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party-gilmore · 3 years

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

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

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

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

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

"...what?"

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

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

"Course I was."

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

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

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

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

"What-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know that!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You hear me, babe?"

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

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

"When it's done."

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

BONUS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#eliot spencer #alec hardison #eliot spencer x alec hardison #precursor to the #leverage ot3 #Moreau's mindfuckery

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rafivadafreddy · 3 years

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Kissing Secrets

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

»---------------------►

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were already wondering why the FBI was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N, vuelve aquí, ahora."

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

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

»»---------------------►

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafaels’ POV:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart

#rafael barba #Raul Esparza #Raúl Esparza #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fic #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x female reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x oc #rafael barba x fbi reader #law and order svu #svu

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a-simple-gaywitch · 3 years

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Resident Geniuses

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

Word Count: 1496

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

Requested: Yes/No

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?” Hotch asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is she doing?” Prentiss asked.

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

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

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

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

“Leave that to us,” Hotch said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way, Pretty Boy has a hickey?”

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

“So… Tell us about her!” JJ said.

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

“Um…”

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

He shook his head. “No, sir.”

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

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

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

“How did you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #em's fics

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overheardatthecontinental · 3 years

Text

Talk Chapter 16

AO3 Link

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

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

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

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

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

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

His v-card. Hilarious.

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

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

“Hey, Sof.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, what?”

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

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

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

Sofia makes a face, “You’re kidding.”

John shakes his head.

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

“Guess you can keep this.”

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

“You’re hilarious.”

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

“I never said she wasn’t that.”

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

“That sums it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I started following her.”

“John!”

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

“DeLuca.”

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

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

“And Monday the contract went wide.”

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

“It’s staged.”

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

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

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

“How’d you get Lorenzo to agree?”

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

Sofia nods along, handing John back his phone.

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

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

“There’s the idiotic bastard I know.”

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

Sofia inclines her head, “Seriously?”

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

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

“Get what?”

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

John looks away, “So?”

“So why aren’t you fucking?”

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

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

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

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

But sex complicated things. It always complicated things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There isn’t.”

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

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

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

He nods, more to himself than to her.

“Could you really give this all up?”

“For her?” John asks, nodding, “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“She deserves so much better and—”

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

“What?”

“Your Helen, she’s smart, right?”

He nods, “Ridiculously.”

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t his job.

Fuck.

“I have to go.”

…………………………………………………………………………

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let this be how he dies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to get lost in her kiss.

Her warmth, her softness, her taste…

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to swallow her; to consume her.

To be swallowed and consumed by her.

Is that possible?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She kisses his nose and his heart skips a beat.

I love you.

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart clenches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He takes the bud within his mouth, teasing it with his tongue as a stream of swears and pleas escape Helen’s lips.

“Fuck, John! Fuck! Please… right there. Fuck!”

He rolls his tongue over the bundle and her please turn into a shriek. He doesn’t ease up.

Instead, he continues his ministrations, bringing a hand to her opening. He teases her with a finger. He coats it in her slick before sliding the digit inside her. She clamps down around him and John rewards her by sucking her clit.

She cries out again and John slips a second finger into her.

Helen’s leg comes up and around his shoulder. She uses the position to bring her pussy impossibly closer to his face.

John breaks away long enough to nip at the soft, sensitive flesh of her thigh as his fingers stretch her, preparing her. He turns his hand and curls his fingers up and Helen almost seems to levitate with the way she arches up into him.

Her words have lost meaning, slipping into a cacophony of non-sensical begging for his cock. His name on her lips drives him crazy.

He’s torn between tormenting her like this, riding his fingers while she grinds against his tongue, and giving her what she begs for.

John decides on mercy, if only for the sake they had both waited long enough.

He removes his fingers from her and sucks them into his own mouth, tasting her again. Addicted to the taste. Crawling back up her body, he rests himself between her thighs and he kisses her.

Her breath comes out in a stutter as he thrusts his tongue deep into her mouth. He forces her to taste herself on his tongue as he wraps his hand around the back of her head, his fingers becoming lost in her hair.

“Next time,” he promises as he breaks the kiss, holding her back from following him with his grip in her hair, “Next time, I’m going to fuck you on my tongue until your throat is too hoarse to scream.”

She tries to lift her head to kiss him, only for him to yank at her hair.

“John, please!” she rolls her wet core against him.

“Please what?” He kisses her jaw.

“Fuck me!”

His lips twitch as he presses his lips to hers, slanting his mouth to deepen the kiss as he reaches between them. John takes his cock in hand, leading it to her soaking pussy.

She brings her hips to meet him as he kisses her hard enough to bruise both their lips, and John slips inside of her.

Helen whimpers at the contact, again, wrapping her leg around him to take him deeper.

John chokes on his breath. He’d waited so long for this, for her. And now she’s here. In his bed, naked, beneath him. He’s buried inside her and he wants to savor it but he wants her to come undone around him even more.

He rolls his hips and Helen’s grip on him tightens all the more. He reaches down to her leg still stretched out and brings it up. Eagerly, she wraps it around his hips, like the other one. Clinging to him.

She was already close before they began and, already, she found herself on edge again.

He hopes she knows that he’s not letting her go after this. He can’t live without this now that he knows what it feels to be inside her.

His movements, which had started gently, slowly, pick up a pace. Become more frenzied.

Nails rake down his back.

He responds with a bite to her lip, grazing his teeth along. As they part, Helen curls her head into his shoulder. Her breaths come in quick, sharp increments.

Her mouth opens on his shoulder and she bites down, making John groan. His already frenzied thrusts start to lose control as he can feel pleasure building inside of him.

