’d been invited. He waggled two thin pieces of metal between his fingers before pocketing them. 

      "You know, being a woman who lives alone in New York City, you really should invest in a better deadbolt. That one's a joke."

      Every instinct in your brain screamed at you to run (to where?), scream (it’s New York - who’s going to notice?), or to grab the heavy bookend on your shelf and swing for his head (just out of reach, but probably your best bet). 

      "Get. Out." Your voice trembled with a mixture of fury and genuine fear. "Get out or I swear to God I'll -"

      "You'll what?" He asked, his tone suddenly losing its playful edge. He wasn't smirking anymore, instead sporting an expression that was calm, serious, and completely non-threatening. "Murder me? I don't think so."

      “You don’t know that.”

      “I’ve met killers - and you’re the furthest thing from one.”

      He moved past you, not into your personal space but further inside your apartment. His eyes scanned your bookshelves, artwork on the wall, the books stacked on the tiny table next to the small couch. 

      "I'm not here to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His back was to you as he examined a vintage Houdini poster you’d purchased at a flea market years ago. "Just wanna talk. And frankly, you weren't giving me much of a chance out in the hallway."

      “You had plenty of time for a sales pitch on the walk here, Leroy. And the one you gave wasn’t a very good one.”

      “Ooh, Leroy. That’s fun. Kinda like it when you call me that. Do it again.”

      “Keep this up and you’ll be the first victim in my murder spree.”

      He turned to face you, leaning against the bookshelf. “Give me five minutes and if you aren’t convinced, you never have to see me again.”

      “Is that a promise?”

      “Scouts honor.”

       You crossed your arms to prevent yourself from throwing the nearby lamp at him. “Fine. Go.”

      "The Horsemen are… The best of us, if I’m being honest. Atlas, Merritt, Jack, Henley. They're not just cool magicians, or high-tech versions of Robin Hood."

       You watched as he pushed off the shelf and started to pace the small living room, his restless energy palpable. 

      "They use illusion, misdirection, and spectacle to take down corrupt, powerful assholes who think they're untouchable. It's not about the money, though I won’t lie - it pays the bills and then some.”

      “Then what is it about?”

      “It’s about exposing those capitalist pigs, humiliating them, and redistributing their ill-gotten gains to all the people they've stepped on.”

      “I’m as anti-capitalist as the next person our age who will never afford a house - but what does this have to do with me?” You frowned. “I thought The Horsemen had been laying low for a while.”

      “They’re coming out of retirement for one last job. A big one."

      “One last job? Feels a bit dramatic.”

       He stopped pacing and stood in front of you. “Okay fine. One last job for now. We need a professional escape artist to really round out the team, and since Henley is about to have a kid, that’s where you come in.”

       Henley Reeves.

       The woman whose skills you’d studied for years, whose effortless beauty and cool confidence you had always secretly envied. Henley was everything you wanted to be: respected, powerful, and free - both literally and figuratively (assuming you completed your escape tricks correctly). 

      "We need someone with her skill set, or at least something similar.” Bosco continued. "You gotta be able to handle pressure and think on your feet, understand escapology, and someone who can work well with our team. We need someone like you. Preferably you.” 

       You stared at him.

      Me?

      Of all people - you made the least sense, at least on paper. You were assisting a hack, living paycheck to paycheck in a shitty apartment. Any of your own ideas for potential magic shows you’d hoped to star in one day gathered dust in a notebook, as did the shiny dreams of the future you’d once hoped for.

      Then you thought of what he was truly offering. The danger, the sheer audacity of it all. It was a way out of your dead-end job and boring life - but was it worth the risk? Worth the potential jail time if you got caught and couldn’t smooth talk your way out of it?

      You didn't say yes right away, but you also didn't tell him to fuck off and get out. You just stood there, in the center of your small apartment, facing the man who had picked your lock and turned your world upside down in a matter of hours. And for the first time in a very long time, you felt a spark of something you hadn't even realized was missing from your life: possibility.

      Your mind was a frantic kaleidoscope of anxiety and uncertainty, and you slumped against the small section of kitchen counter that faced the living area for support. It was all so much.

      Henley Reeves.

      The Horsemen.

      Joining a real-life vigilante magic troupe in hopes of making the world a tiny bit less corrupt.

      It was the kind of fantastical story you would’ve scribbled in your diary as a child - not something a handsome, lock-picking stalker offered you in your own living room barely two hours after meeting you.

      "You're insane.” You finally said, unable to think of a clever thing to say. "You're completely, certifiably insane. I can’t be a part of your Robin Hood LARPing group. I have a job. A life. Responsibilities.”

      “Responsibilities?”

      “Yeah, I’m sure those are something you’re unfamiliar with.” You scowled, standing a bit straighter. “I can't just run off with the first con artist who tells me I'm special."

      "You're not running off.”

      “Sure seems like that’s what you’re asking me to do.”

      “I’m not asking you to give up your entire…” Bosco gestured around her apartment with a wry expression. “Glamorous lifestyle. I just wanna take you to meet them tomorrow night at the Alchemist Nook. It’s a nice little under-the-radar bar. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team, and we’ll see if the chemistry is right."

       You let out a short, incredulous laugh. "The chemistry? You want me to go on a group date with your little cult?”

      “Think of it like an audition. And we’re not a cult. Not yet, anyway.” He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Though I’ve been told I make a pretty mean cup of Kool-Aid.”

      “If you think for one second that I'm willingly going to show up to meet a bunch of strangers in some creepy magic-themed bar, then you are even more delusional than I thought." You snapped.

       Bosco’s smile vanished. He took a step forward, the playful energy in the room congealing into something far more tense. "Oh, you're going."

      “Am not.”

      “I’m not asking for the moon here, gorgeous. Just an hour or two of your time.”

      “You think your friends can convince me to give up everything in two hours?”

      “They’re pretty persuasive.” 

      “I’m not easily persuaded.”

      “I think you could be, if you just relaxed and un-clinched your jaw for like two seconds.”

      "Try me," you challenged, your chin jutting out defiantly.

      "I think I will.” Bosco replied, his voice dropping to a low, steely murmur that sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through your veins. Fuck. He was closing in on your personal space again, his presence overwhelming. “Seems like it’d be fun.”

       You glared at him. “You can’t make me do anything.”

      “Give me one evening and I think you’ll change your tone.”

      “Doubt it -“

      “And if you wanna make it difficult, that’s fine. I'll drag you there by your hair if I need to. It'll be a hassle, and it'll kinda ruin the look I'm going for, but I'll do it."

       The threat was so ridiculous that a part of you was almost amused. "You're a dick."

      "I'm a magician who gets what he wants," Bosco corrected. "There's a difference."

       He held your gaze for a long, charged moment, the air between you thick with a heated tension. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it broke. Bosco sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair and shaking his head.

       “Maybe that was a bit extreme, I -“

       “I’ll do it if you get out of my apartment."

        For a long moment, you thought he might argue.

       “Now.”

       He just gave a slight, almost weary shrug. The fight inside of him seemed to have evaporated for the evening. 

       "Fine." He walked to the door, his movements fluid and unhurried. He paused with his hand on the knob, turning back to you. "I'll be here tomorrow. Six p.m. Sharp. Wear something pretty."

       The next day, you awoke feeling as though someone was rhythmically pounding an ice pick just behind your eyes. Events from the night before floated through the fogginess of your mind in fragments. No amount of groaning, slamming a pillow over your face, or trying to return to the depths of sleep could shake the anxious feeling in your gut.

        You called in sick to work, instead opting to spend the entire day pacing the length of your apartment, zoning out to trashy reality television, and reorganizing things that didn’t need it. The space felt too small for all the conflicted emotions that warred within you. The hours dragged on, and every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Bosco's infuriatingly confident smirk.

        At five minutes to five, you were still in a pair of worn-out pajamas, hair a mess as you sat curled up on the couch. Seven was rapidly approaching, and six was even closer.

        Why are you so nervous? It’s just a meet-n-greet audition with the magic worlds’ most notorious gang of troublemakers. 

        The sound of your door unlocking made you jump as Bosco walked in without knocking, looking both like he owned the place as well as looking infuriatingly handsome. He took one look at you and let out a long-suffering sigh as he shucked off his jacket.

       "Seriously? Pajamas?”

       “What’s wrong with my PJs?”

       “I said dress pretty, not like you’re ready for a mental breakdown."

       "It’s not even six yet.” You stood, scowling as you tugged a blanket around your shoulders. “What are you doing here?" 

       "I figured you'd be freaking out and need a hand." He breezed past you into your bedroom. "Shocker - I was right."

        Embarrassment competed with outrage as you trailed behind him. "Hey! Get out of my room!"

        Bosco was already standing before your tiny closet, rifling through the clothes with the critical eye of a personal stylist. 

       "No, no, absolutely not." he muttered, pushing aside a series of vintage blouses you’d gotten over years of thrifting.

       “Excuse you - I happen to like those.”

       "You’d look like a schoolmarm. Not that I don't have a hot teacher fantasy, but we can explore that another night. Tonight we need... impact."

        His long fingers paused on a slinky, emerald green dress towards the back of your wardrobe. You’d gotten it on sale at the behest of a friend. Oddly, you’d never had the courage to wear it, despite the fact that your job required you to almost exclusively wear tiny, sparkly body suits. Bosco pulled it out, holding it against himself, then holding it up to you.

       "Now this. This is perfect." He glanced back into the closet, reaching deeper with a devious expression on his face. With a quick tug, he pulled a black, lacy, lingerie slip off a hanger - holding it up by a single strap in front of your face. His grin was pure, unadulterated sin. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

        Mortification washed over you. "Give me that!" You snatched it from him and threw it somewhere behind you, face burning. "You're a pig, you know that?"

       "I'm an appreciator of fine things." He corrected, completely unfazed. "And that is very fine. We'll save it for the after-party."

        Turning back to the closet, he finally pulled out a simple, elegant black sheath dress that just so happened to cling to in all the right places. "This. Wear this. With, ah, these red heels." He kicked an old pair of red pumps over to you like they were a soccer ball.

