#Mozzie x Neal

[mozart-the-bear]

Neal knocks on the door, announcing that he is 'room service'. Peter answers the door wearing a cuddly robe. Look at Neal, checking out Peter and smiling. Whew. Maybe that was too much for Neal to handle at the moment. ;)

[maya-caffrey]

Good Night

trope: 'too many beds' from this here list

words: 1.7k (bigger next time, promise)

pairing: neal caffrey x reader

fandom: white collar

warnings: language, maybe? this is a fluff/crack fic, we are here solely for the vibe; ps- the fic is from the reader's pov

Only God knows why this stakeout required having to stay at a motel. Not a hotel, god, no. Because after years of authorizing literally a shit ton of money for cases, now is when Hughes decided to be financially responsible. Screw you, dude. Also thanks for hiring me I love working white collar.

Anyway, this means that I get to spend the night at this dingy motel on a highway almost outside our jurisdiction with none other than everyone's favorite convict (said with hate and sarcasm), Neal Caffrey.

Am I mad about it? Why, yes. Yes, I am. Not just at the fact that literally anyone could have gone in my place but they insisted I go, but also at the fact that I just so happen to absolutely despise spending time alone with Neal. Ok fine, I may have a teeny tiny crush on him, a really small one that makes it hard for me to work with him because it makes me act stupid.

cut to flashback

I was taking a file to Peter's office when Neal saw me and walked over to me with two cups of coffee in his hand.

"Hey, (Y/n)! I got you coffee from that place you like."

A normal person would have accepted the cup, thanked him, and walked away. Am I that kind of normal? God, no.

I looked at him like he had threatened to kill my dog, and said, "I stopped drinking coffee this morning," and took that cup, threw it in the trash next to me, and sprinted the rest of the way to Peter's office. This poor man just stood there, confused.

and we're back

So, yes. This was on Monday so he'd had a couple days to really let it marinate. I was driving to June's place to pick him up when it dawned on me how painfully silent this car ride could be. Instead, the minute he got inside the car, he started having a normal conversation with me like I hadn't trashed his coffee a couple days earlier.

If he noticed the tension in my voice, he didn’t let on. Instead, he just kept talking, filling the car with this easygoing chatter about everything from Peter’s latest case blunder to some new exhibit he wanted to check out. It was almost like he was doing it on purpose like he could sense that I was trying to avoid looking at him, trying to act casually. But, of course, he could act casually—he was Neal Caffrey. I was the one whose brain short-circuited at a simple gesture he'd do for anyone, maybe.

Finally, after ten minutes of me grunting and nodding like some sort of malfunctioning robot, he looked at me with a knowing smile. “So, we're just going to pretend you didn't toss my coffee in the trash?"

Oh good lord what fresh hell is this? How am I supposed to respond to that? Oh, that? sorry, I love you.

"I panicked, okay? It was a reflex!"

"Your reflex was to throw my coffee in the trash?"

"Hey man, I'm the new girl, I don't have friends yet. I'm not used to people being all..."

"All what?"

"Nice!"

"You're not used to," he trailed off laughing that smug little laugh of his and continued, "I'll tell you what, the next time I attack you with my kindness, I'll warn you, deal?"

I am beyond embarrased at this point I could just crawl under my dashboard and die.

“Deal,” I managed, feeling my cheeks heat up. “But just so you know, I don’t respond well to... uh, unannounced niceness.”

He gave me this look, half-smile and half something I couldn’t read. “Duly noted,” he said, and his voice was softer than usual like he really meant it.

We drove in silence for a minute, which was worse than the conversation. I could feel the way his presence filled the car like he was everywhere and nowhere at once. And, as if he could sense I was desperately overthinking, he shifted in his seat, brushing a hand through his hair and watching me out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, I don’t bite,” he said finally, that playful lilt back in his voice. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

My mouth opened and closed, and I just shook my head in surrender.

"Nope, no. We are not going there."

"Suit yourself. Get it? Suit yourself. Cause you're-"

"Yeah, Neal, I got it."

The rest of the ride went about as normal as it could. A few jokes here, some awkward silence there, a dash of bickering. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy it a bit. Before we knew it (we were painfully aware), we had reached the motel.

"Neal, you get the bags, I'll go get us checked in."

"Wait, why am I on bag duty?"

"Because I'm the agent. You're my bitch tonight." Was that too much? sigh

"Wow. Understood. So it's just all or nothing with you," he said in a fake hurt voice, clutching his pearls. Every time he sensed I was nervous, he tried to ease the air. I loved that about him. Asshole.

I laughed to lift the tension and gave in to his fake protest, but he insisted that he'd got the bags. I walked into the "reception desk" which was just a countertop with an underpaid employee behind it. Everything about this place made me feel like I could be mugged any second. I was not getting a single positive vibe from this place and I could not wait to go back home.

I walked over to the poor kid behind that desk and explained our situation and asked for a room. On account of the odds being in my favor as always, we got the last available room at the motel to which the receptionist guided me with as little enthusiasm as possible. Neal followed, with both our overnight bags in his hands. The receptionist handed the key to me and left without so much as a word, just an apologetic look.

I put the key in the lock and unlocked the door to find what I can only describe as... confusing. Not one, two, or even three. Eight beds, crammed into that tiny ass room. What the fuck.

"Hey Neal, quick question, do you see-"

"Yeah, I see it, alright"

"Good, so I'm not crazy."

“So… eight beds,” he said, almost like he was trying the words out just to make sure they were real.

I shot him a look, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Eight beds,” I repeated, my brain short-circuiting in confusion.

We both just stood there, staring, as if maybe the beds would magically explain themselves. They didn’t. And since the charming guy at the front desk was about as helpful as a damp sponge, calling for answers was out. Which meant we were officially stuck here in what I could only describe as the weirdest stakeout setup in history.

“Well,” Neal said, tossing his bag onto the closest mattress with a casual shrug, “at least we won’t have to fight over space.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You’re right; I don’t know how we’d survive otherwise.”

In the next beat, he’d grabbed one of the pillows and flung it at me, completely out of nowhere. It smacked me in the shoulder, and when I looked up, he was giving me that look—that smug, too-charming-for-his-own-good look that always left me just a little short of breath. “What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Might as well make use of all these, right?”

“Oh, you’re asking for it,” I muttered, grabbing a pillow from a nearby bed and launching it back at him, fully prepared for war.

That kicked off what was, I’ll admit, a ridiculously fun half-hour of pillow forts and feigned ambushes across the bed maze. At some point, I found myself perched on one of the beds, trying to throw together some kind of barricade with a ridiculous amount of pillows while Neal “strategically” circled me with a smirk.

Then, because the universe hates me, there was a moment where he leaned in close, way closer than necessary to “take back” one of the pillows he’d flung. Suddenly, his face was right there, all blue eyes and easy confidence, and I froze, my heart doing this humiliating little flip. His hand brushed against mine as he reached for the pillow, and for a second, I couldn’t remember how breathing was supposed to work.

He moved in closer, his face dangerously close to mine, his eyes gazing right into mine, not faltering even for a second. His hand slowly reached for the pillow, but the rest of him stood there frozen, towering over me. I could hear his heartbeat just as loud as I could hear mine and my breath hitched, making me aware of the trance I was in.

He paused too, just looking at me with this amused expression that told me he’d noticed every single bit of my brain short-circuiting. Perfect. Just perfect. I could feel my face heating up, and I was about two seconds from combusting when he finally let out a soft chuckle, pulling away just in time to save what was left of my dignity.

“So…should I warn you the next time I invade your personal space?” he asked, clearly enjoying every second of my embarrassment.

I shot him the best death glare I could muster, though I knew I was blushing furiously. “Yes, actually. Please put it in writing. Triple signed.”

He laughed, plopping onto one of the beds across from me with that smug grin still plastered on his face. I tried to focus on the pillow fort, on anything but the fact that I’d just had a full-on breakdown over a single, stupidly close moment.

But of course, with my luck, just as things started to settle, the shrill beep of a radio crackled through the room, a reminder of why we were actually here. I sighed, letting reality pull me back, and Neal looked over at me, his playful expression fading into something more serious.

“Right. Stakeout,” he said, sounding only mildly disappointed.