Helen screams, muffled by his shoulder, as she breaks apart. Her nails dig into his back as she thrashes into the mattress, but John doesn’t stop.

He reaches between them, pressing his thumb on her clit as he continues to thrust. The action prolongs her orgasm and he feels her pussy convulsing around him.

John feels dizzy, intoxicated as his own pleasure reaches a new height before he, too, comes undone. With a cry, he feels himself release, spilling inside of her as his hips start to slow, still rocking against hers.

He gasps for breath as her pussy milks him. He turns to kiss the top of her head, her face still buried in the crook of his neck. Her breaths are still uneven.

John swallows as he wraps his arms under her, holding her to him as he rolls to his side, taking her with him.

Helen curls into him, holding him just the same. He strokes her hair, still caught up in the stunned disbelief of what had just happened between them.

It occurs to John that he has lived his entire life with one foot in the grave. Ready for death, even if not expecting it. But as she holds him, clings to him, it breaks over him at once that he is not ready to leave the world behind.

Salvation found in her kiss; heaven is where he is still buried deep within her.

Can he stay here forever?

He feels her lips shift into a smile against his neck and he kisses her head again.

Hels looks up, her eyes twinkling playfully. She reaches a hand to his forehead, brushing back sweat-soaked hair so she can see his face.

“What took you so long?”

#john wick #helen wick #john wick talk #john wick fanfiction #john wiction #john x helen wick #helen x john wick #sofia al-azwar #marcus (john wick)

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knotfodder · 7 months

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astyle-alex · 3 years

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[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

I’m posting an older fanfic to kick off my attempt to be more involved with the Tumblr Fandom community!

Museum Mishap | Chapter 6/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

|| Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon ||

Museum Mishap Chapter 6: Safe

It’s five weeks after Jason disobeyed Batman’s orders to drop the idea of investigating the rumor that a random rich kid knew the vigilantes’ secret identities.

Five weeks since Jason let himself be kidnapped by the upstart drug lord Lorenzo Sabini in an attempt to protect the kid who was Sabini’s real target – the kid rumored to know impossible things about Batman and Robin.

Five weeks since Jason’s leg was broken – in the line of a duty he never should’ve been asked to shoulder, never should’ve been allowed to feel bound to carry – and Bruce Wayne rediscovered the impossible duality of being responsible for the life of a child that he’d somehow managed to forget. That had faded from his mind when Dick had grown up enough to go off on his own – without his Guardian having any legal say in stopping him.

Batman has been able to bury the raging concern, the guilt he bears for introducing Jason to such a dangerous lifestyle – for not doing more to discourage his interest. Batman is able to silence the voice that says Jason acted honorably, if stupidly, by insisting that Robin needs to do better, to be better, so that he can keep the boy inside the costume safer.

But Bruce is having trouble letting Jason heal.

‘Suffocating’ Jason calls his attentions, merely ‘stupid codling he doesn’t need’.

Jason submitted to three weeks of strictly bedrest – a godsend if Bruce could ever believe in such things. He’d offered only mild resistance to being benched for six weeks – to rigorous and thorough PT, and light, careful exercise and a slow return to the training regimen that kept shaping Robin’s growing body into something more heroic than the average simple human.

But there was no point in even trying to bring up the idea of retiring Jason’s pixie boots for good – of trying to convince him to stand down from the Vigilante fight.

Bruce knows that, but he still tries it – once, in a terse conversation that gets shut down before he even makes it to the first point of reasoning – and then he swallows the rest of the worry and buries it in silence alongside his fury at Jason’s constant reckless disregard for his own safety. Bruce knows he can’t stop Jason, can’t force him out of the cape, so Batman vows to train him harder, push him further, make him stronger, make him faster, more durable, more prepared – keep him safer.

It’s a compromise.

And it has to be enough.

Because Jason is already back on his feet.

He broke his own way out of the cast almost a week ago – refused to apologize or sit for another casting – and though Alfred’s managed to somehow force him into a sturdy brace, guilted him into maintaining his use of the crutches… Jason’s been back inside the Cave twice already while Batman has been out – at least twice.

The Cave’s security cameras have caught him on the Salmon Ladder the last two nights in a row – going through two sets his first night back, and four the next. So that was two nights, at least, that security footage showed Jason working out inside the Cave, but it was possible there were nights he wasn’t tagged on the Cave’s security footage. Dick had certainly learned to sneak down without being caught on camera. Bruce doubted that Dick would share his secrets with Jason – but it was not beyond possibility.

Bruce kept meaning to add more cameras, to ensure that every inch of the cave was covered by an unblinking eye equipped with filters in Starlight and infrared, but that project kept getting sidelined somehow. He kept getting distracted.

Because his kids kept getting hurt.

But it’s been five weeks since Jason got hurt.

He’s getting better, and his bullheaded determination is just the same as it was before the injury – the stubborn streak still apparent, now even more so if anything had changed.

But there’s something else about Jason that’s different.

Bruce almost can’t see it – almost convinces himself it’s not happening, because he’s so damn hopeful that it is happening that his chest constricts with this strange kind of joy or pride or something and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Because Dick and Jason are talking.

Not fighting, talking.

Alfred’s caught them playing video games. Together.

They were supposed to be doing homework – Jason’s been back at school for three weeks and while Dick’s purposefully selected freshman college classes don’t require constant attendance, they do give assignments that need to be turned in online – but still…

Dick and Jason are getting along.

His adopted sons are becoming brothers.

Bruce notices.

And wants it to be real so badly that it hurts.

Batman notices, too.

But Batman notices other things, as well.