       "I changed my mind.” You snapped, kicking the shoes back. “I'm not going anywhere with you!"

       “Too late to back out now, sweetheart.” Bosco replied, tossing the dress he’d chosen for you on the bed. “Everyone already knows you’re coming. It’d be kinda rude to back out now, don’tcha think?”

       “Are you saying you’re going to force me to go?”

        Bosco shrugged. “I told you last night I’d drag you in by your hair if I had to.”

        "I'm calling the cops."

        Leaning against your doorframe with an infuriatingly casual air, Bosco crossed his arms and cocked his head. "Okay," he said simply. "Go ahead."

        You felt in your pocket for your phone as you stared at him. It wasn’t there. You glanced at your bedside table where the charger sat - no phone on the other end. Did I leave it in the kitchen? On the couch?

        “Where’s my fucking phone?”

        "What phone?" With a flourish of his hand, your phone seemingly materialized out of thin air. “Oh, this phone?”

        The look of mock innocence on his features made you want to smack him into next week. 

        “Give it back.”

        “Go get yourself ready and I’ll think about it.”

         You pushed past his lanky figure towards your front door, lunging for the hook that held your keys. It was empty.

        “What the f-”

         A jangling sound told you that someone had already gotten to them. You whirled, anger bubbling underneath your skin as Bosco swung them around his index finger, only looking moderately annoyed.

       “So, the way I look at it,” his voice was calm. Patronizing even. “You have two choices. You can put on the dress and come with me to meet my coworkers, or I can drag you out of here in your pajamas. Either way, we're leaving in an hour. Plenty of time for you to decide how much dignity you’d like to maintain.”

        The silence in the apartment was thick enough to choke on.

       "Fine." You bit out, the word tasting like ash in your mouth as you shoved past him into your room once more, slamming the door behind you as his muffled laugh drifted under the door. 

        The remaining hour passed, and you refused to leave your room until the very last moment, keeping the door locked - for all the good you knew it could do. A haze of anxiety, hairspray, and lipstick hung in the air as you begrudgingly made yourself presentable. The cool fabric of the dress did little to ease your heated skin, and it felt like cruel and unusual punishment to wear three inch heels given your foul mood.

        By the time you emerged into the living room to find Bosco hyper-focused on some baking show he’d found to stream, your anger had lessened to a simmering indignation. It wasn’t that you were particularly furious at the idea of meeting The Horsemen, or even that Bosco was proving to be a pain in the ass. What plagued you more than anything was the thought of making a complete fool of yourself and being sent back with your tail between your legs. If you didn’t go, there’d be no opportunity for you to fuck up.

       “Happy?”

        Bosco’s gaze swept over you as you entered, giving a dramatic turn for his inspection. For the first time, that relentless smirk was replaced by something else. Approval. 

       "Very." His voice was a deep rumble that made you feel something in the pit of your stomach. "Let's go."

        He held the door open like a gentleman, even if you trudged through it like a prisoner on her way to the gallows. The trip down the several flights of stairs was silent and tense. The two of you stepped outside into the cool evening air, and you spotted a black, nondescript sedan idling at the curb.The low purr of its engine was the only noise on the quiet street. A man in a dark suit stood by the rear door, opening it as you approached.

       "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." You muttered, planting your feet on the sidewalk at the low gate outside your building. "This is how those abduction movies start. I'm not getting in that car."

       "Did you think we were walking?"

       "I-"

        Bosco didn't even bother to argue any further. He just sighed, grabbing you by the upper arm, and bodily steering you towards the vehicle.

       Fuck. He’s stronger than he looks. 

       "We've been over this. Don't keep making it difficult."

       "Difficult? You think I’m making shit difficult?" You hissed as he pushed you into the back seat, sliding in beside you. The darkness and new-car-scent enveloped you, and you slugged him in the upper arm with all your might.

       “Jesus.” Bosco rubbed his arm, glaring at you. “And yeah, you’ve been making this way harder on yourself than it needs to be.”

       The car pulled away from the curb, and you stared out the window, watching the familiar streets of the neighborhood blur into obscurity. Your heart drummed frantically against your ribs as you weighed the merits of throwing yourself from the car. Bosco must have sensed your mind working overtime, because he quickly laced his fingers through yours with an iron grip.

       “Don’t do anything stupid.”

       “Of course not. Wouldn’t want to force you out of the job.”

       “Wanna look me in the eye and tell me that you weren’t thinking about jumping out of the car just now?”

        You pressed your lips together impudently.

       "I’m not gonna hurt you. If I were going to kill you," his tone maddeningly calm, "I'd have done it last night. Would’ve been much easier.”

       "Kidnapping is a crime, Bosco.”

       “Actually it’s a felony.”

       “I don’t love that you know that.”

       “Well, technically I didn’t kidnap you.”

        You gestured to the small interior around you, your voice rising. “Then what the fuck do you call this? A casual Uber ride?”

        “I think the guy primarily drives for Lyft, but sure.”

        The pair of you argued the entire drive, the hysteria burning in your chest as Bosco sidestepped every single one of your worries. So absorbed were you in your fight that you almost didn't pay attention to where the car took you until it  slowed and turned into a narrow alley behind what looked like an old, abandoned theater.

        The vehicle stopped, and Bosco immediately jumped out. He reached back in, grabbing your hand and pulling you out onto the pavement. 

       "Come on. We're late."

       “And who’s fault is that?”

       “Quite literally yours, sweetheart.”

        He didn't drag you by your hair, but between his grip on your wrist and other hand at the small of your back, he might as well have. He led the two of you to a rusted metal door with no lock or handle, knocked out a complicated rhythm, and it swung open with a creak.

        A dusty lobby greeted you, and you were led down a hallway toward a set of double doors. The reality of your somewhat dangerous position hit you. You were in a strange place with a strange man. No family or friends to come looking for your body. You dug your heels into the moth-eaten carpet, panic crashing over you in a wave. 

       "Bosco, I swear to God, if you don't let me go right now—"

        He kicked the doors open and yanked you through the doorway. 

       "Surprise." He said flatly.

        You stumbled into the room, breath catching in your throat. You don’t know what you’d expected. Chains. A cage. Maybe a metal table filled with an array of rusty weapons meant for maiming and dismembering.

        Instead, the room before you was a cozy lounge. Plush, dimly lit, and peaceful. The low murmur of conversation and jazz music permeated the air. You unclenched your fists ever so slightly.

        On a collection of velvet couches, barely a dozen paces away and looking at you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, were the four people you recognized from a thousand grainy photos, news reports, and old YouTube videos.

       The Horsemen.

       The Daniel Atlas, looking every bit the arrogant illusionist and ringleader. 

        Merritt McKinney, the infamous mentalist, sporting a charming and knowing twinkle in his eye.

        Jack Wilder, the sleight-of-hand artist, somehow looking younger and sharper than his pictures. 

        And leaning against the bar, a soft, knowing smile on her face, was Henley Reeves herself. She looked more beautiful than you’d expected, somehow. People would probably chalk it up to a pregnancy glow, but you suspected that was just her face naturally. All effortless grace and quiet confidence.

        They were real.

        They were all here. 

        And they were eagerly awaiting your arrival.

        You stopped dead heels sinking into the thick carpet, mouth agape in shock. Bosco's hand fell away from your wrist as every ounce of fight drained out of you in a single, dizzying rush. 

       “See?” Bosco’s breath was warm in your ear. “Told you I didn’t lie.”

        The room was silent. The eyes of a quartet of the most legendary magicians in the world were focused entirely on you, and their collective gaze felt heavier than the time a stage curtain had fallen on you after a show. You felt frozen in place.

        Daniel Atlas was the first to break the silence, pushing himself up from the couch with a languid grace. He approached slowly, like a shark assessing a potential meal. It wasn’t entirely predatory - but it was judgmental. You felt overdressed and underqualified to be there.

       "So this is the girl you found at Alfonso’s?" His voice was a smooth, condescending baritone. 

       “Nah, I grabbed some other chick off the street and brought her to a top secret meeting.” Bosco plopped down on the couch and leaned back casually. “That’s what you wanted me to do, right?”

        Atlas’s flat expression didn’t change for a nanosecond. “Is that what you did?”

       “God, you’re such a buzzkill.”

       “Bosco.”

       “Atlas.” Bosco rolled his eyes and gestured towards you dramatically. “Meet Alfonso’s girl Friday, everyone.”

       Merritt gave you a once-over. “Lemme guess, you thought Prince Charming over there was leading you somewhere to murder you?”

      “Wow, you really are as good as everyone says.” The sarcastic response slipped out before you could stop it, and your eyes widened in horror. Shit.

       To your relief, Merritt began to laugh, clapping you on the back like you were his drinking buddy. “I like her. She has my vote.”

      “She hasn’t done anything yet.” Atlas muttered.

      “Eh, semantics.”

      “So, why’d you pick her, Bosco?” Jack asked, eying you from the couch. “Doesn’t seem like your normal type.”

      “I don’t have a type, Wilder.”

      “Right, I forgot. Anyone who gives you the time of day is your type.” Jack offered you a wry grin. “That may have been your first mistake.”

      “Don’t mind them.” A warm voice fell on your ears, and you watched as Henley pushed off the bar and walked toward you. A genuine, welcoming smile played at her lips, and you felt slightly more at ease. "They're like dogs. They have to sniff the new person before they decide if they like you." She extended a hand. "It's good to finally meet you. I'm Henley."

      You stared at her hand for a second before taking it. It was firm and steady - controlled, like any good magicians’ should be. "You... you know who I am?"

      "We do our research." Atlas said, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Your work with Alfonso - which is a tragic waste of your talent, by the way. Your side hustles in Central Park. Your extensive knowledge of escapology and lock mechanics. The time you stole the mayor’s wallet during one of his high-security pap walks. Still curious about how you pulled that one off.”

      "A magician never reveals their secrets." Bosco chimed with an infuriatingly smug look. "But I told you she was good."

      "Also heard that you also have a habit of picking locks you shouldn't." Merritt added. "Which is how we know you'll fit right in."

      "But why me?" Your voice was fading to a whisper. 