“Yeah,” I replied, trying to steady my heartbeat. “Stakeout.”

We went about setting up our positions, his usual lightheartedness replaced by that sharp, focused energy he got whenever he was in “work mode.” But every now and then, his eyes would flicker back to me, a knowing smile lurking at the edges. And every time, I’d feel that stupid little flutter again, like maybe—just maybe—eight beds and a stakeout in the middle of nowhere wasn’t so bad after all.

[snidhy]

The culpur spies episode (S04E06) was honestly just really fun! We have a murder, a con, a lost treasure, AND AN ACTIVE SPY GROUP??? What more do we need???

[allofmytoxicity]

White Collar Masterlist

Read this to find out who else I write for, and requests are open!

Not what you were looking for? Go back!

Pretty Slowly (Neal Caffrey x reader and Spencer Reid x ex!reader) - It's been five years since you left D.C., so what happens when your past comes back to haunt you.

Someone To Lose - Neal nearly risks his freedom once again, this time though, he risks you as well.

Read this to find out who else I write for, and requests are open!

Not what you were looking for? Go back!

[coppertophomegurl]

1 ticket to Oppenheimer please / 1 ticket to Barbie please

[ansop]

I just finished season 4 of my White Collar rewatch. Before that finale, I had a deep hate for James, but I had forgotten how bad of a person he actually is. Guess my subconscious never forgot.

James never loved his son. If he did, he would never have taken that money 30 years ago. If he did, he wouldn't have conned him and everyone else. If he did, he would turn himself in. He threatened to physically harm Neal, and that fear and pain in Neal's eyes tells you all you need to know.

I’m glad Neal has a chosen family, no matter where he is.

As Neal puts it: “Family doesn’t show up on your doorstep after 30 years. They’re the ones who’ve been there when you need them.”

[r1ver-6]

I have a White Collar fic in the works right now. It’s an amalgamation of scenes I’ve added to or changed as I’ve watched the show for the first time. The first two chapters are up and I’ll be updating everyday until I finish the show or catch up to what I’ve written!

[nicedeviledhamrightthere]

a little indulgence

Summary: Neal is having a hard time adapting to life on Cape Verde until someone from the past shows up and changes his perspective.

Words: 3.9k

Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Gordon Taylor

Warnings: some light angst & some non-explicit sex

Notes: Me going hog wild over a rare pair? Never. (Actually CLASSIC.) Expect more of this pair in the future.

........................................................................................................................

“Neal, you’re wilting.”

“I’m what?” Neal asked, draped over the chaise with a dry martini and an Agatha Christie book left behind by the previous occupants of the house. In the last few days he'd already exhausted the Louis L'Amour books, devouring them while drinking more coffee and alcohol than water. He squinted up into the sunlight at the blurred shadow that was vaguely Mozzie shaped. His eyes had always been sensitive to sunlight and the island, as beautiful as it was, made for some difficult days. The weather had so far been so warm, so sunny, so unbearably blue that he found himself lounging inside more often than out.

He needed sunglasses, prescription sunglasses, and so far he hadn’t managed to acquire them. If he’d had more time to pack he might have grabbed them but going on the run meant grabbing the bare essentials and acquiring the rest on the fly. Well, he found a guy who could get him what he needed without the hassle of an official prescription, but they were taking their sweet time to arrive. Until they did, he took cover in the shade for the harshest part of the day thus leading Mozzie to the conclusion that he was wilting, he supposed.

“Wilting. You’ve been laying around listlessly, lacking energy, hardly going outside...you know. Wasting away. Or you’ve become a vampire without my knowledge.”

“A vampire, Moz? Really? Are you twelve?”

“Well, you do spend all day inside and only venture out at night.” Mozzie shook his head and sighed, acquiescing to the moment. He waved his hands around, a gesture that made it appear he was pulling words right out of the air around his head. The sight of it made Neal smile. “Okay, maybe not a vampire, but you know what I mean. You’ve been hiding away in here when you should be out there...at least, out there on the balcony, or in the pool, maybe not out there out there...but...you’re going to get scurvy.”

“A vampire with scurvy? I’m relaxing, Moz,” Neal fired back, sipping his martini lazily. “It’s been a difficult transition, I need some time. And I thought that was what I was supposed to do in retirement.”

“Well, yes, you should relax but this…” he gestured to the messy art supplies lying around unused, the mostly blank canvasses and half finished forgeries. It was an exercise in futility, trying to get Neal to see this his way. “...doesn’t seem like you. You never lay around this much even when you’re sick. Why aren’t you painting?”

“I haven’t been inspired.”

“See? Wilting. Like a sad, neglected houseplant. Oh god, have I been neglecting you Neal?”

“First of all, I’m not a houseplant. And second of all...”

“Please,” Mozzie said, softening his tone. “Neal you’re starting to scare me. Are you so unhappy here?”

“No Moz. I’m not unhappy, I just need some time to...catch up.”

Mozzie made a soft noise of discontent, not bothering to hide his concern as he padded away in his bare feet to pour himself a drink. Neal was irritated, coming to terms with everything, and all Mozzie wanted was to have a good time with his best friend. They were retired, this was their life now. One last big score and they were out of the game. It was always the dream, so they said, but it felt a little more like a nightmare at the moment. He’d been so close to freedom, so close he could taste it, and now he was on the run again. Back where he began like the last few years didn’t mean anything.

Like his time in prison meant nothing. Like his time with the FBI meant nothing. He could never show up on Peter’s doorstep to talk again, he could never listen to June’s stories again or help Elizabeth with a tasting or play cat and mouse with Sara. None of it mattered because here he was on the run again. As beautiful as this place was, as close to paradise as it was ever going to get, it wasn’t easy to come to grips with.

Part of it was that Neal didn’t want to be out of the game yet. He wanted to be in New York with Peter and El and he wanted to help solve crimes, and he wanted to have his skills put to use.

He’d wanted that commutation so bad it hurt.

And part of him had even thought maybe he’d fly to Paris with Mozzie that summer and do a job with Gordon Taylor because why not? He would be a free man. No more anklet. Sure, there was risk involved in that, he would never get another deal from the FBI if he was caught but the temptation...it was

Well he didn’t have the anklet anymore but freedom was still only an illusion. Mozzie wanted him to be up and moving, but he wasn’t allowed to leave their villa. He could wander the grounds, he could be outside, but nowhere that wasn’t exclusively privately theirs. For now, Mozzie kept saying. So no, he had no anklet, but what exactly was the difference?

“I’m going out,” Neal said the next morning over coffee. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. What Mozzie said the day before had eaten at him all night to the point that he could hardly sleep, and Neal Caffrey was not a man who liked to lose sleep. He had to do something to regain some sense of himself. Or rather, he had to figure out who James Maine was. It was time to put some real effort into reinvention.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to see the town.”

“Neal I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You said it yourself, Moz, I’m wilting like a neglected houseplant. I need to get out.”

“Need I remind you that you are on the run from the US government? There’s probably a bounty on your head.”

“I should hope so. If not I’d be insulted.”

“Be careful,” Mozzie said, quietly acquiescing. Neal’s eyes sparked for the first time since they arrived and Mozzie didn’t want to kill that intensity. After all, he’d brought this on himself hadn’t he? Neal looked alive, he had a purpose, and Mozzie couldn’t put too much stock in trying to talk him out of danger. That had never been in the cards. “Don’t go drawing attention to yourself Mr. Maine. Not until the heat dies down. I might be tempted to go after that reward if they come for you.”

“I hope you get it. No one could deserve it more. But you said it yourself...I’ve been wilting. Time to come back to life.”

“I’m rarely wrong.”

“Rarely.”

It was quite a walk from their villa to the town, longer than he’d thought. He’d been hidden away so long now that it had taken on an odd quality in his memory, the trip from the airstrip to their home. Dreamlike almost, and filtered through a layer of tears. He walked slowly along the winding road, stopping every so often to look out at the ocean in all its glory. This ocean was quiet and calm, all bright colors and gentle waves. Nothing like his raging Atlantic and her glorious storms that threw waves at the shore like weapons.