Batman notices how the Wayne Boys have befriended the kid Jason got himself kidnapped alongside.

Batman notices how Nightwing volunteers to swing off on his own every night for a cursory once over of deterrence through Coventry and around the area in the Upper West Side where Sabini’s gang and the rumors they’d acted on had run amok – had being the operative word, seeing as how the entire area had been scared so straight there hasn’t even been a purse snatching in over a month.

Batman notices how quiet the supposed-civilian kid at the center of those rumors is when he’s home alone – which is often – how the only thing he talks about out loud, in range of Batman’s listening devices, is how much he admires the caped crusaders and how much he wants for their ramshackle team to work together as brothers and sisters in arms – to work through their issues and be a kind of family.

Batman notices.

And he watches.

And he’s concerned by what he sees.

So tonight, as Nightwing swings off towards Coventry – with a big smile and a wholly unnecessary flip – Batman decides to investigate the kid firsthand.

The civilian’s name is Timothy Jackson Drake and he is twelve years old, enrolled as a sixth grader at Gotham Preparatory Academy Primary Campus. His parents are Jack and Janet Drake, famed globe-trotting researchers and archeologists, and the second generation of Drakes to head up Drake Industries – a leading Wayne Enterprises competitor. The Drakes reside in the mansion that neighbors the Wayne Estate – another statement of how DI both complements and competes with WE.

Timothy Drake seems mostly unremarkable.

He’s skipped two grades, and his teachers say he’s got a remarkable mind, but he lacks significant social skills and spends most of his time alone – tinkering with some project or other. He’s never demonstrated a particular drive to be anything when he grows up, but he’s applied to the Wayne Tech summer camps three years in a row – despite being under the age requirement – and his bedroom is littered with DI equipment and half-finished robots he’s clearly engineered himself in the hours and hours he spends unsupervised.

Lucius Fox likes him.

In the way that some people like puppies.

Bruce isn’t even entirely sure how Lucius Fox discovered the Drake kid, but it’s in his files in the Batcomputer – Fox has his name on a recruitment list, circled in red sharpie with a smiley face next to it.

So, Timothy Drake is a smart kid.

But he’s just a kid.

According to all of Batman’s information, Timothy Drake is just a kid.

A civilian who happened to have a bad stroke of luck and got his name wrapped up in a rumor founded on nothing more than a junkie’s word and some evidence that the kid in question was a vigilante fan.

Is still a fan, somehow, despite the circumstance that admiration landed him in.

Timothy Jackson Drake seems like nothing more than a dedicated fan – a child, not a threat. But the evidence is so peculiar – there are ridiculously strong indications that the rumor carried truth, and yet… the notion that the child knows nothing is so convincing that Dick and Jason agree on it… which in and of itself makes the evidence seem suspect…

Thus, Batman is set on investigating the matter further for himself.

A twelve year old civilian would be in bed at this time of night, tucked safely into the labyrinth of the Drake Mansion.

So as Nightwing peals away to the west, Batman plots a course northward.

He’s planned this carefully. His choice of direction does not immediately alert Nightwing to his intentions. He’s been rotating where he patrols after splitting off from Nightwing, moving counterclockwise by a dozen blocks every few days. Now he’s pointed right towards the Robbinsville area, where he’s stashed one of his getaway vehicles – a rather bland, all-black motorcycle that’s nothing special, but is quick and maneuverable enough to get him to the Drake Estate and back before Nightwing realizes he’s deviated.

He even has Batgirl prepped to back Nightwing up if something happens – Barbara is visiting her father this weekend and doing research for her own case in Chinatown. She might not be actively patrolling, but Batman had been sure to give her warning of his activities.

He trusts her discretion, and he knows she would be as worried as him about Nightwing's probable – and possibly willful – oversight of the threat posed by Drake. Batman does not want to think Nightwing would be so foolish as to dismiss a threat simply because it doesn't seem actively threatening – or worse, because he wanted to curry favor with his adoptive brother – But it’s always better to be safe.

So, Batman is tracking north – from slightly further east than he’d originally planned, drawn off course by what seemed to be a mugging, but quickly resolved as Batman ID'd a drunk man resisting as his friend took away his keys – and he’s determined to get to the bottom of Drake’s capabilities and influence.

He’s about to swing down to the last tall building before the midrises and family homes of Robbinsville take over Gotham’s footprint when he spies a figure huddled on the rooftop.

Had Batman been approaching from his planned route, he wouldn’t have seen the figure until he touched down on the roof – within easy knife throwing distance of the stranger, with no chance to react if an attack was imminent.

Carefully, Batman swings around to the far side of the building and climbs silently up to roof level after landing on a balcony. He creeps close enough to ascertain that the would-be assailant is small – even with a massive jacket attempting to keep out the late January chill, the figure is miniscule… a child.

Concern leaps, unbidden, into his chest as he wonders what could possibly bring a child onto a freezing cold rooftop in the middle of the night. The apartment building is not the lowest rent residence in the region, but it has its fair share of alcoholics and abusers. It would not be unheard of for a child to sneak away for what respite they can get and the Bat knows that this situation takes precedence to his Drake investigation.

Batman is just about to announce his presence – From far enough away to hopefully prevent the kid from falling off the roof in fright, though he has his grapple gun ready just in case – when the kid shifts.

An eerie blue glow lights up the crouching figure’s face as his phone flares briefly to life.

It's Timothy Jackson Drake.

Batman frowns, continues to silently observe.