      "Because I don’t know if Bosco mentioned it, but I'm about to be very busy with a tiny new assistant who doesn't sleep and thinks my bladder is a trampoline," Henley said, patting her stomach with a fond smile. 

       Bosco held his hands up with Atlas glared at him. “I didn’t use any of those words.”

      "They need someone who can do what I do. Someone who can handle the pressure, think on her feet, and keep up with the rest of our team." Her gaze was direct and kind. "You’re impressive on paper, but we need to see if you have the spark."

      "Spark?"

      "The magic." Jack cut in. "The real thing. The thing that can't be taught. The instinct."

      Atlas gestured to a small table in the center of the room. On it sat a single, ornate silver box, about the size of a shoebox. It had no visible seams. No lock or hinges. It was a solid, seamless block of metal.

      "Open it." He said simply.

      You stared at the box. It was a classic test. A so-called “impossible” object. You looked from the box to the faces watching you - ranging from Atlas’s challenging stare to Bosco's smirk of knowing confidence. He knew you could do it. He had been banking on it from the moment he'd laid eyes on you in that club.

      With a deep breath, the panic and fear finally gave way to a surge of adrenaline within you. There wasn’t anything to stress over. This was your element. You walked toward the table and ran your hands over the smooth, cool metal of the box. 

       Your fingers searching for any imperfection, any hidden mechanism. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, made all the more stressful by the weight of their expectations. For a brief moment, you closed your eyes, blocking them out, and just listened. The low-level hum of the room. The whisper of your own breathing. And the faint, almost imperceptible click of tumblers inside the box that no one else could hear.

       A slow, confident smile spread across your lips, and you glanced up, your eyes meeting Bosco's across the room.

      “Child’s play.”

      You tapped it lightly, listening to the resonance as you ran a fingernail along the bottom edge. Nothing. It was a perfect puzzle.

      "Get on with it." Atlas said, unimpressed.

      "Has anyone ever told you that patience is a virtue?”

       You turned back, schooling your expression into something that you hoped was unreadable. Dramatically, you placed both hands flat on the top of the box, not pushing, just resting them there. You shifted slightly, and then you felt it.

       With a quick shuffling motion, you pressed your fingers along the sides, and  a series of tiny, whirring sounds started to come from within. You smiled as you heard a click, and the panel slid away, revealing not an empty interior, but a complex lattice of interlocking silver rings.

       The second task.

       Your heart hammered, but your hands were steady. This was a puzzle box, a centuries-old trick and design. It took dexterity and a delicate touch - both of which you were something of an expert at. Your fingers flew, twisting and turning the rings in movements that were a blur of practiced grace. With a final, satisfying *thunk*, the center ring popped free.

       The box was open, and even better? The whole thing had taken you less than forty seconds total.

       You lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was a tarot card.

      The Magician.

       You plucked it from its resting place, holding it aloft. “Cute.”

       Before you could fully process your victory the back door of the lounge burst open. 

      "Sorry we're late!" A young man with a slightly anxious voice called out. "Traffic was a nightmare, and someone had to stop for a churro."

       A short young woman with a mischievous grin (and a churro in one hand) strode in behind him.

      "June, Charlie," Bosco greeted them. "You just missed all the fun. This is the girl I told you about."

       June's eyes lit up as she took in the scene, the open box, the tarot card. "Looks like you passed the test. How long’d it take you?"

      “Under forty seconds.” You replied, a hint of pride in your voice. 

      “Thirty-eight point two, actually.” Atlas correct. “Not bad. Not great. But not bad.”

       You held a hand to your heart, stepping back to the circle. “Thank you, Atlas, that truly means the world. Check your pocket.”

       Atlas raised an eyebrow as he withdrew the card you’d found in the box from the breast pocket of his jacket. “Ah. Very nice.”

      “Learned from the best.” You winked - an action that was somewhat out of character for you on the day to day, but something about the ease with which you’d done the trick emboldened you.

       The seven Horsemen stood there for a moment, looking like a strange, dysfunctional family in your eyes. Your confidence faltered as you wondered if the simple trick had been enough to join their gang of magical misfits. Surely it hadn’t. It wasn’t as if you’d been chained up and escaped a locked tank of piranhas, or anything nearly as impressive as Henley. Hadn’t Bosco said they were banking on your potential? 

       The sound of Henley clapping her hands burst through your thoughts. "Alright. Huddle up. Can you give us a minute?” She asked you.

       You nodded, stepping back beyond the double doors that you’d come through minutes before as the motley crew formed a tight circle for discussing you. Their voices were a low, indistinct murmur that you certainly couldn’t make out from the other side of the door.  The weight of their perceived judgment made your heart stutter inside your chest. Standing on your tiptoes, you peaked through the round window in one of the doors. You saw Bosco gesturing emphatically, and Henley nod sagely. Both made your stomach twist into a knot. 

       You waited.

      And waited.

      And then waited some more.

     What in the hell could be taking so long?

     Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity. You were an outsider again, bright-eyed and waiting to be told if you were good enough. The insecurity it caused was familiar, feeling like ice in your veins. It was the one you thought you’d buried years ago - under layers of snark and sequins. What if they said no? What if you’d just made a complete fool of yourself in front of the people who’d inspired you so long ago?

     Never meet your heroes, I guess.

     Panic seized your heart. You couldn't just stand there waiting to be rejected. No one needed to see you crumble under the weight of their refusal. Without another thought, you bolted towards the hallway Bosco had dragged you down earlier, heels clattering frantically on the floor. You burst out into the cool night air of the alley, gasping for breath as you ran to the curb.

     The street was completely empty.

     The vehicle that had brought you here was gone. Fine. You were a big girl. You’d find a ride home. 

     "Running away?" A voice drawled from behind you. "Not a great first impression."

      You spun around to see Bosco leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, looking somewhat bored.

     "Where's the car?" You demanded. The chill of the night made your voice waver.

     "It’ll come back when we’re done. Sent it away because I figured you might try something stupid." He pushed off the wall and walked towards you. "Come on back inside. They're waiting."

     "No." You shook your head, backing away until your back hit the brick wall of the opposite side of the alley way. "I can't. I can't do this."

     "Why not?" He sounded genuinely confused. "You were great in there."

     "No, I wasn't." You replied. "Those were easy tricks that anyone could’ve done. I didn’t prove anything. I made a fool of myself."

     "You're an idiot.”

     "Excuse me?"

     "You heard me." His dark eyes held an intensity that surprised you as he walked closer. "You think that was about a puzzle box? You think the great J. Daniel Atlas gives a fuck about how fast you solved a toy?"

     “I mean, yeah, kinda.”

     “Come on. They already know you’re good, or you wouldn’t be here.” He reached out and gently tilted your chin up with his index finger, forcing you to look at him. "The dumb trick was honestly irrelevant to this whole thing. They wanted to meet you. Because you're the real deal. And you’ve been wasting it on that hack club. We're offering you a real chance at something, and you're out here having a panic attack because you're scared that you might actually amount to something."

     “I’m not scared.”

      Bosco’s fingers drifted across your jaw, warm against your now-cold skin. They pressed lightly, just where your jaw met your neck. Your breath hitched as he shifted a bit closer, his eyes searching your face.

     “Your pulse says otherwise.”

     “Can you blame me?” Your voice was a strangled whisper.

     “Is it me? Do I make you nervous?”

      You scowled. “Can you blame me?” 

      “No. I can have that effect on people.”

      “Don’t flatter yourself.” You said through gritted teeth. “I’m cold and stressed and alone with a weird guy in some dark alleyway. You don’t have an effect on me. Not in a good way. I don't like you."

      “I’d believe you a bit more if you could look me in the eyes when you say it.” 

       You swatted his hand away and sidestepped him, folding your arms around your middle and turning away from him, shivering. A few seconds later, you felt something being draped across your shoulders. Bosco’s jacket.

      “I don’t need -“

      “Sure you don’t.” He rolled his eyes, stepping in front of you once more. “If you’re going to sulk out here, seems like the least I could do is try to keep you alive.”

      “What a gentleman.”

      The two of you stood in silence for a few moments, the buzz of the city distant.

      "They want you to come back in, you know.” He said eventually, his voice softening. 

      “Oh?”

      "They want to offer you a spot. So the question isn't whether they want you. The question is whether you have the balls to take it or not.”

      Hope, warm and bright, flickered to life inside your chest. The Horsemen wanted you. They wanted you to be a part of their team. 

      “Holy shit.”

      “Thought so.” Bosco smiled triumphantly.

      “They do? They really want me?”

      “Come back inside and they can tell you more.”

      “You could’ve led with the fact that they wanted me.” You muttered as he guided you back into the warmth of the building. His hand on your lower back seemed to burn a hole in your dress.

      “Maybe. But watching you sweat was kinda fun, though.”

       The group zeroed in on you as you entered. Atlas was leaning against the bar, looking bored, but his eyes were sharp. "Great. She's back," he announced. "Decided against a life of panicking on the pavement, have we?"

      "We've talked," Henley said, stepping forward. "And we're all in agreement. We'd like you to join us. As a temporary replacement for me on the next job. Maybe longer, depending on how it all works out.”

       The offer hung in the air, surreal and within your reach. An incredible opportunity that most magicians could only dream of having.

      “I... I don't know what to say."

      "'Yes' is the standard response," Merritt offered, the ice in his whiskey glance clinking as he downed it.

      "She'll do it," Bosco said from behind you, his tone leaving no room for argument.

       You resisted the urge to shoot him a glare over your shoulder as you gazed at the group. You took a deep breath, the words feeling like a huge leap of faith. 

      “Okay," you said. "Yes. I'm in."

       A collective sigh of relief seemed to go through the room. June and Henley grinned, Charlie gave you a thumbs-up, and even Atlas managed a nod of mild approval.

      "Party time is over, kids." He said, pushing off the bar. "We’ve got the big job coming up. The kind that might just make everything else look like a birthday party. We don’t have all the details yet. Just know that it's dangerous and failure is not an option."