It was early, the sun was barely kissing the sky awake with her perfect juicy colors reflected in the sable sand below. He breathed the briny sea air deep into his lungs and felt it in his bones, crafting James Maine from the salt, from the sound of the sea birds hunting for breakfast, from the colors splashed over the horizon. Reinventing himself. Neal could live at the villa with Mozzie, but only James Maine could enter the town.

He managed to wind his way through town without eyes on him. Whatever the FBI was doing to search for him hadn’t reached this island yet, and he was flooded with relief at that. He found a haberdasher who dealt in handmade goods and ordered himself a hat – a hat for Mr. Maine. He could order any number of custom items, from handmade shirts and pants to ties and even a cape, should Mr. Maine have use for one. Was he a cape guy? Could he be a cape guy? He decided that Mr. Maine lived in white and khaki, tan and beige with a pop of color. An island man. A classic Florida retiree uniform for a young con man. He thought of Michael Caine in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and for the first time he thought – yes, he could do this. He could make this life work for him.

(x)

“Dobbs is having a party,” Mozzie said as Neal emerged from the pool sliding his sunglasses onto his wet face. They slipped down his nose briefly but he pushed them back up and they stayed put. They had arrived by post the day before and he finally found himself able to leave the dimly lit villa when the sun was overhead. No more squinting, and the resulting sunlight headache would remain at bay– it was the small things.

“A party huh? Sounds fun.”

Watching Neal exit the pool, Mozzie huffed. His grace was both sickening and astounding, Mozzie had never had so much intimate control over his own body. Every muscle seemed at Neal’s very beck and call, every movement crafted by an artist. That Neal should choose him for what amounted to a life partner when he could have his pick of pretty much anyone on the planet had never been lost on him. He liked to think he brought plenty of the table himself, it wasn’t all about being chiseled by the gods. “I think you should stay here.”

“I want to go.”

“It’s too soon for you to go into a place like that. The town is one thing, but that party will be crawling with criminals. The seediest shadow people the island can cough up. People who would turn you in in a heartbeat.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ll pay close attention to my surroundings, promise. I need to go.”

“This party is where Dobbs pays everyone off, okay? It’s how we stay safe. So the guests...they’re all criminals.”

“Same as us, Moz.”

“True, but what I mean is...they’ll sell you downriver in a heartbeat and they’re probably all carrying weapons. You need to be careful.”

In spite of Mozzie’s best advice and misgivings, Neal was adamant that he needed to attend the party. He promised he would keep a low profile, that he would avoid introducing himself or making a scene, that he would be a casual observer and nothing more. That wasn’t exactly in his nature, and people rarely allowed him that luxury, but he went in with the best of intentions. Mozzie couldn’t fault him for trying.

He’d always been good at reinventing himself, great at it even, but he’d never been good at blending in. At not being the center of attention was almost impossible. Some might point out his good looks, and of course Mozzie wouldn’t disagree on that front, but he would argue it was something that came from inside of him. Something magnetic that couldn’t be tamped down. Neal was made of charisma, and his eyes were made of bright blue flame, people simply couldn’t help being drawn in.

You either loved him or you hated him, but regardless which it was, your feelings were powerful. Mozzie sometimes thought he was the only one who saw the sadness there. Maybe that was why Neal kept him around, he was the only one who saw through all of the godlike gifts, all of that furious chemistry and magnetism to the damaged foundation and the tender heart.

“Gin,” Neal said at the bar with an easy smile. “Whatever you make best. And make it strong.”

“Rough day?”

“Just looking for a good time.”

Before the bar tender could reply, he felt someone enter his periphery, stopping short in his blind spot. It was evening and the twinkle lights cast a shimmery dancing glow over the open patio, but it was the shadows he felt most compelled by. They seemed to have a life of their own. The man behind him gave off an intoxicating scent of verbena and lemons underscored cinnamon. Spicy and citrusy and warm. “Don’t...turn around…” came a voice attached to the man pressed a little too close. Neal felt the skin prickle on the back of his neck. He knew that voice. It had played over a million times in his head since the last time they saw one another. The only thing he could think was that damn it all, Mozzie was right. His first night out and he’d already been made. “Meet at your place in twenty minutes.”

It had all of the makings of a trap, but what was he going to do? Say no? He could never say no to that voice. That much had been proven not long ago. He took his drink, sipped it once for the bar tender so he knew it met with his approval, and made a beeline for Mozzie who was mingling with a group of caterers. Probably gathering intel for something Neal wouldn’t ask about. It didn’t matter, that was Mozzie business. He had Neal business to attend to.

“Hey Moz, I’ve got a bit of a headache and the gin isn’t helping. I think I’m going to go home and lay down.”

“A headache?” Mozzie asked, suspicious. Neal got headaches frequently, his eyes were overly sensitive and almost always led to trouble but he seemed fine. He hadn’t complained all day. Granted, he almost never said a word, but Mozzie liked to think he knew Neal well enough to see through the facade. He’d seen nothing of the sort.

“Yeah. I’ll be okay, I just need to sleep it off. Have fun Moz. If you see Dobbs, tell him thanks for a great party.”

He knew how long it would take to get back to their place, and he’d be cutting it close to make it in twenty minutes on foot but he couldn’t chance it any other way. He cut through alleyways and managed to get down to the beach for a straight shot. Walking briskly along the water line, he felt peaceful, leaving his quickened footprints in the sand only long enough for the waves to hungrily reclaim them for the sea. Whatever this rendezvous was, he no longer felt any foreboding, only excitement.

Gordon Taylor wouldn’t turn him in. He didn’t need any reward money. Would he be upset enough about Neal’s time with the FBI to hand him over the way Neal had nearly done with him? He didn’t think so, but if he did...well Neal honestly couldn’t think of anything more justified. He would go down for that.

He took off his loafers and walked barefoot in the sand, relishing the feel of the waves lapping at his feet. If he was going to back to prison tonight, he would enjoy this last breath of freedom, the feel of water on his skin and sand between his toes. It was worth it, all of it. He’d had fun. Even if he’d been wilting, he’d enjoyed doing it.

“You came,” Gordon said, lounging with his feet dangling in the pool with a feline grin. Beside him was a bottle of beer and his shoes, so neatly cast aside. He looked every bit like he owned the place. There was no one else in sight. Neal stopped short, just at the edge of the gate, and couldn’t help smiling. Gordon was every bit as gorgeous as he remembered, even in the low glimmering light cast by their few security lights. Neal didn’t want them, Mozzie insisted.

“I do live here.”

“So I gather. Nice place. No extradition, incredible view, a new name...I take it the commutation didn’t go as you’d hoped.”

“Not even close.” He couldn’t mask the hurt in his voice, and Gordon picked up on it immediately. He pivoted away from the humor and landed right in a heaping puddle of sincerity.

“Well I’m truly sorry about that. I would have liked to get a chance to work with you.”

“Who says you can’t now?”

“Too much risk. For both of us. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still have ourselves some fun.”

Neal knew where this was headed, and he also knew he hadn’t had enough gin to get there. Not that Gordon didn’t do everything in the world for him, that the sight of him didn’t ignite every cell in his body with desire, but the island had done something to his inhibition and worse, his confidence. He was still crushed by the freedom dangled and stolen. Kramer would never see it as theft, but that was exactly what it was. So Neal padded in his sandy bare feet toward the outdoor bar and popped open a bottle of champagne. Mozzie might be upset later, but he thought the trip to forgiveness was worth it.

“Cheers,” Neal said, handing Gordon a flute of bubbly. “To new beginnings.”

“Is that what this is?” Gordon asked, setting the glass down beside his empty beer. “Looks to me like it’s still more of an ending.”

“What’s the difference?”

“You know very well what the difference is, Caffrey. Don’t try to play games with me. I’ve been around long enough to know how bad it hurts to try your hardest and still lose.”

“Gordon Taylor doesn’t lose.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

Neal stared down into his own glass, the bubbles popping and sending bright sparks up his nose. He didn’t feel much like drinking it either. Instead, he pivoted and turned the attention on Gordon.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I have a few contacts that live on the island. Dobbs always invites me to his parties. I don’t usually turn up, they’re a bit dull for my taste, but I’m glad I did tonight.”