Drake curls more tightly around his knees. He huffs – breath turning instantly to steam that catches in the city's light – And mutters, “He should be here by now... There’s no sirens, no breakouts, nothing to keep him away… unless he’s not coming this way tonight… but he should be… he’s been moving north… but maybe I miss-counted the interval, or maybe I’m too far north… but this is the best vantage to check on Robinsv-”

His mumbled monologue – which Batman is certain he is not intentionally speaking aloud – is interrupted by a sneeze.

“Bless you,” Batman says, stepping from the darkest shadows.

“Thanks,” Tim returns.

A beat passes, and then Tim whirls around with a string of oddly pronounced Chinese curses spilling from his tongue.

“Batman,” Tim breathes, awestruck and a little bit fearful.

“Timothy,” Batman returns, “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

It’s true, the kid had just mumbled as much. There was no one else he could possibly be waiting for here, not with the details he’d murmured about having tracked to find him.

“Um, kinda,” the kid admits.

He’s not as surprised by Batman’s recognition of him – of the Bat using his name directly – as Batman would’ve thought. He is nervous though, antsy. Batman scans him for weapons, but nothing notable shows up in any of his cowl’s filters and the coat is too cumbersome for any shapes beneath it to be positively identified.

Tim does have something in his hands, though – something he’s clutched close to his chest. Bare fingers glow ghostly in the night, tremble in the freezing air.

It’s not a weapon that he’s holding, or a camera – like might be expected and acceptable from a fan. It’s a set of note cards. Note. Cards. Like he’s practicing for a speech.

On an ice cold Gotham rooftop in the middle of the night.

Bruce Wayne is thrown by that. Far enough to make Batman pause.

Batman regards the kid standing before him in the darkness.

Timothy Drake stares back.

“Did you have a reason?” Batman asks eventually.

“Huh?”

“To be looking for me, did you have a reason?”

Timothy looks down at his hands, at the half-crushed note cards he’s holding. “Yeah,” he says slowly, quiet with the kind of resignation Batman knows is guilt.

“Well?” Batman prompts when Timothy offers nothing more.

The kid flinches, and Batman fights a wince of his own.

The obvious reasons Nightwing has for underestimating this kid assert themselves plainly. He is a child, small for his age and easily frightened. There seems no reason to suspect him of anything – except that he was waiting on a rooftop for Batman, intentionally. A rooftop even Batman didn’t know he would be visiting until about a week ago.

“I’m worried about Robin,” Timothy admits. “And Nightwing, and Batgirl, for that matter, but mostly Robin.”

“Why?”

Another flinch. Bruce Wayne consciously tries to reel back the Batman ‘grr factor’, as Dick has termed it. And yet… Timothy clearly knows more than he should. Perhaps the gravel and growl is worth it to extract that information.

“Because they need you to listen to them – that’s why you fought with Nightwing to begin with, right? You, um, you passed his mantle on without letting him explain why he didn’t want you to?” Tim’s actively struggling to make eye-contact.

Batman doesn’t verbalize a response.

He’s evaluating how this kid could possibly know what he does without knowing the names beneath the masks – it’s possible, he supposes, but extremely unlikely.

“I get why you didn’t, he was still a kid and not very good at making his important points clear, but when he went to California, he didn’t want you to let him go, he wanted you to bring him home,” Timothy rambles, losing his battle for eye-contact.

Batman scowls.

Timothy swallows dryly. Consults his notes.

“They need you to help them,” Timothy says.

Batman’s scowl deepens, and he must make some sound because Timothy doesn’t just flinch this time, he yelps and curls into himself. His cards get squeezed so tightly they pop out of his hands and scatter across the rooftop. Timothy dives after them, but the roof is wet with the afternoon's snow shower and the antifreeze that keeps it from becoming ice.

There is no recovering the careful presentation Timothy clearly had planned for this meeting. But Timothy isn’t willing to admit defeat immediately.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Batman says as the kid in question scrambles with his wet paper, frowning at the smudged and ruined ink like he should have been able to plan for that – like he should’ve had a contingency.

At Batman's voice saying his full name, Timothy freezes and stares up at him like a frightened deer.

“Tell me how and why you have come to know so much about the relationships between the Gotham masks.”

“That’s not important,” Timothy says. Quick, dismissive, like the point truly doesn’t matter in his world-view, or to his understanding of his place in it.

“It’s not?”

“No. What’s important is that you’re not letting them do their jobs,” Timothy accuses.

And then he promptly freezes and stares up at Batman like he just then has realized not only what he said, but how – how direct and confrontational it was.

“They don’t have jobs,” Batman replies, level and calm. “They are children.”

“Not when they're wearing masks,” Timothy snaps back immediately. “When the masks are on, they’re vigilantes. Nothing else.”

Batman narrows his eyes at Timothy's temerity.

And fights himself to keep from agreeing with Timothy’s point. But his disagreement doesn’t make it any less true. No matter how much he wants to remember that under the masks the heroes who have joined his crusade in Gotham are children, he can’t ignore the truth of Timothy Drake's words: when the masks are on, they’re not children – They can’t be.

Batman cannot ignore that – can’t pretend it away.

But he can insist on one smaller truth. “They do not have jobs.”

Timothy glared – actually glared at Batman in full cape and cowl and scowl – and said firmly, “Their job is to make sure you remember why is it that you do yours.”

Batman blinked behind the lenses of his cowl.

“That’s not how it works,” Batman defends. Weakly – he knows.

But he’s not entirely sure what to do with this child, this strangely mature tiny human with hope and sweetness and innocence – and uncomfortably valid points – lecturing him like Batman is the errant child here.