      He pulled a burner phone from his pocket and tossed it to you. "I’ll be in touch. Wait for my call. Don't leave the city, and do not use this phone for anything else. Don't call your mother. Don't order a pizza. Just wait."

      "Thank you.” You said after the others had gone back to their more individual conversation. Your voice was thick with an emotion you couldn't quite pinpoint, but you knew not to shed tears in front of Atlas so soon after meeting him.. "For... for the chance."

      “Don’t make me regret it.”

      “I won’t.”

      Atlas eyed her for a moment. “Surprisingly, I believe you.”

      "Go home, kid," Jack clapped a hand on your back and you jumped slightly. "Get some rest. You're gonna need it."

      With a final, uncertain nod, you turned and walked out, your legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. You didn't wait for Bosco, you just started walking. You needed some fresh air. A chance to either overthink exactly what sort of chaos you’d gotten yourself into - or try to out-walk the storm of emotions brewing inside of your gut.

      The cool night air helped clear your head, even though the edges of your heels were beginning to rub painfully against your threadbare tights. You’d have blisters tomorrow, but those were the least of your problems.

      "You know, they invented cars for a reason,” called Bosco, his voice echoing in the empty street behind you. "Probably so you didn’t have to walk across all of NYC in heels."

      "I like the fresh air.” You shot back without turning. The last thing you need was more weird, off-beat tension with your the curly-haired, con-artist neighbor. And now, your coworker.

      "It's New York air. It's mostly piss and defeat."

       You picked up your pace ever so slightly. Granted, you had almost no idea where you were - but you just wanted to get back to your apartment. To lock the door and process the fact that your life had just been irrevocably derailed - and you’d allowed it to happen. Were you really that bored? That desperate? 

       You were so focused on putting distance between yourself and Bosco that you almost didn’t see a figure detach itself from the shadows directly in your path. 

      “Well, well, look what we got here," a gruff voice said. "All dressed up with nowhere to go, huh, baby?”

       Another figure emerged, blocking your retreat. Your heart seized. Two men. Big, rough-looking, and reeking of alcohol. The first one took a step closer, his eyes raking over your dress. 

       "Nice outfit. Nice shoes. Bet that wallet's got something good in it, too."

       Adrenaline flooded your veins as they continued to close in on you.

       “Back off." You shouted, attempting to make your voice sound deeper and scarier than it actually was.

       The taller man just laughed. "Or what?"

       He lunged, and you didn't hesitate. You brought your knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he was faster than he looked. He sidestepped and shoved you backwards, letting you stumble on the edge of the sidewalk. Your ankle twisted slightly in the ridiculous heels as you fought to right yourself against a lamppost. One of the men grabbed at your collar, dragging you into the alley and slamming you into the wall of an abandoned drug store. Pain shot down your body as your shoulder connected with the brick, your twisted ankle only adding to your unsteadiness.

      The second guy lunged for your purse, tugged at the straps violently as you fought back, clawing and kicking. It was a futile fight - the two men were taller, larger, and far more determined than you.

      Maybe Bosco was right about that car.

      One of them grabbed you by the arms, pinning you against the wall while the other started rifling through your purse. There was nothing valuable on you, and once the men realized it, they’d be more likely to take their frustration out on you than just walk away.

      Fuck. Was this how it ended? Would you be left dead in some random New York alley where no one would find your body except the rats? It wasn’t as if you had an over abundance of friends or family to worry about you.

     "Hey!"

      A familiar voice, though this time it was devoid of snark, sliced through the night. Both muggers froze.

      Bosco stood at the entrance to the alley, his silhouette framed by the weak streetlights. He wasn't smirking or teasing. In fact, he looked rather terrifying. Maybe it was due to the deep cadence of his voice, or maybe it was the angry look you could just barely make out in his eyes. "Get your hands off her.”

      The second man, the one who held you firmly, sneered. "Make us, pretty boy. There's two of us and one of you. You like those odds?”

      Bosco just smiled, and it was terrifying. He moved then, a blur of motion. He didn't throw a punch - that’d be too uncouth for a magician. Instead, a large and heavy coin appeared from thin air. In a flash of silver, it struck the first man in the forehead with impossible speed right between the eyes. He howled, stumbling backwards in pain

      While he was distracted, Bosco was on the other one, who had let you go to charge at the lanky man before you. Shattered glass broke through the quiet as an empty wine bottle he must’ve snatched from a nearby dumpster broke apart over the second man’s head. He crumpled to the ground by his mugging buddy, pricks of blood from the lacerations beginning to stream down his face.

      In less than fifteen seconds, it was all over. Both men were scrambling to their feet and running down the alley without a backward glance. Probably to nurse their wounds, or maybe find easier prey.

      Bosco didn't watch them go. He turned his attention to you, still slumped against the wall, ankle throbbing. Your pride was in tatters. He bent down to peer into your eyes, not even breathing very hard given what he’d just done.

     "You okay?" Bosco asked. His voice held an edge you hadn’t heard before.

      Humiliation burned hot in your cheeks. "Thanks. But I had it handled.”

     "Right," he said, his gaze dropping to your torn tights, the way the strap of your dress had slid off your shoulder, and the way you were favoring one ankle. "Looked like you were about to really teach them a lesson."

     “I would’ve been fine.”

     “You use the word fine a lot. I’m starting to think you don’t really know the definition of it.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You could’ve just waited for the car."

      You just glared at him, hating him for just a moment. Hating him for being right, for saving you, and for seeing you in a moment of weakness.

     "Come on." Bosco said, his voice gentler now, all the sharp edges worn away by as a look of pain crossed your face when you attempted to stand. Without asking, he bent down and swept you up into his arms.

      You let out a startled yelp, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. "Fucking Christ - put me down! I can walk!"

     "The swelling in your ankle says otherwise." He grunted, adjusting his grip. "Just... shut up and let me be the hero for a minute, okay? It's a new look for me."

      You desperately wanted to argue, but the warmth of his chest against your side and the solid strength of his arms were oddly comforted after the attempted mugging in the alley. You begrudgingly gave in, still stiff as you let him carry you back to where the sedan idled a block away.

       Bosco insisted on hauling you up the stairs to your apartment once you’d arrive back at the building you apparently shared. Setting you down on the small couch, he disappeared into your kitchen, returning a moment later with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel. The cold was a welcome relief, and you sighed contentedly as he carefully pressed them against your ankle.

      "There." He kneeled in front of you so he was at eye level with you. "Doctor Bosco has seen to your wounds.”

       He was so close. You could see the different shades of gold, hazel, and brown in his eyes. It was a warm, caramally-colored kaleidoscope that, under any other circumstance, probably would’ve done something for you. The air between you crackled with an energy that was equal parts frustrating and intoxicating. It felt like he was debating how many of your buttons he was going to push, or if he wanted to leave you be for a moment. Either way, there was a hunger in his expression that made your cheeks flush.

       No. Stop it.

       Then the moment was gone. He stood up, stretching. "Lets get you into bed. I'm crashing on your couch tonight."

      "Like hell you are.” You raised an eyebrow. “I don't trust you."

       Bosco frowned. "After everything tonight, do you still think I'm here to hurt you?"

      "I think you're a con man who does anything to get what he wants." You shot back.

      “You’re not entirely wrong.” He snapped, once more running a hand through his already messy hair. "But you're in this now. You're one of us. We're going to work together. We're going to have each other's backs when things go south - and believe me,  they will go south. And that means trust is the only thing that matters. It's more important than the tricks. Because without it, we're just asking to get caught. So you can either start trusting me, or you can walk away from this right now."

      His words hit you in the chest. It seemed that Bosco was more perceptive than he looked. You hadn’t fully let yourself consider that this wasn't a job - not in the normal sense of the world. It was a pact. A bond of mutual trust. And it required a leap of faith you weren't sure you were capable of. But you needed to be.

      You looked at him - really looked at him - for the first time that evening. The annoyance, the arrogance, the flirtatious smirk - it was all a shield. Or at least, it was mostly a shield. Underneath it, he was clearly committed to his friends with a fierce loyalty that, for everyone’s safety, you would need to have too.

The air inside the Sapphire Lounge was thick enough to drink. A heady cocktail of stale cigar smoke, cheap perfume, and expensive alcohol permeated the air while the sounds of a jazz trio tucked into a corner offered sounds akin to elevator music. 

      You took in the scene from the wings of the small stage, as you did every night. The audience was sparse, even for a Wednesday night performance, but you’d found your mark of the evening almost immediately. 

      A lone figure with a dark mop of curly hair sat at a table near the stage, nursing a whiskey on the rocks. Condensation had soaked through the cardboard coaster and was most certainly leaving a water mark on the old wood, but that wasn’t what had primarily caught your eye. No - it was the lazy, confident smile he was sporting. It belied the fact that he knew he was handsome - albeit in a rather unconventional way. 

      He’d been eyeing the stage since he walked in, as if he was waiting for someone. You wondered vaguely if he was just intensely excited about the chance to see a half-rate magic show in a shitty club, or if he just knew your boss somehow.

      “Ladies and gentlemen!” The “Great” Alfonso’s voice boomed.

      Speak of the devil.

      There was nothing great about Alfonso. Everything about him was slick, rehearsed, and cheap. And oftentimes a lie as well. His name wasn’t even Alfonso. It was Jeff.

     “And, of course, my lovely assistant!”

      You stepped out on cue as Alfonso said your name - your real one, you didn’t get the luxury of anonymity that a fancy stage name provided, apparently. Plastering on a winning smile, you waved at the crowd. The applause for you was slightly louder - likely because of your glittery leotard that left very little to the imagination. But hey, you’d wear just about anything if it meant more tips at the end of the night. Apartments in New York weren’t cheap.

      “For my first feat of wonder and mystery, I require a volunteer.”

      God, I need a new job. 

      “A soul brave enough to stare into the abyss of deception and come out unscathed!”

      His eyes scanned the room, pretending to search through the scattered crowd for just the right person - even though you’d already informed him that the guy in the front row was likely his best bet. Truthfully - he probably wasn’t, as he looked far too sober to be there. But the dark-eyed stranger was handsome, and you were bored.