“Me too,” Neal replied, finally relaxing. He’d been pretending to be relaxed the entire time they were on the island, but this was the first time he actually felt it. With a smile, he set his hat down on the table beside his drink and began undressing before jumping into the pool. One graceful dive, and Gordon followed after without needing an invitation. When they found their naked bodies meeting in the middle of the warm water, Gordon slipped his arms around Neal’s waist and kissed chlorine soaked lips. Neal shivered and smiled, forehead to forehead, knowing that whatever questions he might still have liked to ask would no longer be a good use of his time.

Instead, he kissed Gordon back, bobbing effortlessly in the water. His skin was flush with goosebumps though the water was warm, and he lost himself in the night sky reflected in Gordon’s dark eyes. It was easy to enjoy, having Gordon’s attention entirely on him in a way that felt almost like magic. The only other person on the island who knew him from the life he’d left, who knew who and what he was, who actually saw him. He wasn’t used to being seen.

“Shall we take this inside?” Gordon asked. “Perhaps away from the floodlights?” Neal had been more than happy to be wherever Gordon wanted, and if he wanted to move inside then they would leave a trail of chlorine puddles behind them as they slipped naked from the pool up to Neal’s bed.

There was a reason the house had only tile floors.

From there it was even easier. They fell into the bed and had sex in Neal’s warm sheets, sweaty and smiling, a tangle of limbs and deep guttural sounds. And when they finished, when they were a mess of twitching muscles and deep, heavy breathing, Gordon turned and pressed his forehead tenderly to Neal’s temple.

“Would you mind telling me who it is I’ve just had the pleasure of sharing a bed with?”

“James Maine,” Neal replied cautiously, afraid to sink back into someone else. He’d always preferred being Neal Caffrey, and this was something he wanted to keep just for Neal. The fracturing of his personalities had always been carefully maintained and he was blurring lines right now that shouldn’t be blurred. Gordon smiled and traced one finger along the delicate ridge of Neal’s collar bone, down his sternum.

“Good to make your acquaintance, James. May I call on you again?”

“So formal.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes. You may. But you have to call me Neal.” He couldn’t share, not this. It meant too much. The feel of Gordon Taylor was almost like his anklet, securing him to his place, giving him back some semblance of his own life. This couldn’t belong to James Maine.

“Good.” Gordon slipped out of the bed and got himself dressed quickly while Neal took his time. The pool rippled in the breeze and both of them thought again of jumping in, being naked beneath the great starry sky and her infinite depths. Neal wondered if she could keep a secret. “I like Neal better anyway.”

Gordon brushed past Mozzie on his way out with a wink and a nod, not stopping for chit chat this time though he liked Mozzie very much. He didn’t often stay the night, it wasn’t quite his thing. That would kill some of the mystery – imagine someone knowing that he snored or had morning breath? No, he left before any of that. Always leave them wanting more.

Mozzie could do nothing but sigh as he watched Gordon leave, because of course Gordon Taylor had shown up and of course he’d ended up at their place with Neal. Very likely in Neal’s bed. He wasn’t a fool. Neal loved beautiful things and this was no exception.

“Headache, huh?”

“Did I say that?” He grinned and knew that he shouldn’t argue. The headache bit wasn’t far off, he’d had one since they landed but for the first time...he was free and clear. The ruse wouldn’t hold up. And he didn’t want to lie to Moz, he wanted Moz to share his joy.

“Yes. You did. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous what you’re doing is…”

“It’s fine Moz. It’s Gordon Taylor.”

“Yeah...well…”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Mozzie huffed indignantly and drank not only Neal’s still full flute of lukewarm champagne, but Gordon’s too. Neal considered it a small miracle that he didn’t complain about letting it go to waste, instead he just grabbed what remained of the bottle in one hand and conceded to Neal’s argument.

“Fine. A little. Not that I want to...you know...but it’s Gordon Taylor. Are you happy now?”

Neal grinned a little too wide and even if Mozzie couldn’t exactly see the full extent of it in the dark, he knew it was infuriating. He thought perhaps they both felt the same – whether they wanted to take him to bed or live his life, it didn’t matter much. They both felt it. “Yep. Very happy.”

“Go to bed, Neal.” Mozzie paused, a smirk softening his own features. “Alone.”

“Nite Moz.”

[asteriskemily]

White Collar x DC this

DC x Danny Phantom that

Fuck It! Cut Out The Middle Man! White Collar x Danny Phantom!!!

You think Danny Fenton wouldn’t go on the run from [insert problem here] and accidentally find himself phasing through the Louvre? And well if he wants to grab a souvenir on his way out, who can blame him? St. George and The Dragon, don’t mind if I do. And if this just keeps happening, well he could make a career out of this. He can get into any vault and he’s gotten pretty darn good at lying over the past few years. Meet Danny….Brooks. Yeah Danny Brooks (or George Devoure, or Nick Halden, or Neal Caffrey)

You think Danielle “Elle” Phantom wouldn’t be going about her business traveling the world and decide to settle down in New York for a bit? Well oh no now there’s an FBI agent questioning her. And Oh Shit now he’s looking into her (entirely fabricated) background. And OH FUCK… he asked her out? Well, might as well and oops now they’re married, wonder how she’s gonna explain the whole half-dead clone thing.

Give Me ghosts fucking up fbi ops, Give Me June Ellington being an Old Friend of Ida Manson, Give Me Sam and Tucker trading who plays the roll of Kate, Give Me Neal!Danny and Peter!Val, Give Me Danny conning his way into a fancy party and Vlad is there! GIVE ME MOZZIES A LITERAL GHOST!!!

[suburbonlegends]

Make shift prompt game: what situation are you going to throw Neal in next?

Lol I love putting the man in a situation

Currently I'm working on a Peter x Neal thing where Neal is underdressed for the cold/snow and Peter dotes on him, and then another seperate ship thing of Neal having a nightmare and then being doted on. Clearly whumptober has taken it's toll and now I'm onto Fluff-ember lmao.

Also an idea that I almost don't want to talk about too much because I'm so excited about it, but I'm currently outlining a (hopefully) longer fic that I'll publish in December. It won't be holiday themed but I'm hoping the vibes will match. A brief overlook of it would be Depressed/Anxious Neal, Peter and Mozzie maybe teaming up to pull something over the FBI, and a lack of suits 👀

[silbrith]

Music Monday

Thanks for the tag @penna-nomen!

Rules: Choose a few fics you wrote that were inspired by a song - not just with song lyrics in title - and share the tune and the link to the fics. If anyone wants to guess which goes with which go for it in comments or tags!

Like Kate, I've always loved the classics. I include both popular and classic music in my stories. Whittling down the list to a few favorites is a daunting task, but here goes —

The Woman in Blue (Caffrey Conversation). Klaus Mansfeld, a friend/enemy is linked to Franz Schubert, contrasting with Neal's love for rock music. In later stories, the opposites theme is expanded to include Klaus's evil brother Rolf who is tied to Rachmaninoff.

In The Queen's Jewels (Caffrey Conversation), Neal is framed for a crime he didn't commit. Bound for Botany Bay (John Doyle) and The Chain (Fleetwood Mac) play in his head. They're later replaced by The Rising (Bruce Springsteen). The White Collar team celebrates his name being cleared with a CD of songs, including Footloose, Born to Run, Unchained Melodies, and Born Free.

Nocturne in Black and Gold (Caffrey Conversation): Neal's theme songs are Sounds of Silence (Simon & Garfunkel) and Nara (E.S. Posthumus). Neal associates heist planning with Rachmaninoff's Folia Variations. Peter uses Bridge over Troubled Water (Simon & Garfunkel) to pull Neal out of a dark place and then scores a double-play by having it featured in Cinereous Skies in the meta series Arkham Files. At the Zoo (Simon & Garfunkel) provides a lighthearted moment. Neal and Sara make a game out of Mockingbird (Carly Simon & James Taylor). Both songs are also included in Cinereous Skies.

Arkham Files (set in the 1970s): A Little Help from My Friends, Long Time Gone, and Woodstock with its line about stardust, are plot elements in The Locked Room.