“You can’t possibly be that stupid,” Timothy says – a moment later looking wide-eyed and horrified by his words, yet still going on with speaking as if his mouth had detached itself from is brain and was running on a will of its own. “They care about what happens to you, which makes you care about it. They need you alive, and you – on some level, at least – recognize that need. It keeps you safer. And it makes you be a better person, in trying to set a good example for them to follow. And that’s important.”

Tim pulls more air into his lungs, enough for another leg of his tirade, and goes on, “Without Robin, Batman is too violent, too aggressive… like Green Arrow starting to gain ground in Star City; you’re too much like the criminals you hunt to make a genuine, lasting difference. Without Robin, you’re just scary. Robin tempers you; makes you an inspiration – makes people believe that you aren’t just hurting bad guys, but also protecting good ones.”

Tim manages to close his mouth and keep it shut after that – if only by the simple force of his clear mortification sealing off his words.

“Timothy.”

Terrified eyes peer up at Batman.

“What do you know about us capes? There was a reason Sabini had an interest in you and I’m not convinced it was just a junkie’s word and evidence that you’re a fan,” Batman lays out simply – calmly, regaining control of this discussion.

“I know that you’re necessary,” Tim replies in a squeak.

Eyes narrow behind the lenses of the cowl.

Tim ducks his head, fully aware that he has not answered Batman’s question.

“I know that Gotham needs you,” Tim reiterates. “I don’t know who you are beneath the masks, and I don’t want to know. I just want to help you keep Gotham safe. Because I’m not a mask, I’m just a fan… but I can still help.”

Batman regards the young civilian carefully. He has Jason’s spirit and determination, Dick’s unyielding sweetness, and Barbara’s practical acceptance of humanity’s flaws.

“You don’t know our civilian identities?”

Tim shakes his head. “I don’t care about them.”

Batman does not believe him – does not believe that he doesn’t know, or that he doesn’t care. Timothy Drake knows more than enough to be dangerous.

Dick has always been a terrible judge of character – in some ways, he always sees the best in people, in their potential – so his support of Timothy Drake as a non-threat means little.

But Jason is the most astute observer of humanity Bruce has ever encountered – he can read a person’s entire psyche in a gesture, find their cracks and weaknesses and apply just the right leverage to break them. And he’s never thrown from thinking that a seemingly innocent person is capable of doing a great deal of damage – would never underestimate a threat like that.

Case in point: how he hadn’t let go of the potential threat Tim posed to begin with.

Jason had decided Tim was safe.

Batman decides to trust his Robin’s judgement; Bruce puts faith in his son.

Batman heaves a sigh.

“It’s time to go home, Timothy,” he says. “This is no place for a child to be, and you shouldn’t be out at this time of night.”

Timothy frowns.

“It’s my city, too,” he mumbles.

Batman takes no quarter and as soon as he gets a nod of permission – Jason’s taught him how to work with children who aren’t like Dick, with an insatiable desire for physical contact – Batman hoists Timothy up and settles him on his hip. Batman holds tight to the child and shoots his grapple gun to carry them down to street level. He sits Timothy on his motorcycle and speeds across the city to Drake’s own door.

There is no one home.

Concerning in a very different way.

Batman knew the Drakes were away. Bruce didn’t realize the implications of that beyond how Timothy was left unsupervised – hadn’t until right now.

“Do you want me to come in,” Batman asks, awkward and uncertain of whether it would help at all to walk the kid to his bedroom. Batman should not linger – should not even consider the idea of tucking this neglected child into bed – but Bruce cannot quite bear to drag himself away just yet. He needs to know that Timothy is safe.

Timothy is staring at him like he’s shown up as Batman to a career day at school.

“Why?”

“No one’s home.”

“No one’s ever home,” Timothy replied blankly, adding. “I don’t need a real babysitter, let alone Batman. But Nightwing probably needs backup.”

Batman nodded. Accepted that he needed to push the Bruce in him down until they finished with the night’s patrol.

Tomorrow he could look into Timothy Drake’s circumstances.

“Be safe, Timothy,” Batman fare-wells. “Stay off the streets, and be careful, or this will not be our last conversation.

“You be safe, too,” Timothy replies. “Or I’ll just have to find you again.”

Batman almost chuckles. He waits until Timothy locks the door behind him, and then he takes his motorcycle back to where he’d stashed it across the bridge from Robbinsville.

He meets up with Nightwing and finishes patrol.

If he’s more reticent than usual Nightwing doesn’t comment.

The teenager is still wearing the blinding goofy smile of his, broader now after a successful sweep of Coventry – no new rumors of Tim Drake. And he’d saved a cat from where it had gotten stuck on a gargoyle after it had slipped out of its apartment and ventured off an inopportune ledge beside the balcony.

And because that’s the kind of hero Dick is, he chatters on incessantly about the cat and how it wailed and scratched him at first and yowled as he swung around the building, but then it purred and refused to let him go when it realized he’d brought it home.

Beneath the cowl, Batman almost smiles.

When he and Nightwing make it back to the Cave, Jason is not down there – the only evidence that anyone has been down there since he and Nightwing left is the snack left out for them by Alfred. Jason is in bed, asleep and dead to the world when Bruce slips in to check.

Jason is safe.

And Dick is safe.

And Alfred and Barbara are safe.

His family. Safe.

And Tim is… safe enough for the moment.

Tonight, Bruce will sleep.

Tomorrow he will reevaluate the child and his circumstances.

But tonight, Bruce Wayne basks in the truth that has a Family.

And his family is home, and safe.

It’s a foreign feeling.