      “Let’s bring up this gentleman right there!” Alfonso declared, a spotlight swiveling towards the audience to illuminate the man. .

      A low ripple of applause went through the crowd as he rose, moving towards the stage with an easy swagger. threading through the tables and mounting the three steps onto the stage. He winked as he passed you, and you felt a genuine, unwelcome flutter in her chest. 

      Nope. Not tonight. Not ever.

     “Good sir, what is your name?” Alfonso asked, patting him on the back as if they were old friends.

     “Bosco.” The man replied, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. “Bosco Leroy.”

     Fake-ass name. Smart.

     “Well, Bosco Leroy,” Alfonso grinned, gesturing towards you dramatically. “Prepare to be amazed. My lovely assistant will be my conduit of chaos.”

     “I look forward to it.” Bosco shot you a slightly crooked grin.

      You stepped forward, shoulders back and stage smile firmly in place as you took Bosco’s hand in your own. His fingers were long and warm, curling slightly around your own as if on instinct as you pulled him to a chair in the center of the stage.

     “Don’t worry.” You murmured, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.”

      His eyebrows shot up, his grin widening. “Is that an invitation?”

     “Depends on how well you behave.”

     “For you, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

      The first trick of the evening was a classic. A tired one that you could do in your sleep if pressed. As he did every night, Alfonso would instruct the volunteer to tie you to the chair with thick ropes - proving to the audience that he himself had nothing to do with your temporary captivity. Through a series of distractions and misdirections, you would escape in anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five seconds. To make things a little more difficult, the volunteer would often be instructed to hold one of your hands. The audience always ate up the idea that you could escape the tight ropes so quickly with only one hand. 

      After tying you up - slightly tighter than you were used to, Bosco took your hand. For a moment, you let your thumb trace circles over his rhythmic pulse point. His eyes, dark and intense, never left yours. You could also feel the calluses on his fingers. These were the hands of a man who knew how to use them. Perhaps he was a musician. Or a thief.

      “You have a very steady hand for a man about to witness magic.” You whispered, leaning in close. The scent of his cologne - something clean and woodsy - cut through the haze of the club and assaulted your senses.

      “I find that most magic is just a well-told lie.” His gaze flicked down to your ruby-red lips for a fraction of a second.

      “Oh, I don’t lie.” Your voice was a flirtatious - if a bit fake - purr. “I just… rearrange the truth.” 

      The rest of the trick was a blur of flashing lights and Alfonso’s booming narration. When you finally slipped the ropes less than thirteen seconds later, the crowd clapped enthusiastically - impressed with your speed. Bosco applauded with the rest of them, but his eyes remained sharp and calculating. He leaned in one last time as he helped you from the pile of discarded ropes around the chair

      “Impressive.” He murmured, eyeing you carefully, his breath warm against your ear.

      You met his eyes, locking your gazes as you casually brushed a none-existant piece of lint from his jacket. A flick of the wrist later and the slight weight of his wallet settled into your palm, hidden by the draping of your sparkly silk sleeve. It was effortless, a dance you’d been perfecting since you were a kid.

      “Have a good night, Mr. Leroy.”

      With a syrupy sweet smile, you implored the audience to give it up for your volunteer before shoving him ever so slightly back off the stage.

      An hour later, you sat in a cramped, cluttered room backstage that was used as a costume changing area, your dressing room, and a place to stash old props. It smells of dust and cold cream, and the lighting was incredibly dim. The club was thankfully emptying. The music upstairs faded as you counted out your tips from that evening’s worth of shows, but your concentration was interrupted by the door creaking open.

      You didn’t look up. “Alfonso, you need to learn to knock.”

     “Not Alfonso.” A somewhat familiar voice hit your ears. “But if he makes a habit of bursting in on you, I’d recommend getting HR involved.”

      You whirled around, almost tipping over the shitty folding chair you sat on. Bosco Leroy was leaning against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. The expression on his face would’ve been almost unreadable except for the glint of amusement in his brown eyes.

     “So why’d you steal my wallet?”

     “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You turned back to the mirror, packing your bag and trying to ignore the intrusion. “Maybe you lost it. People lose things all the time here. Go check our lost-and-found down at the bar..”

     He let out a low chuckle. It vibrated right through you - not in an unpleasant manner. “Nice try, gorgeous. But I know a lift from a desperate person when I see one. You’re good, though. Almost as good as me.”

     You finally turned back to face him, crossing your arms. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. LeRoy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to go home.”

     Bosco didn’t budge. Instead, he pushed off the doorframe and sauntered further into the room, his eyes sweeping over the messy costumes and cheap props that shared the space with you. He picked up a deck of cards from your vanity, fanning them out with one hand like a waterfall

     "Do you planning on spending the rest of your life playing second fiddle to a second-rate hack in a seedy club?”

     The casual dismissal stung, undoubtedly intentional on his end, and your temper flared. “It pays the bills. Not all of us can get by on a winning smile and a cheap suit.”

     Bosco grinned, completely unfazed. Does anything bother this guy?

     “You think I have a winning smile?”

     “No.”

     “Hm. No take backs. Also, my suits aren’t that cheap.” He set the cards down and leaned against your table with his hip, not seeming to care whether or not he was invading your space. He leaned down to meet your eye level.

     “Look. I’m not mad that you stole my wallet. I’m impressed. And a little turned on, if I’m being honest.”

     “You’re disgusting.” You hated the way his breath smelled like peppermint & his cologne smelled like a tempting sandalwood. A combination that shouldn’t have given you shivers, but did nonetheless.

     “Am I?”

     “You’re delusional, at the very least.”

      Bosco leaned closer, his voice dropping to something deep and mysterious. “You spent the entire time I was on stage flirting with me -”

     “Flirting? I was working -”

     “- Practically daring me to kiss you, all while you were robbing me blind. In our line of work, that’s not delusion, sweetheart. That’s foreplay.”

      Your breath hitched, but you quickly smothered it. “Our line of work? What are you, a magician?”

     “Something like that.”

      Without breaking eye contact, you stood, face inches away from his. His gaze faltered for just a moment as your closeness. You hoped that the smell of your perfume and the stage glitter that adorned your eyelids had thrown him off his game a little bit. Tension crackled between you like a live wire. You had to admit, you didn’t hate it.

     “Oh yeah?”

     “Yeah.”

     “You know what I think, Mr. Leroy?” You leaned forward, nearly closing the gap between your faces. Your lips ghosted over the shell of his ear and he shuddered ever so slightly. The thought of biting it just to see his reaction crossed your mind, but you pushed it away.

     “What do you think, sweetheart?” His tone was husky.

     “I think… That you’re full of it.” You slipped his wallet into the inside pocket of his jacket, shoving him away from you as hard as you could. He toppled backwards into a costume rack  “Get out.”

      Bosco stumbled to his feet, his lanky form all arms and legs. It made for an amusing image as you sat back in the cheap chair in front of your vanity.

     “Jesus Christ, do you do that to all your gentleman callers?” He looked equal parts annoyed and amused.

     “Only the special ones.” You replied sweetly, before your syrupy tone vanished at the sight of Bosco Leroy making himself comfortable on the small, ratty sofa against the wall. “Aren’t you leaving?”

     “Not yet.” He responded, somehow looking entirely at home on the hideous piece of furniture. “You asked me if I was a magician. I am.”

     “If that’s your pick-up line, you should find a new one.”

     “Why, is it not working?”

     “Has it ever?”

     “Yes, actually. Many times. The ladies love a man who’s good with his hands. Anyway.” Bosco steepled his fingers together as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m part of a team. And we’re looking for a new team member. Well, a temporary one. Our escape artist is about to be a little indisposed for a few months. Nothing horrible - she’s having another kid.”

      You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding me.”

      “No, she’s definitely pregnant, saw the ultrasounds and everything. Told me she was craving Takis dipped in peanut butter like two weeks ago -”

      “You know what I meant.”

       He flashed you a quick grin. “Oh right. Well, I never kid about magic.” Bosco said, his tone suddenly serious for the first time. “You’ve got skills. Real skills. You’re wasting them here. Come work for us.”

      “So what, you came to a shitty magic show and a shitty club to scope me out? Is this a job interview?” You scoffed, though a tiny part of you was intrigued.

       A small smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

      “Most job interviews don’t involve cornering someone in their dressing room.”

      “Cornering?” Bosco laughed. “You’re free to leave anytime. Door’s open. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

      “I -“

      “Seriously though - have you ever thought about being something other than a magician’s assistant? I - we, my team - could make that happen.”

      “Mr. Leroy, I don’t think -”

      “Bosco.” He corrected. “Formality isn’t a good look on anyone.”

      “I’m not calling you that. It doesn’t even sound like a real name.”

      “Would you like to see my birth certificate, sweetheart? Or would you like to stop the whole avoidance thing and actually answer me?” Bosco held your gaze captive, the challenge clear in his eyes. His offer was the most insane - and possibly most tempting thing you’d heard in a while.

      From across the cramped room, you broke the stare-down, glancing from his confident face to the door. A chaotic, unpredictable life - seemingly alongside this weird guy you’d met under an hour ago. Or the promise of a boring, predictable, and suffocating existence.

     “What’s the opportunity?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

      Bosco’s grin was pure charm but it softened around the edges. It looked more genuine, and somehow also more dangerous. “Now we’re talking.”

      Something about his smile set you on edge. “You know what? Nevermind. I regret this already.”

     “The opportunity,” he began, ignoring you as he pushed himself off the sofa and closed the distance between the two of you again. “Is a bit of a conversation. But not one we have here. Come back to where I’m staying. We can talk properly.”

      You let out a short, sharp laugh that held no humor. “Oh, I don’t think so. You want me to go home with a man I technically robbed? I’m not an idiot, Mr. Leroy.”

     “Bosco.”

     “You could easily kill me in a dark alleyway, Ted Bundy.”