Crossed Lines (Caffrey Conversation x Supernatural): In Whispers in the Night, Peter reveals that Dean Winchester isn’t the only one into classic rock. Songs include Hot Blooded (Foreigner), Bad to the Bone (George Thorogood & The Destroyers), and Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves (Eurythmics). When Dean, Mozzie, and Peter are afflicted with a dork curse, they belt out Rawhide and Happy Trails at a diner.

Dark Rabbit (Crossed Lines): Angela Caffrey is mesmerized by a dulcimer-playing vampire. Inspiration: The Kiss, played on the dulcimer by Scott Williams.

Six-Crossed Knot (All Souls Trilogy fandom): a series about Jack Blackfriars—an Elizabethan musician and artist turned vampire. Inspiration for Jack: Cymbeline (Loreena McKennitt). Jack's theme song, Touch Me Lightly (Tobias Hume), was featured in Walking Shadows. Leonard Shoreditch's customized theme song It Was a Lover and His Lad is in Fretwork. Nothing Else Matters (Apocalyptica) inspired Tangled Knots.

Can I squeeze in one more series? Reflections (The Supremes) is the inspiration for Sedlow Chronicles (original sci-fi fantasy). That song and People Are Strange (The Doors) are featured in the second story Shadows of Crellos.

[maya-caffrey]

Stuck in my head

pairing: neal caffrey x fem!reader

words: 3.2k

summary: Neal Caffrey, Ward of the state, CI by circumstance, Conman by choice, has taken a particular liking to the fence he's actively trying to get arrested while undercover, much to his chagrin.

timeline: this is fanfiction land. time stands still and we dance on canon's remains

warnings: baby this is fluff, no surprises, I swear. maybe a small one somewhere but it's good, I promise

ps: (Y/f/n) is (your/fake/name), (y/n) is (your/name)

"Peter I am telling you, we can't arrest her."

"Because we have no evidence yet? Yeah, I got that."

"No, I'm saying we shouldn't even be pursuing this case in the first place. I don't think she's a fence."

Peter rolled his eyes at Neal's protests and proceeded to ignore the rest of his rant, much like he had since the beginning of the case. For some reason Peter cannot quite understand, Neal has been opposed to working this case ever since the first time he went undercover as George Devore, art collector, to set up a meeting with (Y/f/n).

To the residents of the stakeout van, the meeting was normal and went swimmingly, meaning the next meeting, where the handoff would be discussed, would be enough to put the nail in the coffin and close the case, essentially arresting (Y/f/n) and finally getting the name of the buyer they have been tracking. But to Neal, or rather, George Devore, this seemed like the worst thing in the world at the moment.

Back home, Neal decided to pour his heart out to the only other person who he thought would lend a happy ear. But instead, he was met with merciless judgment from Mozzie.

"Neal, you have a problem when it comes to beautiful women. I say this from a place of love. And perfect recall"

Neal feigned being hurt, even though he knew damn well his only problem with (Y/f/n) was that she was stuck in his head ever since they first met. He had no solid reason, but he was sure she was not just a regular fence for stolen art. She did not carry herself with that shifty cunningness one might find in a con artist, but rather with an air of authority. She seemed honest and sure of herself, which was the first clue he noticed that she may not be a con artist. Her textbook knowledge of Degas was not helping her case, and her being gorgeous was only making things worse.

He remembered the time he showed her the Degas. As she leaned forward to examine the painting he’d brought as bait, he caught a faint hint of her perfume—something light, maybe jasmine? Neal told himself it was just an observation, but even Peter had once told him he had a way of letting the little details trip him up.

Tomorrow was going to be a difficult day.

______________________________________________________________

"Your work is simple. You need to discuss a time and place for the handoff, get her buyer's name to confirm we have the right guy, and have her admit on the record that she’s knowingly trafficking stolen art," Peter said, his tone clipped and businesslike. "Once we have her on tape saying anything that implicates herself or her buyer, we can move in. So keep it casual, stay in character, and—" Peter shot Neal a warning look. "—don’t get any ideas."

Neal managed a tight smile. "You’re really worried I’ll blow it?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "No, I’m worried you’ll fall for it. There’s a difference."

"Peter, I’ve got this," Neal replied, a bit too quickly. "She’s just another suspect."

Peter crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Good. Keep it that way."

Neal exited the surveillance van to the restaurant where he was meeting (Y/f/n), mentally cursing himself for picking the most romantic spot in town. Although it was George Devore who was meeting her, Neal Caffrey wished it was him instead.

As Neal entered the restaurant, the low lighting and soft jazz in the background felt more intimate than he’d intended. The tables were spaced just far enough apart for privacy, and the scent of roses mixed with fresh bread filled the air. It was a perfect place for a date—not a takedown. He adjusted his cufflinks, reminding himself that George Devore was here to discuss business, but Neal Caffrey couldn't shake the feeling he was here for something else entirely.

The moment he saw her seated at their table, he could feel time slow down around him. His heart, pounding so loud, threatening to give himself away, and his feet were reluctant to move forward. Reminding himself yet another time what he was here for, Neal took the other seat at the table and was greeted by a warm smile.

As he took his seat, the soft lighting cast a warm glow on her face, and Neal couldn't help but notice the way her eyes caught the light, just for a second. Her warm smile and the skip of his own heartbeat threatened to unravel him. He swallowed, hoping she couldn't see how tightly he was gripping the edge of the table under his hand.

“Mr. Devore, you’ve picked quite the place, I must say.” She glanced around, taking in the candlelight and cozy atmosphere with an approving smile.

Neal cleared his throat, managing a relaxed grin. “Please, call me George,” he replied, leaning back slightly, trying to match her casual tone. “I figured someone with your refined taste would appreciate a little ambiance.”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Ambiance and art—my weaknesses.” She tilted her head, studying him for a moment longer than was comfortable. “So, George, what’s next on our agenda?”

Neal felt his pulse quicken. The way she looked at him, with a blend of curiosity and confidence, made it difficult to remember that this was just business. “I thought we’d finalize the details,” he said smoothly, though his mind was racing. “Make sure we’re all on the same page… especially about your buyer.”

She had this way of tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear just before she spoke as if gathering her thoughts in a gesture as practiced as her knowledge of art. For someone supposedly in the business of deception, she was oddly composed, almost serene. And that calm was getting to him.

"Well, my buyer is a man who really values his privacy, you know how it is." Neal could feel his focus shifting away from their conversation and was almost sure he'd stutter if he said another word. He knew that to get anything from her, he'd have to give up something as well, as a show of trust. Or you know, he could tank the entire investigation by naming the buyer himself and spooking the poor fence.

"Really? Because word on the street is, you've got Orwell Anders lined up for the Deg-" She casually reached for his wrist, her fingers grazing over the watch. In a swift motion, she turned it off—he'd almost missed it. Neal's breath caught as he realized she knew exactly what it was.

"How did you know—Who are you?"

"How long until your agents move in?"

"A couple minutes, if I don’t respond."

"In that case, I’ll get straight to the point. Neal, my name’s (Y/n). I’m with the FBI—Homicide Division, specifically. And yes, I know exactly who you are. I’m undercover to take down Orwell Anders. Part of my operation involves meeting him as a fence, which is why I’m here. I thought we were on the same side, but it��s clear you’re investigating me, and that’s a problem. I can't let you derail this case, especially since we need him for murder. I turned off your watch because your van is compromised. I’m sure you can figure out who’s responsible for that. If they've heard any of this from the van, it's over."

Neal blinked, trying to absorb everything she’d just dropped on him. His mind raced, but he kept his face neutral. “So, let me get this straight,” he said slowly, his voice steady despite the chaos inside. “You’re working for the FBI… and you’ve been undercover, posing as a fence to get close to Anders? But now you want me to back off, or what? Help you catch him for murder?”

She didn’t flinch at his disbelief. Instead, she leaned in slightly, her voice low and urgent. “I didn’t want to pull you in, Neal. But now that your team’s involved, I need you to understand—we can’t afford to lose him. We need solid evidence to tie him to the murder. If you keep investigating me, it’ll ruin everything.”

Neal studied her, trying to find a crack in her story, but there was nothing. Just the same calm, controlled demeanor he’d seen in her earlier, only now there was something sharper, more desperate underneath it.

“You’re telling me that all this—” He waved a hand, gesturing to their whole encounter, the charade, the tension between them—“is a setup. And you knew all along who I was?”

