Deadly Silence ||Black Noir x Reader||

Chapter 12

Back at Y/N's place, she sifted through the documents she'd managed to snag from Vought. Her fingers traced the edges of a file marked "Secure," flipping it open to reveal an address written in bold letters. It was vague, but the word "secure" was a dead giveaway that something important was hidden there. She knew it was risky as hell, but she also knew she had to check it out. There was no turning back.

A week had passed since her unsettling encounter with Homelander.  The weather that night matched her mood—dark, cold, and pouring rain. It was around 11 PM when she pulled up to the address, shivering as she stepped out of her car and made her way through the shadows. The cold bit through her jacket, and the rain soaked her to the bone, but she ignored it, eyes fixed on the rooftop where the address led her.

When she finally reached the rooftop, it was empty, nothing but the sound of rain pelting down on the concrete. Her breath hitched, and she looked around, the eerie silence making her uneasy. She thought maybe she'd been wrong, maybe this wasn't the place.

Then, out of nowhere, she felt it—a blade cold and sharp, pressed against the side of her throat. Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay calm, her eyes darting to the side to see a figure emerging from the shadows. Black Noir. His muscular arm was extended, holding the dagger with deadly precision.

He didn't say a word, just moved closer, his body towering over her. The blade didn't budge from her throat, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze even through his mask. He was assessing her, judging her every move.

Fuck, she thought. She'd fucked up big time. This wasn't a lead; this was one of his missions, and she had stumbled right into it. She needed to think fast, or she was screwed.

Clearing her throat, she tried to cover her tracks. "I'm a journalist, remember? It's my job to keep tabs on the missions, to capture some footage, even to take notes," she rambled, her words tumbling out faster than she could control. "I'm just doing my job, Noir. I didn't mean to intrude."

Noir didn't move, didn't flinch, just stared at her with the blade still against her skin. He didn't seem convinced. She could feel her heart pounding, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. He was clearly suspicious—why hadn't he been informed that part of the PR team would be joining him? Something wasn't adding up, and they both knew it.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally removed the blade from her throat, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't say anything, just turned and started walking away, glancing back at her. It wasn't just a look; it was a signal.

To follow him.

Y/N hesitated for a split second, then hurried after him, her heart still racing. She didn't know what the hell she'd gotten herself into, but one thing was clear: Black Noir was onto her, and she was in way deeper than she'd planned.

They stepped into the elevator, the soft hum of the machinery the only sound as the doors slid shut. The silence was thick, and Y/N could feel Noir's eyes on her, an unsettling weight she couldn't shake off. He didn't say a word—of course, he never did—but his presence was enough to make her skin prickle.

She tried to focus on anything but the man standing beside her, but it was impossible to ignore him. She could feel his gaze slowly moving over her.

He started at her face, studying the way her features shifted subtly.
His gaze moved downwards, tracing the curve of her neck and the way her collarbone peeked out from her low-cut top. He noticed every detail—the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the smooth expanse of skin exposed by the neckline.

His eyes paused, lingering on the hint of cleavage visible just above the fabric. The sight stirred something in him, an impulse that was a mix of curiosity and something darker, something he didn't dwell on too long. He knew it was wrong—he was supposed to be assessing her, determining if she was a threat, not getting distracted by the way her clothes fit her. But he couldn't help himself. The thoughts came unbidden, and he allowed them, just for a moment, knowing that behind the mask, no one could see.

Noir's gaze lingered longer than he intended, his eyes tracing the subtle curves of her body with a detached, almost clinical interest. The thoughts in his mind weren't exactly professional, but they were his, and he allowed them to settle before pulling himself back to the present.

It felt like the elevator ride was going on forever, the air between them charged with unspoken tension. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, her pulse quickening as she waited for the ding that would signal their stop. When it finally came, she let out a silent breath of relief.

The doors opened, and Noir, in a surprising display of courtesy, stepped aside, gesturing for her to exit first. She hesitated, then walked out, feeling him close behind her as they moved down a dimly lit corridor.

They turned a corner, and Y/N's eyes widened as they entered a space that was nothing like what she had expected. The dark, pulsing atmosphere of a nightclub greeted her, but not just any club—this one was different, with the unmistakable air of something more illicit. Neon lights flashed, casting eerie shadows over the patrons, and the heavy beat of music throbbed through the floor. As her eyes adjusted, she realized where they were.

A sex club.