      Bosco didn’t even have the decency to look offended. He just looked intrigued, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

     “Maybe, but I’d be Ted Bundy with better hair and a far more charming disposition.” Bosco corrected, his voice now a low murmur. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

     “It wasn’t a compliment, you psycho.” You shot back, shoving some of your belongings into your backpack. Your pulse was thrumming a traitorous rhythm underneath your skin. One you didn’t care for. Though you were determined not to be flirtatious or encourage him, it was difficult when his tone felt like a caress design to rile you up. Every word was an unintentional challenge you were wired to accept.

     “Sure.” His deep chuckle made your stomach clench. “Look, you and I both know you could talk your way out of a locked trunk if you really wanted to. I’m worried you’re going to walk out that door and go back to wasting your life playing second fiddle to that blowhard boss of yours. That’s the real crime here.”

     “I’m not wasting -“

     "Have you ever heard of The Horsemen?"

     The question hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. For a moment, you just stared at him, mind racing.

    The Horsemen.

     Just the name itself was something of a legend at this point. A group of vigilante illusionists who had taken on corruption and won - numerous times - then vanished into myth and whispers on the streets before law enforcement could catch up with them.

     You let out a short laugh, more dismissive than amused.

     “The Horsemen? You mean the Robin Hood gang who no one’s seen in years since the whole Vanderberg fiasco?" You shook your head. "Look, Brozo, or whatever your real name is, I'm flattered.”

     “Then say yes.”

     “I’m not in the habit of dealing with liars who ride the coattails of a famous group just for a little bit of street cred.”

      You didn't wait for a reply, shoving past Bosco and darting down a narrow hallway as quickly as you could. You felt his eyes on your back, a gaze that was both amused and unnervingly persistent. But you didn't look back.

      The city air had cooled with the setting of the sun, but the day's humidity still clung to your skin as you strolled down the street at a brisk paces. You clutched your keys in your fist a little tighter each time you passed an alleyway or a stranger. It was a years-long habit that you weren’t even sure actually did anything, but it brought you comfort regardless.

      You were lost in thought as you passed a particularly dark alleyway, almost not even noticing when a figure detached itself from the shadows and fell into step beside you.

      Panic seized your chest, but you didn't scream. You just stopped dead, spinning around and slugging your Wolverine-key-hand blindly into someone’s stomach.

      A pain shot up your arm at the contact as the same time the dark figure shouted “Jesus fuck -“

      It was Bosco. Of course it was him.

     “You hit me?”

     “You followed me?” You backed away, cradling your now-sore hand, now featuring several new cuts. Guess the keys don’t do much. “What the hell is your problem?”

      Bosco held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, though his smirk stayed firmly in place. "I was just out for a stroll. Enjoying the fine evening air."

     "A stroll?" Your voice was dangerously low. "You followed me. You're a stalker."

     "Stalker is such an ugly word," he chided gently. "I prefer the term dedicated recruiter.”

     "Right, of course." You shot back, eyes flashing. "Because all recruiters show up to someone’s place of work and then try to follow them home.”

     “Hey, I never said I was gonna follow you home.”

      You took another step back. “So are you going to gut me in a dark alleyway now, or save it for later?"

      Bosco actually laughed, a genuine, warm sound that was completely at odds with the creepy situation. “Truth be told, that wasn’t really on the itinerary for tonight.”

     “I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re selling, Mr. Leroy.” You muttered, finally reaching the dim glow of a streetlight. It made you both look jaundiced, but the illumination gave you a bit more courage. Bosco folded his arms and cocked his head slightly, as if taking you in for the first time that evening.

     "Look, I get it.” He began. “You're tough and clearly don't trust anyone. Not gonna lie, daddy issues are a good quality in our line of work -”

      You gritted your teeth at his perception. “How dare -”

     “- But I'm not here to hurt you."

     "Then what are you here for?" You demanded. "I told you I'm not interested."

     "I think you are, actually.” He corrected, his voice low and earnest as he edged closer, closing some of the distance you’d created. "I saw you today.”

     “No shit.”

      He rolled his eyes. “I saw that you have skills and a lot of potential.”

     “You saw me do one escape trick and then steal your wallet. I don’t think that equates to an overwhelmingly bright future.”

     “Then why’d you do it?”

      You glanced away, eyes drifting to the filthy pavement under your sneakers. “Dunno.”

     “Yes, you do.”

     “Why does anyone do anything?” You burst out, scowling at the tall man before you. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could.”

      Bosco shook his head. “You already knew that you could. Easily - because I’m sure I’m not the only guy you’ve done that to.”

      He wasn’t wrong.

     “I think…” He offered you a cocky grin. “You’re desperate.”

      You scoffed. “Desperate?”

     “That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” Bosco said hurriedly. “All magicians are that way at least a little bit.”

     “I don’t think that’s true.”

     “You think there’s a lot of steady work for most of us? That we’re regarded as important to society, or that we pay all our bills on time?”

     “You don’t pay your bills on time?”

      He let out a frustrated groan. “Point is - no one gets into this line of work because it’s stable. Not really.”

     “No shit, Bosco.”

     “So you can say my name.”

      Your brow furrowed. “Are you going to continue your pessimistic monologue about our career choices, or are you done, Mr. Leroy?”

      “I -”

      Without waiting for him to continue, you turned on your heel and began to walk briskly down the street. The cool night air blew through your hair, but it did little to relieve the fire that festered just under your skin. You could feel Bosco’s gaze burning a hole into the back of your jacket as you retreated. Two moments later, you heard the unmistakable sound of his steps hitting the pavement as he jogged to catch up with you.

     “I was like you, you know - Jesus, can you slow down?”

     "Can you keep up?" You were all too happy to inconvenience him a little as you sped down the street, ignoring him until he spoke again.

     “I was directionless, doing magic and shit after I… Dropped out of school.” His tone was sheepish. “But then I met my friends, and then we kinda… Tricked our way into joining The Horsemen. Best choice of my life, honestly.”

     “So no dedicated recruiter showed up at your job?” You glared at him.

      Bosco laughed. “Uh, no.”

     “You just lied your way in?”

     “I don’t lie. I rearrange the truth.”

      Not fair. “You’re not exactly inspiring confidence.”

     “Listen,” Bosco passed you on the street and began to walk backwards in an attempt to get you to look at him. “I was serious when I said you have a lot of potential. Not everyone is cut out for all the stuff The Horsemen do, but I think you are. This could be a real career.”

      You remained silent as the two of you walked, Bosco continuing to search your face for any hint that he was getting through to you.

     "I can't give you all the specifics here," he continued. "It's not exactly a public affair. But just think about it. A chance to be more than some hack's assistant. A way you could ultimately make a real difference.”

     The two of you continued in silence for two blocks, the tension stretching thin in the air between you. The whole scenario was insane. Truly insane. 

    Who does this guy think he is, anyway?

    People don’t do things like this.

    Am I going to die out here?

    Thoughts swirled through your brain like a cloud of dust, distracting you so much that you almost didn’t realize your feet had subconsciously carried you all the way back to your mildly decrepit apartment building - a classic, six-story walk-up with more character than it knew what to do with. 

    "Nice place." Bosco said, barely glancing at the building. "Good bones."

    Fuck. The last thing you needed was this guy to know where you lived. Was it too late to pretend to tie your shoe? Only one way to find out.

    “Yeah, I guess.” You knelt, fiddling with your shoelace.

    “Water pressure sucks though, right?”

     You froze, glancing up to look at him, then back at the building, then at Bosco again. A dawning, horrifying realization washed over you. "No." 

     Bosco’s infuriatingly charming smirk widening into a full-blown, shit-eating smile as he held out a hand to help you up. You ignored it, clamoring to your feet in what was possibly the most ungrateful manner possible.

    "After you." Bosoc’s eyes danced with wicked delight as he punched in the door code. "Looks like we're neighbors, gorgeous."

     Your shoulders tensed. There was no use in lying to him - it wasn’t as though you had options of places to stay in the city, or a ton of money for a hotel. You’d have to remember to shove a piece of furniture against the door to prevent this psycho from breaking in or something in the middle of the night.

     An awkward silence hung in the air as both of you ascended the worn, carpeted stairs. The creak of each step sounded like a countdown. Four flights up, you paused, lingering uncomfortably by the narrow staircase.

    “This you?” Bosco asked, gesturing vaguely.

    “Maybe.”

    “I’m trying to be a gentleman and walk you to your door.” He leaned against the wall, looking up at you. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Can’t do that if I don’t know where your door is.”

     You glowered at him, but walked down the hallway with Bosco close behind you. Jamming the key into the lock of apartment 4B with far more force than was strictly necessary, you twisted it, pushing your door open only a sliver. 

    "Home sweet home," Bosco said from directly behind you, peering over your head into the apartment with undisguised curiosity.

    You whirled on him, jerking his gaze away from the interior of your semi-messy abode. "And where do you live?"

⋆˙⟡

Your shoulder rolls to adjust yourself, shifting weight between elbows and feeling the dip of Diller's mattress. You're laying stomach-down on his bed, notebook spread open to math homework that you're entirely ignoring in front of you. Shifting over onto your back, you look up at Diller: he's sitting back against the headboard, legs drawn up to support his notebook as he does his own homework.

He got a haircut last week. Trimmed at the front where his curls would flop over his forehead, and now you're pretty sure his blue eyes got a little brighter. Your eyes trace the edges of his face, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He's pretty. Diller Hopkins is pretty. You can see him being your boyfriend, imagine the label on your tongue to explain the flirting and the touching and the lingering kisses, but you've been stuck in this in between place and you can't seem to get him to budge.

"Hey, Dill?" you say.

He sets his notebook aside and looks up at you. "Hmm?"

You fiddle with your fingers on your stomach and glance around his room uncertainly to avoid eye contact. The stray piece of lint on his duvet cover is suddenly very interesting. "Chris Jacobs asked me out," you say.

His entire body stiffens. Back locking in straight like a cat and jaw setting. It feels like a jolt forcing it's way thick through his veins. "What?"

Your eyes finally meet his. Dark now, maybe they didn't actually lighten up. "Uh, yeah. He met me after school and said he thinks I'm pretty cool. He asked me to the movies on Saturday."

"You're not going," he says. It's not a question, he's telling you.