Her expression softened just a fraction. “I had to, Neal. But this isn’t about you. It’s about stopping a killer.”

He leaned back in his chair, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in dynamics. This wasn’t how he’d imagined things would play out. She wasn’t just another suspect. She was part of the game. The rules had just changed.

“So, what now?” Neal asked, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were sharp, focused. “You want me to help you take down Anders, but you need me to play nice? Or should I just keep pretending I’m the clueless art dealer you think I am?”

She paused, eyes narrowing slightly, but there was an unreadable intensity behind them. “I don’t need you to pretend, Neal. I need you to trust me.”

"You could've gone to Peter or Hughes with this. You knew I'm a CI. You knew I was on a case. Why go with the charade?"

"I guess I thought I was helping with your investigation? I hadn't realized you were looking into me at that point." She almost looked guilty for having to have put him through that.

Neal’s mind spun with everything she had just revealed. The weight of her words hung between them, a fragile thread of trust that could snap at any moment. He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. The lines were blurring in a way he hadn’t expected, and as much as he wanted to shut this down, something about her calm confidence made him hesitate.

She watched him, waiting for him to make a decision. Finally, Neal took a deep breath, trying to push aside the growing unease in his gut.

“Okay,” he said, his voice steady, but with an edge of suspicion. “Let’s say I believe you for a second. What now?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached over and placed her hand gently on his wrist, the same place she’d turned off the watch earlier. Her fingers lingered for a moment, before she spoke in a low, urgent tone. “Turn it back on, Neal. I need you to stay in character, to help me take him down. If we’re going to get Anders for both the murder and the stolen art, we need him to make a move—one he can’t deny. And right now, I need your help to make that happen.”

Neal’s chest tightened at the request. He didn’t want to help her. He didn’t want to become a pawn in whatever dangerous game she was playing. But he had no choice. The mission was bigger than just the art, and from the way she was looking at him, he knew this was their best shot.

He let out a frustrated sigh, but reached for his wrist with a reluctant motion. Slowly, he turned the watch back on, the familiar hum buzzing against his skin.

“Fine,” he muttered, looking up at her. “But you owe me one.”

She gave him a brief, almost imperceptible smile. “You’ll get more than you think.”

Neal watched her as she leaned back in her chair, her posture shifting from casual to calculating, her eyes never leaving his. She was in full control now, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she always had been. All he knew was that he liked it.

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

The next day, they were back in the briefing room. Peter was already in his usual spot, running the meeting as he always did. Neal couldn’t help but notice (Y/n) walking in, though. She was a stark contrast to the playful, teasing woman he'd met the night before. Today, she was all business.

In her pantsuit, with her badge and gun, she looked right at home. The transition was seamless, and for a second, Neal wondered just how much of that was the real her. The woman who had handled the dinner situation with such ease had just stepped into her role without missing a beat.

She offered Peter a quick smile, then took her seat, her posture shifting from relaxed to focused in an instant. There was no sign of the laid-back charm she had shown before. She was more chipper and excited than the nervously calm person he had seen yesterday.

"Morning," she said, her voice warm but professional. It was clear this was her zone, and Neal respected that. But a part of him couldn’t help but notice the contrast from last night—the way her eyes seemed to soften just before she turned away like she was still adjusting to the change.

Peter began the briefing, detailing the next steps with his usual focus. Neal stayed quiet, letting Peter run through the plan. But his attention kept drifting to (Y/n). There was a quiet energy between them, something unspoken that he couldn’t quite shake.

“Alright, team,” Peter said as the briefing wrapped up. “Neal, (Y/n), you’ll be tailing Anders. We need to get something concrete, so keep your eyes open.”

Neal nodded, but he was still processing everything. Working with (Y/n) felt… different. She had a way about her, an energy that made it hard to stay entirely focused. She wasn’t acting like someone undercover, yet Neal couldn’t help but feel there was more to her than what was on the surface.

As the team started to shuffle out, Neal lingered for a moment. He caught (Y/n)’s eye again as she packed her things. Her gaze softened just a little before she turned back to her bag, though Neal was certain she hadn’t meant to let it show.

“You good?” he asked, trying to keep things light, though his voice had a slight edge to it. He wasn’t sure if it was the case or the connection that was making him second-guess himself.

“Yeah,” she replied, meeting his gaze with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You?”

“Never better,” Neal said with a shrug, though he didn’t really believe it. His pulse was still a little too quick, and he couldn’t figure out why.

Peter called from the door. “Neal, (Y/n), let’s go.”

Neal and (Y/n) fell into step, heading toward the door. Neal could feel her presence beside him, just a little too close for comfort in a way that was making it harder to concentrate. He glanced at her quickly, catching the faintest blush on her cheeks. It could’ve been nothing, but something told him it wasn’t.

They walked in silence for a moment before Neal broke it, his voice low, as if testing the waters. “You ever do anything like this before?”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Yeah, but it's always more fun when you’re with someone who’s as good as me.”

Neal chuckled, his usual charm slipping back into place. “So you’re saying you’ve never worked with a partner as handsome as me?”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips, something soft in her expression. She didn’t answer immediately, her attention focused on the task ahead, but Neal noticed her glancing at him again, just for a moment too long. And this time, it wasn’t just the mission that was on his mind.

Something was starting to shift—between them. And though Neal tried to push it away, he knew it would only be a matter of time before everything between them came to a head.

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

The bust went down as smooth as they could’ve hoped. Anders didn’t stand a chance, caught entirely off-guard by (Y/n)’s meticulous planning. Neal watched her in action, directing her team with precision, her voice steady and unyielding. She was completely in her element, and for a moment, he was genuinely impressed—maybe a bit more than he wanted to admit.

Once Anders was cuffed and led away, Peter nodded toward her, clearly impressed himself. “You know, we could use an agent like you at White Collar,” he said, half-serious, but the glint in his eye suggested it was more than a passing thought.

She let out a small laugh, a hint of sadness mingled with amusement. “Funny you’d say that,” she replied, hands on her hips. “This is actually my last case with Homicide. I’ve just been transferred.”

Neal’s eyebrow arched, intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Transferred?” He leaned in, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you.”

(Y/n) smirked, tilting her head as she met his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe. Though, from what I hear, it’s hard to keep up with you, Caffrey.”

“Oh, I think you’d manage,” he shot back, eyes glinting as he stepped just a bit closer, their shoulders nearly touching. “After all, I wouldn’t mind a little… competition.”

She held his gaze, her smile widening just a fraction. “Competition? Careful, Neal. I don’t play nice when I’m winning.”

Peter watched the exchange, clearly amused, before clearing his throat and muttering, “Alright, save the flirting for the office.” His words hung in the air, casual but with enough weight to make both of them suddenly feel exposed.

Neal’s easy grin faltered, his usual charm suddenly thrown off-balance. He looked away quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets and adjusting his stance, trying to seem nonchalant. “Flirting?” he echoed, a hint of forced laughter creeping in. “I wouldn’t call it… flirting.”

(Y/n)’s expression tightened, and she crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I mean—it’s not like that,” she muttered, glancing at Neal and then away, her tone coming out sharper than she intended. “This is just professional courtesy, right?”

Neal chuckled, a little too loudly. “Exactly. I mean, you know me, Peter. I’m just… courteous.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, watching the two of them stumble over their words, clearly enjoying the unexpected reaction. “Uh-huh. Just professional courtesy,” he repeated, the skepticism obvious in his voice.

(Y/n) looked at Neal, a slight flush creeping up her neck as she tried to regain her composure. “Exactly. Nothing else to it.”

Neal opened his mouth, as if to agree again, but no words came out. Instead, he gave a stiff nod, forcing his usual confidence back into his posture. “Right. So… I’ll see you around, Agent,” he added, voice slightly strained, and he quickly looked away, almost as if he couldn’t stand meeting her eyes.

(Y/n) nodded curtly, avoiding his gaze as she muttered, “Yeah, see you, Caffrey.”

As she turned to leave, Peter stifled a laugh, and Neal, sensing Peter’s amusement, shot him a defensive look. “What? I wasn’t… it’s not…” But he knew there was no winning this one.