But a good one.

|| Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon ||

#BatFam #Batman #Batman & Robin #dcmultiverse #dcu #Jay x Tim #Jason Todd #Jason Todd x Tim Drake #Tim Drake #Bruce Wayne

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bytheangell · 4 years

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If Yesterday’s Too Heavy, Put It Down (1/5)

(Read on AO3) ------------- It isn’t strange for Alec to call Andrew up to his office to go over some of his security reports, but it is strange for Alec to be pacing by the window when he shows up, and it’s definitely strange for Alec to immediately tell him to come in and close the door behind him.

“Is everything alright, Sir?”

“Yes,” Alec says, though there’s an edge to his voice that implies otherwise. “I just have a request that’s… not strictly off the books, per se, but-”

“Understood,” Andrew says, not needing Alec to explain himself. This isn’t the first time Alec did something that wasn’t sanctioned, and Andrew doubted it’d be the last. Andrew trusts his judgment, however, and is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that whatever it is will be worth the risk.

“I’m not sure you do,” Alec says. “There’s a group of young warlocks causing trouble, selling services to mundanes who don’t know what they’re asking for. They’re summoning some rather powerful demons that need to be caught and returned, but… the High Warlock doesn’t want this on the books, because he doesn’t trust the Clave to be fair in their punishment of the children.”

Sometimes Andrew wonders if Alec knows how good he’s getting at wording what he says to hit all the right points to convince people to agree with him - it’s rather politician of him, and if the rumors of his bid for Inquisitor are true Andrew doesn’t doubt he’s going to do well there. Using the fact that they’re children as a reason for leniency, rather than the sympathies of the warlock who made the request, is clever.

But the mention of the High Warlock doesn’t escape Andrew, either. “Lorenzo requested this?”

Lorenzo hadn’t said anything to him about it. Andrew wondered how long this was going on, how long he’s kept it from him during their dates the past week or two. At least this answers why his boyfriend seemed more than a little distracted lately.

“He did,” Alec confirms. “In fact, the current plan is to keep this to himself and Magnus, and they believe that with a Shadowhunter to use the Alliance rune with, the combined strength of the four of us will be enough to carry this out without drawing unnecessary attention. That is, if you’re agreeable.”

So there it is. Alec isn’t looking for someone to cover for him, he wants Andrew to be the fourth person on this secret mission.

“I thought with your relationship with Lorenzo it might be easier with you than someone he doesn’t know as well, or trust as much. Don’t feel like you have to. I can always ask Jace or Izzy or someone else if you say no,” Alec adds quickly.

Andrew considers the offer. The idea of sharing powers with Lorenzo… his first reaction is to be excited by the idea of having magic at his fingertips, and then eagerness to be useful to Lorenzo in something he obviously feels strongly about. On the other hand, it sounds intimate, at a level that they might not be at quite yet. And what if he isn’t strong enough, or he messes it up? Andrew’s been on countless routine missions before but this one carries more weight than all of them combined no matter how ‘casual’ Alec tries to make it sound.

All it takes is one thought of how Lorenzo would react to having to work with Jace instead of himself for Andrew to decide he should at least try - if not to prove to himself that he can, then for Lorenzo’s sake. If it’s that important to Lorenzo, then it was important to Andrew.

“I’m in. What’s the plan?”

---

That’s how Andrew ends up in the middle of a ritual he would otherwise have no business being in. He can tell that up until now Magnus and Lorenzo were both doing their best to cover their increasing concern the longer the demon in front of them remains bound, but not sent back to the realm it came from. He knows Alec can feel it too - they aren’t strong enough and there’s no telling how much longer they can hold this before they’re properly overpowered.

“Bane…” Lorenzo grunts out, his tone cautious.

“We’re fine,” Magnus snaps before the question can even be raised.

“Magnus,” Alec tries. “We can all feel it.”

“I’m almost there,” Magnus insists, the words strained.

Andrew exchanges a concerned look with the others, one that Magnus doesn’t see with his eyes closed to better concentrate his energy, and reminds himself that Magnus would never put Alec in unnecessary danger. Either this is worth the risk, or he really does have it under control - either way it’s all Andrew can do to offer what little energy he has left to make that a reality.

The demon in the middle of their circle snarls.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t cut yourself off from your father and your birthright you’d be strong enough on your own,” the demon hisses directly at Magnus, trying to get under his skin. It doesn’t appear to work as Magnus remains focused, so the demon turns with a devious glint in its eyes to look between Alec and Andrew. “And you bring Nephilim, allowing them access to our powers? It’s unnatural. Abhorrent,” the demon spits out the last word before a slow smirk spreads across its mouth. “Perhaps if your Nephilim toys want to play Warlock so badly they should get the full experience...”

The demon lashes out at Andrew and Alec simultaneously with something that feels like a burst of energy. It breaks their grips on Magnus and Lorenzo’s hands and throws them back against the wall on either side of the room. Andrew hits the stone with a thud, his entire body tingling, before slumping down against the ground without the energy it’d take to even try and stand back up to rejoin Lorenzo and Magnus. He glances across the room to see Alec equally motionless.

Magnus instinctively takes the power they’d been using to keep the barrier going and channels it into an immediate shot of deep crimson magic that’s finally enough to banish the demon, and not a second too soon. The demon’s cry fades to silence as Magnus drops to his knees in exhaustion.

“Andrew-” Lorenzo starts, the single word strained and weak. Lorenzo manages to remain upright just long enough to make it over to him. “Are you hurt?”

Andrew isn’t sure how to answer that. His shoulder is bruising from where he hit the wall, he can feel that forming already, and he doesn’t remember being this exhausted in his entire life, but more than that something feels wrong. He isn’t in pain, but something he can’t place is just… off.