Your heart is hammering up your throat but you do your best to cover up your nerves so your voice doesn't shake. "I mean, I don't know . . . I was still thinking about it. It's not like we're, you know, boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything . . . ," you mumble. You gauge his reaction carefully, each tick and grind of his jaw, each flicker of his eyes. You half-expect him to make it official, some sort of curt "well, we are now" just so he can keep you from talking to anyone else. You know he wants you all to himself, he just never goes through with it.

He sighs, picking his homework up again so he has an excuse to look away. "You're right. We're not."

You huff, stomach all in knots. "Are you mad?" Diller replies with a wordless grunt. "I probably won't even go out with him," you say, but he remains shut off. "Come on—" You push yourself up into a sitting position and crawl across the bed toward him. "Don't be mad."

Pouting, you lean over him, both hands planted on either side of him. You know Diller, you know puppy eyes and a quivering lower lip melt his resolve instantly. You brush your nose against his before going in for a kiss. He allows it for a moment, the warm pressure of your mouth on his, before turning his face away and pulling back. "Don't, Cherry, just—stop," he grumbles.

Your face falls and you slump back. "What?"

He groans out loud, tossing his head back. "Don't just—you can't just kiss me after, after that, ok? Just—no."

You scoff, the corner of your lip pulling up in a scowl. "Maybe I'll go out with Chris, then," you sneer.

Diller laughs bitterly. "Be my guest. But don't come crying to me if he turns out to be an asshole."

"I won't."

"Good!"

You collect your things and start towards the door. "Fine," you snap, opening his door.

"Fine!" he snaps back.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You turned back to the mirror, packing your bag and trying to ignore the intrusion that was Bosco Leroy. “Maybe you lost it. A big shot like you probably doesn’t even have time to notice if something falls out of your pocket.”

He let out a low chuckle. It vibrated right through you - not in an unpleasant manner. “Nice try, gorgeous. But I know a lift from a desperate person when I see one. You’re good, though. Almost as good as me.”

You finally turned back to face him, crossing your arms. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. LeRoy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to go home.”

Bosco didn’t budge. Instead, he pushed off the doorframe and sauntered further into the room, his eyes sweeping over the messy costumes and cheap props that shared the space with you. He picked up a deck of cards from your vanity, fanning them out with one hand like a waterfall

“So this is it? You planning on spending the rest of your life playing second fiddle to a second-rate hack in a seedy club?”

The casual dismissal stung, undoubtedly intentional on his end, and your temper flared. “It pays the bills. Not all of us can get by on a winning smile and a cheap suit.”

Bosco grinned, completely unfazed. Does anything phase this guy?

“You think I have a winning smile?”

“No.”

“No take backs. Also, my suits aren’t that cheap.” He set the cards down and leaned against your table with his hip, not seeming to care whether or not he was invading your space. He leaned down to meet your eye level.

“Look. I’m not mad that you stole my wallet. I’m impressed. And a little turned on, if I’m being honest.”

“You’re disgusting.” You hated the way his breath smelled like peppermint & his cologne smelled like a tempting sandalwood. A combination that shouldn’t have given you shivers, but did nonetheless.

“Am I?”

“You’re delusional.”

Bosco leaned closer, his voice dropping to something deep and mysterious. “You spent ten minutes on stage flirting with me, practically daring me to kiss you, all while you were robbing me blind. In our line of work, that’s not delusion, sweetheart. That’s foreplay.”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly smothered it. “Our line of work? What are you, a magician?”

“Something like that.”

Without breaking eye contact, you stood, face inches away from his. His gaze faltered for just a moment as your closeness. You hoped that the smell of your perfume and the stage glitter that adorned your eyelids had thrown him off his game a little bit. Tension crackled between you like a live wire.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You know what, Mr. Leroy?” You leaned forward, nearly closing the gap between your faces. Your lips ghosted over the shell of his ear and he shuddered ever so slightly. The thought of biting it just to see his reaction crossed your mind, but you pushed it away.

“What?” His voice was husky, excited, even.

“I think… I think you’re full of it.” You slipped his wallet into the inside pocket of his jacket, shoving him away from you as hard as you could. He toppled backwards into a costume rack “Get out.”

Bosco stumbled to his feet, his lanky form all arms and legs. It made for an amusing image as you sat back in the cheap chair in front of your vanity.

“Jesus Christ, do you do that to all your gentleman callers?” He looked equal parts annoyed and amused.

“Only the special ones.” You replied sweetly, before your syrupy tone vanished at the sight of Bosco Leroy making himself comfortable on the small, ratty sofa against the wall. “Aren’t you leaving?”

“Not yet.” He responded, somehow looking entirely at home on the hideous piece of furniture. “You asked me if I was a magician. I am.”

“If that’s your pick-up line, you should find a new one.”

“Why, is it not working?”

“Has it ever?”

“Yes, actually. Many times. Anyway.” Bosco steepled his fingers together as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m part of a team. And we’re looking for a new team member. Well, a temporary one. Our escape artist is about to be a little indisposed for a few months. Nothing horrible - she’s having another kid.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, she’s definitely pregnant, saw the ultrasounds and everything.”

“You know what I meant.”

He flashed you a quick grin. “Oh right. Well, I never kid about magic.” Bosco said, his tone suddenly serious for the first time. “You’ve got skills, sweetheart. Real skills. You’re wasting them here. Come work for us.”

“So what, you came to a shitty magic show and a shitty club to scope me out? Is this a job interview?” You scoffed, though a tiny part of you was intrigued.

A small smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Most job interviews don’t involve cornering someone in their dressing room.”

“Cornering?” Bosco laughed. “You’re free to leave anytime. Door’s open. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

“I -“

“Seriously though - have you ever thought about being something other than a magician’s assistant? I - we, my team - could make that happen.”

“Mr. Leroy, I don’t think -“

“Bosco.” He corrected. “Formality isn’t a good look on anyone.”

“I’m not calling you that. It doesn’t even sound like a real name.”

“Would you like to see my birth certificate, sweetheart? Or would you like to stop the whole avoidance thing and actually answer me?” Bosco held your gaze captive, the challenge clear in his eyes. His offer was the most insane - and possibly most tempting thing you’d heard in a while.

From across the cramped room, you broke the stare-down, glancing from his confident face to the door. A chaotic, unpredictable life - seemingly alongside this weird guy you’d met under an hour ago. Or the promise of a boring, predictable, and suffocating existence.

“What’s the opportunity?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

Bosco’s grin was pure charm but it softened around the edges. It looked more genuine, and somehow also more dangerous. “Now we’re talking.”

“I regret this already.”

“The opportunity,” he began, pushing himself off the sofa and closing the distance between them again. “Is a bit of a conversation. But not one we have here. This place smells like regret. Come back to where I’m staying. We can talk properly.”

You let out a short, sharp laugh that held no humor. “Oh, I don’t think so. You want me to go home with a man I technically robbed? I’m not an idiot, Mr. Leroy.”

“Bosco.”

“You could easily kill me in a dark alleyway, Ted Bundy.”

Bosco didn’t even have the decency to look offended. He just looked intrigued, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“Maybe, but I’d be Ted Bundy with better hair and a far more charming disposition.” Bosco corrected, his voice now a low murmur. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, you psycho.” You shot back, shoving some of your belongings into your backpack. Your pulse was thrumming a traitorous rhythm underneath your skin. One you didn’t care for. Though you were determined not to be flirtatious or encourage him, it was difficult when his tone felt like a caress design to rile you up. Every word a challenge you were wired to accept.

“Sure.” His deep chuckle made your stomach clench. “Look, you and I both know you could talk your way out of a locked trunk if you really wanted to. I’m worried you’re going to walk out that door and go back to wasting your life playing second fiddle to that blowhard boss of yours. That’s the real crime here.”

“I’m not wasting -“

"Have you ever heard of The Horsemen?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. For a moment, you just stared at him, mind racing.

The Horsemen.

Just the name itself was something of a legend at this point. A group of vigilante illusionists who had taken on corruption and won - numerous times - then vanished into myth and whispers on the streets before law enforcement could catch up with them.

You let out a short laugh, more dismissive than amused.

“The Horsemen? You mean the Robin Hood gang who no one’s seen in years since the whole Vanderberg fiasco?" You shook your head. "Look, Brozo, or whatever your name is, I'm flattered.”

“Then say yes.”

“I’m not in the habit of dealing with liars who ride the coattails of a famous group just for a little bit of street cred.”

You didn't wait for a reply, shoving past Bosco and darting down a narrow hallway as quickly as you could. You felt his eyes on your back, a gaze that was both amused and unnervingly persistent. But you didn't look back.

The city air had cooled with the setting of the sun, but the day's humidity still clung to your skin as you strolled down the street at a brisk paces. You clutched your keys in your fist a little tighter each time you passed an alleyway or a stranger. It was a years-long habit that you weren’t even sure actually did anything, but it brought you comfort regardless.

You were lost in thought as you passed a particularly dark alleyway, almost not even noticing when a figure detached itself from the shadows and fell into step beside you.

Panic seized your chest, but you didn't scream. You just stopped dead, spinning around and slugging your Wolverine-key-hand blindly into someone’s stomach.

A pain shot up your arm at the contact as the same time the dark figure shouted “Jesus fuck -“

It was Bosco. Of course it was him.

“You hit me?”

“You followed me?” You backed away, cradling your now-sore hand, now featuring several new cuts. Guess the keys don’t do much. “What the hell is your problem?”

Bosco held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, though his smirk stayed firmly in place. "I was just out for a stroll. Enjoying the fine evening air."

"A stroll?" Your voice was dangerously low. "You followed me. You're a stalker."