Peter simply shook his head, chuckling as he clapped Neal on the shoulder. “Sure, Neal. Whatever you say.”

[crazynerdandproud]

This one is for the White Collar X Batfam peeps

Instead of Ric when Dick gets amnesia he still has that whole thing where Bruce is kind of an asshole and wants him to be Nightwing but he isn't feeling. (At least I'm pretty sure that's how that went? I know virtually nothing about the Ric era but thats what I heard somewhere) However...if he was Nightwing then he should know Catwoman, right? So he finds Selina and she gives him a bit of training in burglary and then off he goes to New York. He's going by the name Neal Caffrey and everyone thinks Dick Grayson is dead.

He meets and befriends Mozzie right away and then later Kate. When the fbi finally arrest him he goes to jail and by this time even Batman has no idea where he is.

He gets a secret message from Kate, who was always chill and didn't mind the whole, I used to be someone else then I got amnesia and am doing my best to avoid people who know me cause all the people he talked to were being weird and pushy about him being Nightwing until Batman gave up on him. (except Catwoman, she was cool.)

Anyways, and thus the pilot episode of White Collar takes place and Neal Caffrey becomes a CI. From here on out it is canon compliant (and also explains Neal's pure confidence with the whole jumping out of a third story building thing)

Maybe some of the batfam (or other heroes, like the og titans or something, but I'm focusing on the batfam here) find him during this time, maybe not. But it doesn't change the canon compliance up till Neal fakes his death and leaves. Instead of going to France he goes back to Bludhaven cause his memory is slowly returning and the batfam convinced him to come back.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

A CI May Be Clever But That Doesn't Mean They're Honest

by Amateum

The Justice League needs a team of agents specializing in white collar crime to help take down Lex Luthor once and for all. A competent team who are above reproach, with an excellent arrest record, clean backgrounds, and aren’t afraid to stand against a supervillain. Dick knows just the people for the job.

Now he just needs to keep the fact that he used to be their very own Criminal Informant, Neal Caffrey, from Peter, Diana, and Jones while they work on building the case against Luthor. But he’d already successfully lied to the team for two years, and he’s a Bat with years of undercover experience to boot. This should be a cakewalk, right?

Right.

 July 10th: Justice League Visits White Collar

Words: 3952, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of WC x DC Week 2023

Fandoms: DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Forever Evil (Comics), White Collar (TV 2009)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dick Grayson, Peter Burke, Lex Luthor, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Elizabeth Burke (White Collar), Mozzie (White Collar), Bruce Wayne, Justice League (DCU), Reese Hughes

Relationships: Peter Burke & Dick Grayson, Diana Berrigan & Peter Burke, Peter Burke & Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan & Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey & Clinton Jones, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Dick Grayson & Mozzie (White Collar), Elizabeth Burke & Mozzie (White Collar)

Additional Tags: Neal Caffrey and Dick Grayson are the Same Person, (past) - Freeform, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Angst, Grief/Mourning, over someone who's not actually dead, so I'm not tagging it mcd, Fake Character Death, Secret Identity, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Post-Spyral, Post-White Collar (TV 2009), Lex Luthor (Derogatory), Lex Luthor Being an Asshole, Lex Luthor is a walking bad guy trope, Peter Burke is competent actually, Peter Burke is a Good Friend, inaccurate legal procedures, I don't know how the law works, do ur taxes kids, WCDC_Week_2023, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/48485068

[lapseinart]

Glee x White Collar x Chuck Story Background

Bryce and Neal are Blaine’s older brothers. Larkin is the mom’s fake maiden name. Caffrey is her real maiden name. Neal was born Neal; Bryce was born Bryce. Under WITSEC, Neal went by Cooper; Bryce went by Danny. Bryce legally changed his name back from Daniel to Bryce. Neal’s name is still technically Cooper Anderson, but he goes by, and uses the legal information of Neal Bennet. Neal legally changed his last name to his mother’s real last name of Caffrey. Therefore, there’s still no information about Neal Caffrey before 18 because he holds two “legal” identities: WITSEC’s Cooper Anderson and the life he lives as Neal Caffrey.

Cooper aka Neal is estranged from their mother but kept in contact with Bryce, and Blaine as a result. He drops out of high school after finding out the truth about his and Bryce’s dad, who is not Blaine’s dad.

Neal, a struggling actor, turns to forgery and cons to help support his brothers, helping Bryce pay for housing, dining, and the stuff that his scholarship doesn’t cover. Chuck has met Cooper as Neal Larkin, and he knows that Neal has a “stage name” Cooper Anderson. Chuck met Blaine once, though he only knows him as Bryce’s little brother Blaine, not that Blaine has the last name Anderson. He knows Neal wants to become an actor, but that he’s also working on the side to help Bryce through college. He does not know Neal’s side-gig is theft and that Neal goes on to become a world-class thief.

Bryce joins the CIA originally as more of an analyst kind of guy to earn money, hoping that Cooper will stop doing shady shit, but joins as a full Agent so Chuck doesn’t have to. His main job description is to be prepared to take the Intersect, and he trains and does many missions is preparation for that role.

Neal is occasionally tapped by Bryce as a criminal contact. He knows Bryce is CIA since Bryce told him when he started as an analyst in the hopes of getting Neal to stop. Neal did not stop. Thus, he was aware when Bryce became a full agent. He’s let Bryce use his forged passports before; everyone else thinks he’s just really good at sneaking into countries and establishing alibis.

Bryce “dies” bc of the CIA. Neal, being friends with Mozzie, 1000% believed it to be fishy and thinks there’s a definite possibility that Bryce is still alive. After all, at this point, Neal has faked his death before. Blaine and the Andersons believe him dead and hold a funeral, but Neal realizes that’s not Bryce’s body. Neal attends as Cooper, and stays in contact with Blaine, though he refuses to talk to his mom.

[cas-kingdom]

Bad Blood

A/N: Set towards the end of season 3. 

Title: Bad Blood

Summary: After Peter discovers Neal stole the ship’s treasure, you’re worried he’ll be mad at you for keeping the secret.

Words: 2310

The problem with loving your brother so much you couldn’t possibly do something to put him in jail, despite your personal opinions, is that it puts you in an awkward position.

You had never had that problem. From the age of three, you’d gone everywhere with Neal. You’d grown up among thieves and criminals, and that’d been all you’d known. Until Neal was caught, and you’d lived a more subdued life for four years, learning things and picking up what it meant to have a normal life. You’d grown your own opinions, stemming from the simplest of things, and slowly come to realise that there was a life outside your brother’s antics.

Maybe that was why Neal hadn’t told you about the treasure. Perhaps he’d thought you might tell Peter. He should have known, though, that you’d never do that. So, more plausibly, maybe he’d simply wanted to keep you safe. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to put you in that kind of position – stuck between him and Peter. He’d been doing that a lot in the year and a bit he’d been out of jail; keeping secrets, only letting you in on what he thought you needed to know. It was a swerve in your relationship, and it was constantly hitting obstacles.

Peter had taken you aside a while after the fire and asked you if Neal had stolen the treasure. You could still remember the flurry of emotions that had hit you then.

“I need to know,” Peter said. His voice was gentle. He was leaning on his forearms, staring at you from his place behind his desk. His eyebrows were raised, and you would have squirmed uncomfortably if you knew what he was talking about.

You sputtered for a moment, glancing down at the floor, before shaking your head and looking back up at him. “Neal?” you asked. “You- you think Neal stole the treasure?” Peter lifted his chin and leaned back against his seat. “I thought it was all lost in the fire.”

Peter sighed. “We did, too,” he said. “But… we found something that leads us to think otherwise.”

Your frown deepened. You turned your head, just about seeing Neal immersed in conversation with Jones. He glanced up for a moment, your eyes meeting, and he gave you a questioning look. You bit the inside of your cheek and turned back around to look at Peter, who was watching you intently.

“I don’t know, Peter,” you said honestly.

Peter nodded. “If you did…” He tilted his head a little. “Would you tell me?”

It wasn’t an interrogative look that he was giving you. He loved you. Every moment he was with you was spent treating you as his own. But that love included protecting you, even from your brother, and he wanted – needed – to be sure that you weren’t withholding anything from him that could put you behind bars, because he knew he’d rather be behind them himself than let you go.