“I don’t… think so?” Andrew manages.

“What was that?” Alec asks, propping himself up into a sitting position across the room.

Neither Lorenzo nor Magnus have the magic left for a proper examination but satisfied that everyone is physically okay enough to travel each open a portal home, Magnus and Alec going back to the loft to recover and Lorenzo taking Andrew back to his house to rest.

---

It takes two full days of sleeping and eating and sleeping some more before Andrew feels well enough to return to the Institute. Okay, maybe there are a few extra activities in there that he and Lorenzo could’ve forgone to recover faster, but he’s certainly not complaining.

Something still feels off but he doesn’t mention it. With the warlocks who summoned the demon to deal with and backed up work at the Institute when he and Alec return, the last thing they need is a vague, probably just in his head worry to add to their list of problems to deal with. For the most part, Andrew manages to ignore it.

That is, until a few weeks later when Alec comes to him in the surveillance room, checking to make sure they were alone before speaking.

“Hey,” Alec starts slowly, in that way which implies he has something he’s still not sure how to say on his mind. “How have you felt since we banished that demon?”

“You mean since that demon hit us with whatever that magic was?” Andrew questions.

Alec nods. “So you definitely feel it, too?”

“It felt like my blood was tingling for days,” Andrew admits. “And something still feels off, but I can’t pinpoint what, so I haven’t brought it up.”

Alec is still nodding. “Same,” he agrees. “Magnus took longer than normal to recover, but when he did he gave me a quick once-over and didn’t find anything wrong.”

Still, if they both still felt the same strangeness this long after it was over, it had to be more than nothing didn’t it?

“Maybe Isabelle could run some tests, just to cover all our bases?” Andrew suggests.

“Sure,” Alec agrees easily. “I’ll have her set one up.”

---

It’s only a day after Isabelle took samples from each of them and said she’d let them know what she turned up before she’s already calling them back to her lab.

“I’m going to need a longer range of samples. You’ll both have to come back once a week for the next… let’s say three weeks, just to be sure,” she says as casually as possible.

“Sure of what?” Andrew asks immediately.

“I don’t know,” Izzy admits. “By all accounts, you’re physically fine, don’t worry,” she adds quickly.

“What aren’t you telling us?” Alec demands more directly.

“Nothing! There’s nothing to tell, not until I have more samples to compare,” she insists, but there’s an edge to her tone that neither of them like. As wary as they are of Isabelle’s obvious avoidance there isn’t much either of them can do about it.

So Andrew waits.

---

Three weeks later Andrew and Alec are both back in the lab, and Isabelle hasn’t stopped pacing since they arrived.

“Alright, I need you both to just… not freak out, okay?”

“That isn’t helping,” Alec says immediately on edge.

“What is it?” Andrew prompts.

“So, I ran the tests. I couldn’t be certain at first when the original samples came back matching particular elements of warlock and vampire DNA we have on file, but after comparing the ones from last month to the ones from yesterday…” Isabelle hesitates, hands wringing in front of her, biting a bit on the corner of her lower lip.

“Just spit it out, Iz,” Alec says, his anxious tone matching how Andrew feels though he’d never snap at Isabelle that way. One of the perks of being related.

“I think the two of you stopped aging,” she says.

“What?” Alec sputters, eyes wide.

“You think?” Andrew asks, wondering how much uncertainty there is here.

“Okay, I know, pretty much. The tests seem pretty conclusive but it isn’t like I have anything to base it off of. No one’s ever just… become immortal before. But there’s nothing else this can be.”

Immortal. Somehow it seemed less severe when she’d originally said ‘stopped aging’, though they mean the same thing. But to hear the word immortal, it held a certain weight to it, one that Andrew didn’t like one bit.

The room is silent for a long time after that, the significance of Isabelle’s findings settling over them. It’s suffocating.

“No,” Andrew says, shaking his head. “No, that has to be wrong. Do another test. Another dozen tests! It has to be something else.”

“Does it?” Alec speaks up suddenly. “Remember what that demon said before it lashed out at us?”

Andrew tries to think back. “It said sharing warlock magic was unnatural,” he remembers.

“It said something about giving us the ‘full experience’ of being a warlock,” Alec recalls. The moment he says the words Andrew remembers, though he hadn’t before. It just sounded like nonsense at the time, just gloating to distract them. “What if it cursed us?”

Andrew pales at the thought. He grows still, trying to remind himself to breathe. “Then there has to be a counter, doesn’t there? Some spell that will undo it, or a potion, or--” the words tumble out of Andrew’s mouth in a panic. “--or something.” He looks over at Alec who fell into a strange calm, and looks almost guilty for a moment, though Andrew can’t imagine why. “Alec?”

“What if I don’t want to undo it?” Alec says quietly.

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t you-” but his words fall away abruptly. “Oh.” Magnus. Of course Alec wouldn’t mind the idea of immortality if he gets to spend his eternity with the man he loves. But Andrew doesn’t have that.

Andrew has a new relationship with a Warlock he isn’t sure even loves him, let alone loves him enough to spend forever with him. That isn’t what Lorenzo signed up for. That isn’t what Andrew signed up for! And if they can’t find a way to reverse this Andrew knows he’s facing the reality of an eternity entirely alone and he isn’t sure he can handle that.

No, scratch that, he’s absolutely positive he can’t handle that.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk to Magnus and Lorenzo, and-”

“No.” Andrew says the word immediately, Lorenzo’s name snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. “No, you can’t tell Lorenzo.”