"Stalker is such an ugly word," he chided gently. "I prefer dedicated recruiter.”

~~~~~~~

Snippet 2 - teacher!Angus Tully X teacher!Reader

Seeking refuge from your past while teaching at the isolated Barton Academy for Boys certainly wasn’t the original plan you had for your life, but as you start to settle in you catch the eye of a fellow teacher - Mr. Angus Tully.

Rated M for eventual smut/references to DV

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m perfectly capable of handling a few hormonal teenagers, Mr. Tully.”

“Angus.” He corrected, making himself comfortable in the same desk one of your unruly students had just vacated. Angus leaned back with an infuriating air of nonchalance, examining you carefully. “And I’m sure you are. But why expend the energy? I’m happy to be your designated attack dog against those little demons. Adds a little zest to my day.”

You began erasing the chalkboard, your movements sharp and clipped. “I don’t need an attack dog, Mr. Tully. I just need them to actually do the reading.”

“A noble, if futile, pursuit. So,” Angus addressed you by your full name, sounding it out as if it was a new string of words he was excited to add to his vocabulary. “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this? I find that hard to believe that someone with your fire is out here because she wants to be.”

You turned to face him with a flat expression. “What I want is a challenge, Mr. Tully. Or maybe I wanted to teach students who weren’t distracted by girls in the classroom.”

“An admirable, if naive, sentiment.” Angus chuckled, running a hand through his curly hair. “They’ll be just distracted by you now. It’s a lateral move, at best.”

You scowled, and his teasing demeanor softened slightly.

“Seriously, though. Where did you come from before this? Some fancy liberal arts college? A finishing school that gave you religious trauma?”

You put the eraser down, turning to face him. “Why are you so interested, Angus?”

He shrugged. “You’re the first woman to teach at Barton since… Ever? I think? That makes you an anomaly. A variable in a very predictable equation. And I like variables.”

“Well, this variable isn’t looking for friends, if that’s what you’re after.” You said, crossing your arms. “I’m here to teach. That’s all.”

Angus’s smile widened, slow and mischievous. It reached his eyes, turning them into dark, sparkling pools of an emotion you weren’t sure you wanted to name. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, the space between the two of you suddenly charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with academia.

“Oh, I know. You’ve made that quite clear based on body language alone.” Angus’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “But can I be candid with you?”

“I’d prefer that.”

“Friendship wasn’t really on my mind when I first saw you.”

The air crackled as his words hung there, a blunt declaration with zero pretense or room for interpretation. That seemed to be the point, and he watched it hit you with the force of a physical blow.

For the first time since you’d arrived at Barton, you were at a loss for words. Your carefully constructed composure now had a hairline fracture running right through it - courtesy of a particular Ancient Civ teacher. A flush heated your cheeks when you met Angus’s eyes as he stood. He was looking at you - not as necessarily colleague, but as a man looks at a woman.

The intensity of it was overwhelming. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at you quite like that. You took a small, deliberate step back.

“That’s… entirely inappropriate,” you managed, your voice not quite as steady as you’d hoped.

“Is it?” Angus leaned against the opposite side of your desk, his smirk returning, though it was softer now, more curious than anything else. “I thought we were having a history lesson of sorts. This is just… personal and recent history. Much more interesting.”

Angus pushed his weight off the desk, walking a a slow circle around your desk, trailing his fingers along the worn wood, scattered papers, and old books. You shuffled through a pile of ungraded homework, avoiding eye contact with him once more.

“You came here for a challenge.” Angus mused, absentmindedly opening one of your desk drawers before shutting it again. “But I wonder if you’re prepared for the kind that doesn’t come from a textbook.”

“I am.” You said, a little too quickly. “But I’m not interested in whatever… game you think you’re playing.”

“Who said it’s a game?” He stopped, a few inches away now. Close enough that you could see the golden flecks in his brown eyes. “I’m a straightforward man, sweetheart. I see something I want or am intrigued by - I tend to say so.”

Want?

Panic, sharp and unwelcome, lanced through you. What if this escalated beyond banter? The entire reason you’d come out here was to get away from men like…

“Well, you can say your piece if that makes you happy.” You glanced at him, eyes meeting his. “Because I’m not available.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m engaged.” You snapped, the lie felt like a heavy weight on your tongue.

For a beat, the classroom was utterly silent. Angus’s expression didn’t change, not exactly. The teasing glint in his eyes didn’t vanish, but it shifted, transforming into something sharper, more analytical. He didn’t look hurt, or even surprised. Angus looked… intrigued. Like you’d just handed him a particularly fascinating piece to a puzzle he was constructing.

“Engaged.” He repeated, the word seemingly somewhat foreign to him. He let the silence hang for another three, four, five seconds. Then, Angus’s gaze dropped.

His eyes didn’t go to your face. No, they narrowed in on your left hand, shoved in your pocket.

“Let’s see the ring, then.”

You pressed your lips together, caving and resting your unadorned hand on the edge of your lectern. “I’m not wearing it today.”

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. It wasn’t triumphant. It was amused. Deeply, profoundly amused.

“You’re shitty at lying, you know that right?”

“I’m not lying. It doesn’t… It doesn’t fit. The size he got was too small.”

“Engaged.” He said again, his voice a low, intimate rumble as he took another step closer. Heat radiated off his body in waves as he stood only a few inches away. Gently reaching out, he tapped his own finger on the polished wood, right at the tip of your bare ring finger.

“It’s funny.” Angus murmured, his eyes locking with yours once more. The playful flirtation was gone, replaced by a direct and piercing look. “Because if someone like me proposed to a beautiful woman such as yourself - I’d want that ring to fit perfectly. Wouldn’t want to keep it off your finger for more than a second longer than necessary. I’d want the whole world to know that you told me yes.”

•bosco loves you in his clothes. he smells like warm leather and laminated paper. every time a t-shirt gets too ratty or something doesn’t fit him quite right it’s added to your collection. even the things he does wear are given to you, too. he loves sliding his sweater over your head when you’re lounging around. he loves when you wear one of his shirts in bed, sleepily stretched out, and he can smell himself on your skin. even in public, he’s always flattered when you make a run to the store in a hoodie he lent you last week.

• plays tricks on you all the time, obviously. mostly little things like card tricks or disappearing acts. when you’re sad, he always uses them to try and cheer you up. besides, he likes showing off.

• whenever you’re about to leave and something’s missing from your pockets, you just sigh and raise your brows at him. he’s already waiting with a smug smile.

“bosco, where are they?”

“where’s what?”

“my keys.”

“hmm, not sure," he grins, "but do you hear that? it sounds like… jingling!”

he pulls the keys out from behind your ear and you roll your eyes with a private smile. every time you lose something, you always double check if he took it.

• on that note he is very good at finding things! extremely good! you’re not sure how he does it but every time you’re in distress, he pokes around and is able to find exactly what you’re looking for. if you lose a ring he finds it underneath your dresser. your missing sock—he’ll find that too. he’s more than willing to search backwards and forwards for you, even if it’s in the most difficult of places. you always reward him with a squeal and a big kiss, but he just tells you he's building out his resume.

• he drums his fingers on the small of your back or your shoulder often, whenever you’re close together. it’s a habit of his.

• as mentioned earlier he lives to impress! your validation is so important to him so he always comes to you when he needs a boost

• before you two go out on a date he materializes a flower (or a bouquet) into his hands out of thin air, and hands it to you with a playful “m’lady”. you’ve made a game out of trying to guess what he’ll give you but it’s different every time.

• you’re very domestic, but not egregious about it. you brush your teeth & nap together all the time but in public, the pda is tasteful. part of being a thief is knowing when to put a target on your back, and he never wants one when he's with you.

• bosco always has an arm slung around your shoulders, showing you off yet keeping you close. you drop kisses on each other’s temples in greeting sometimes. but when the horsemen are around, they’ll make fun of you for anything—so you tread as lightly as you can bear.

• sometimes though bosco just cannot care anymore and he will take you to any hidden place he can find so he can kiss you senseless. there are nights he just can’t help but be all over you, and he’ll take any opportunity to show you that. (even when you’re on a heist with the horsemen, that airplane bathroom sure comes in handy)

• when he’s in a grumpy mood (often) he’ll just come to you and sigh, flopping over you. you run your hands through his hair as he grumbles on and on, but it’s just an excuse to keep you there longer. in truth, he melts in seconds.

• if you’re not onstage he looks for you in every crowd, every performance. you’re always there cheering as loud as you possibly can. if there’s a bit in any of his shows where he’s looking for a “pretty lady from the audience”, he always rigs it to make sure it’s you.

so now you're here, gripping the headboard of your bed as you settle over his face. naked. you're still a bit unsure if this is a good idea, worried about the idea of cutting his air off, but bosco is lying across the bed with his head over a pillow and a sardonic smirk that tells he's enjoying this more than anything. his hands rest on your hips, encouraging you to slowly lower yourself onto his face as he looks up at you.

“well?” he says. “whenever you're ready.” and you nod before letting out a trembling sigh and sitting over his face. you can swear that you hear bosco moan under you, and his hands grip your hips tighter as to keep you in place.

his tongue starts dancing across your folds, and you can't help but shiver at the touch. you're already wet, and bosco collects every little drop of your arousal as if he's job to keep you dry. he founds your clit with his nose, and he nuzzles against it and nudges it as you gasp softly.

your back arches as you grip the headboard tighter and start to rock your hips against his face. his hands go down to rest on your ass and he gives you a squeeze as he intensifies his work.

“oh, bosco—” you moan as you rub against his face, feeling his tongue lapping and sucking into your folds as he makes out with your pussy. he groans in response, and one of his hands goes to your thigh as you suffocate him under you. it's not like he's complaining, though. he'd happily die under you if you let him!

his own hips buck as he keeps eating you out, his tongue doing wonders against your slit as if this is his last meal in the world, and you are sure that he's smiling against your cunt as your legs squeeze his head.

“f-fuck— 'm coming–” you babble, and bosco just grabs your ass tighter and starts rubbing you into his mouth by himself, convinced to make you come in his tongue. his long fingers grip tightly enough to leave the mark of them in your rear, and you cry out as you came into his mouth.

bosco laps and sucks vigorously your release, doing his best to not miss any drop of it. when you finally get over of it, you leave bosco's face as you deep breath, gasping softly as you looked down at him. “wow...”

“that was amazing,” he says breathless, closing his eyes and grinning as his lips glisten with your come. his jeans feel a little tighter after that, and a damp spot appears on them. “oh... fuck,” he says with a frown before looking up at you, giving you a grin.