You bit your lip, absently fidgeting with your fingers. You glanced up and shrugged.

Peter nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said. He couldn’t say he hadn’t expected that response. He drew in a deep breath and stood up, rounding the desk. He leant down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “As long as you’re safe, kid. That’s all I ask. Don’t get yourself caught in something I can’t get you out of. And… try get that in your brother’s head, too. You know where I am if you need me.”

Really, it should’ve been obvious to you that Neal had stolen it. You hadn’t wanted it to be – it was for that reason you’d never told Neal that Peter had even asked you about it – but you knew the man better than you knew anyone and anything. If the opportunity was presented, he would grab it up.

You’d cried after overhearing Neal and Mozzie discussing the treasure. They’d been quiet, whispering among themselves, and Neal should have known really that you wouldn’t have been asleep. He’d heard you sob, your pillow over your head, and got up from his chair so fast he’d knocked it over. Eyes wide, heart pumping, mind whirring, he’d slid into the bed beside you. You’d pushed him away, but he’d stayed, he always stayed, and he’d slept with you until morning, your back to him, his hand on your shoulder. You hadn’t talked about it the next day, and you’d been blunt with him since. You figured he’d worried you would tell.

“You have the treasure!”

You could hear Peter’s words. You’d been sat at the table when he’d come in, telling them Elizabeth had been taken, and you’d decided then and there that if Neal didn’t tell him, you would. Thankfully, you hadn’t had to, but the look Peter had given you after that had seared into your brain, and you hadn’t been yourself since. So, the moment Neal had been cleared – officially, anyway – you’d ached to speak to the agent.

“Peter, can we talk?”

It was a Sunday, and you, Mozzie and Neal were at Peter and Elizabeth’s for lunch. There was a sense of normality around Sunday lunch at the Burkes’. A familiarity that you had been terrified you’d lost for a moment back then.

Elizabeth and Neal were sitting outside, the both of them laughing about something or other, and Mozzie was sleeping on the deck chair he’d brought from June’s – nobody was sure why and nobody had bothered to ask. He was Mozzie, after all. You had been putting the plates away, Satchmo your shadow, and Peter had followed close behind, that smile on his face which told you he was happy. You didn’t really want that smile to disappear, and you knew he probably didn’t have anything to talk to you about, you were just being paranoid, but it would make you feel better, and you were too selfish to let that pass.

Peter glanced over his shoulder as you leaned against the kitchen counter. He nodded. “Sure,” he said, shutting the dishwasher. He turned around and crossed his arms, a look of slight intrigue crossing his face. “What is it?”

You swallowed, rolling your shoulders a little. You saw Satchmo nudge your hand with his wet nose and felt all the better for it. “I don’t…” you started, before feeling the lump in your throat stop your words. Peter, ever the concerned stand-in parent, moved forward immediately, his eyebrows furrowing together, those frown lines creasing his forehead. He stopped beside you, not wanting to invade your privacy yet needing to be there for you all the same, despite his not knowing what it was you wished to say.

He was a patient man, and so he merely stood beside you for a moment, waiting for you to speak up again. The open door was letting in the fresh breeze, the sound of Elizabeth and Neal’s laughter wafting in through it. It was the perfect day.

“I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us,” you said eventually, in a voice softer than Peter ever believed he’d heard.

He took a little while to mull your words over, staring fixedly at a spot on the floor. He shook his head as though preparing his words. “There isn’t any,” he said after a small moment, tilting his head to look down at you. When you didn’t reply, your hand on top of Satchmo’s head, he darkened his frown. “Hey,” he said, almost as softly as you. He pushed himself from the counter to move partly in front of you, taking your hands into his and waiting for you to meet his gaze. “What makes you think that?”

You swallowed again, foolishly feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. “I knew about the treasure.”

Peter made a face of realisation immediately. He squeezed your hands. “You knew about it after I asked about it,” he reassured you, shaking you a little, “you’re fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Well, I should’ve told you anyway,” you said, sniffling. “I should’ve told you the moment I found out. That’s withholding evidence… or something.”

Peter huffed a short laugh, releasing your hands only to pull you against his chest in a strong hug. “Your mind’s been working on this one for a while, huh?” he said gently, rubbing his hand up and down your back. You rested against him, eyes staring blankly ahead, lips trembling as you tried to hold the tears back. You felt Peter rest his chin on the top of your head. “I’m telling you, kid,” he said, “there’s nothing bad between us. You didn’t know about the treasure when I asked, and you said you didn’t know whether or not you’d tell me if the odd chance you found out later came up. I accepted that. That’s all that matters.” He turned his head a little, looking into the garden. As he’d expected really, Neal was craning his neck, eyes concerned even from this far away. He rose a dark brow, a silent question passing between them, and Peter nodded his head once, causing the younger man to reluctantly turn back to his conversation with Elizabeth.

Peter imagined it was difficult for both you and Neal to have someone like him in your lives. It’d always been you for a long, long while, and allowing someone in, opening up to that person like you had, was something he felt almost honoured for. Holding you in his arms like this, feeling your hands grip his shirt and your head all but bury in his chest, simply because you were worried he was upset with you, made him feel something indescribable. It was a good feeling, though. The feeling he felt when Neal did as he was told without argument, and called him his friend, and just came into work that morning because he’d decided it wasn’t the day to cut his anklet and run.

Things had changed for the Caffreys. He hadn’t known you at all before a year and a bit ago, but even he could tell that. You were letting people in. Trusting people besides yourselves and each other.

He pat you on the back and pulled away from you a little, gently putting a finger under your chin. “I don’t blame you for wanting to keep Neal safe,” he assured you. “I know it was difficult enough to keep it a secret after you found out.”

You nodded, sniffling a little. Of course it’d been difficult. It’d been the reason you’d cried yourself to sleep that night. You hadn’t wanted the task of having to make a decision, and you were only grateful – and relieved, more than anything – that you hadn’t had to.

“I think...” You glanced down for a second, glassy eyes meeting the soft brown ones of Satchmo. “I think I would’ve told you eventually.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he was surprised at that revelation. He lifted his chin a little, dropping his finger from yours. "Really?"

"Somebody would have found out in the end,” you told him. “Better it be you. You’re the only person who cares about Neal enough to fight for him.”

Peter regarded you carefully, watching as you shuffled your feet and chewed anxiously at the inside of your cheek. He hadn’t really thought about it in that way before, but now you’d mentioned it, he could see it.

It was true, what you’d said. Mozzie and Neal’s treasure-hiding hadn’t been the smartest. There’d been enough leads to have found it eventually, and definitely enough to drive whoever was following those leads to them. Those people would not have been so lenient. They wouldn’t have understood Neal’s (partly) turned over leaf. They wouldn’t have understood his kindness, and his compassion, and his general humanity. And they definitely wouldn’t have understood his need to stay in front of the bars if only to keep Y/N happy.

Peter understood it all and more. If you had told him about the treasure before he – and Keller – had found out about it himself, he doubtlessly, with a small amount of consideration and hesitation, would have decided on some way or another to give Neal the lowest possible amount of punishment he could receive for a crime such as this. He wouldn’t have thrown the guy in jail and left you without your brother for another few years of your life, and New York without Neal.

He loved you both too much to do that to either of you, or to him.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, a little distant in his tone. He looked back out at the garden, Neal’s grin threatening to split his face as he laughed along with Elizabeth. Though Peter could still see his aching need to get up and ask what he and you were talking about. That was Neal Caffrey. The first responder to all his little sister’s life choices. All except some, Peter decided, and he didn’t half mind that.

He turned back to you and gave you a smile, letting it widen as you responded with your own, half genuine one. “You’re a good girl, sweetheart,” he said quietly, “and you help me keep that man within his limitations better than anyone. Make sure you talk to him. I’m getting a little tired seeing those puppy dog eyes every day.” Your chest heaved with a breath of amusement at that, and he counted it as a victory as he pulled you towards him once more. “The only way there could be any bad blood between us is if you killed Satchmo. Or Elizabeth. Or me. Now, go out and ask the beauty, the criminal, and the winter sunbather if they want cheesecake or profiteroles for dessert.”