All he can imagine is the fact that the second Lorenzo finds out this is over - they’re over - and he doesn’t want that. Not yet. It’s still so new, Andrew doesn’t want to scare him away before he ever gets the chance to really know him. He deserves that much, he thinks selfishly.

“You have to tell him,” Alec says.

“Not yet. Please, Alec,” Andrew pleads. He doesn’t care how desperate it makes him look. He needs time to process this, to figure it out. “I’ll tell him, I swear I will, just… not yet.”

“I have to tell Magnus,” Alec points out, but his expression softens at the look on Andrew’s face. “But I’ll ask him to keep it between us. I can’t promise he will, I can’t make him, but I can ask.”

“Thank you,” Andrew sighs.

The number of thoughts that cross Andrew’s mind at that moment is staggering. He thinks of the number of people who would literally kill for a chance at immortality. He thinks of what he can accomplish with potentially limitless time to learn and improve, the skills he can develop, the people he can help.

He thinks that even considering the positives, if given a choice he wouldn’t choose it, and the guilt of something like this being wasted on him is overwhelming.

“I’d like to take the rest of the day off if that’s alright?” Andrew asks, and his own voice sounds weary in his ears.

“Of course, Andrew,” Alec agrees immediately. “Are you alright, though? You can stay here if you want, or come hang out and the Loft with me for a bit.”

Andrew knows that Alec wants to make sure he isn’t unstable or about to run off and do something stupid, a concern he’s grateful for even if it isn’t needed.

“I’m fine, really. I just need some time to process,” Andrew reassures him, giving what he hopes is a reassuring smile to both Alec and Isabelle before leaving the room and heading straight for the exit. He isn’t sure where he’s going, he just knows he needs to get out of there and clear his head.

#reyhill #andrew underhill #lorenzo rey #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #magnus bane #malec #i have a WIP problem apparently #i swore i wouldn't have two at once and here we are #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

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chicagopd2020 · 4 years

Text

New Beginnings Are Good For Everyone Ch.5

Waking up the next morning was one of the easiest things she ever done, which was weird because she hated monday mornings so much. But getting up and going through her morning routine just to make sure everything is right before she heads out for her first day as member of the Chicago PD Intellgence Unit. Kim had a little extra pep in her step and she was happy about it because it hadnt been there in a long time. She grabbed her jacket & keys ready to walk out the door. She stops for coffee to make sure that doesnt hit a wall in the middle of the day.

Kim walks into the station and she sees Sargent Platt, she decides that the best thing to do is to talk to her and to see what she is suppose to do. She stands there silently as Sargent Platt finishes the conversation with the officers in blue. When Trudy looks up and notices Kim she tells the officers to move along. She welcomes her back and asks if she is ready for her first day.

Kim replies happily that she was more than ready to prove herself to everyone. She kept small conversation with Trudy until Trudy looks behind her and notices one of the members of the Intelligence Unit.

Upton?

Yes Sargent?

You know Agent Kim Burgess?

Yes I know Kim

Well would mind buzzing her upstairs with you just until we can get her into the system.

Of course, follow me Kim and show you where you are going to start spending most of your time

Oh I cant wait.

I promise you that will change, I love my job but you have no time for a personal life.

I guess that it is a good thing that I am a woman focusing on her career right now and not a romantic relationship.

They carry on with their conversation with their small climb of the stairs, Hailey walks her to Voights office and wishes her good luck even though she knows she will see her in just a couple mins.

Kim welcome to your first day as a memeber of intellgence, just want to go over a few things while we wait on the last couple people to show up. He starts going over the rules and not that there was many rules but he lives strongly by the few rules that he has.

Kim has noticed that Hank Voight is not your normal Sargent but she wasnt wanting normal she was just wanting to serve justice for the city of Chicago. She continues to listen intently to what Voight is saying taking everything he was saying to the heart so she knows what not to do to get on his bad side. I am going to give you a few weeks to study everything, I have set up your test in two weeks for you detective exam. The moment finally comes to where he asks if she had any questions

I will make sure that I study up on everything that I need to know so that I can pass the test of my first try. I say things like that so I can keep it in my mind that I will pass the test and that I can do anything I put my mind to.

I know that everyone is partnered up with someone, I was just curious who my partner was going to be? I know that no matter who I am with that I will have a great partner. This team just seems like they have each others back no matter if they are actually partners or not.

That we do Kim we are family here, Whatever one member of the intellgence is going through everyone feels the pain, I know that it is weird to say buts it true. We have our fights like any of family but at the end of the day we will have each others back no matter what.

That is exactly what I want because at the FBI yes it was everyone worked as a team but at the end of the day everyone was only watching out for theirselves and if they had the chance to do it they would throw someone under the bus in a heartbeat. That was until Erin came I knew that she would have my back no matter what and she was the only thing that I was going to the miss about it and that was it.

Good to hear Kim, he looks out the window and notices that the whole team is here. Come on lets go out to the bullpin and I will let everyone know all at once who you are going to partnered with.

The door opens and everyones eyes looks toward the door and sees Kim and Hank exiting, Hank finally speaks up, So as everyone of you know Agent Burgess as of today is officially a member of Intellgence and I think she is going to be an amazing addition to the team and I want you all to make her feel at welcome. So as of today Burgess you are going to partnered up with Halstead, Upton you will be with Ruzek and Atwater you will be Olinksy.

Hailey showed Kim where her desk would be, which was actually her old desk. Hank liked the partners to be close to each other that shows they can work as a team not only on the street but in the close quarters of an office.

The first couple hours was kind of quiet just everyone going over cases they had been working on. When Voight walks out of the office and catches all of their attenion.

We have a case, We are looking at a small drug smuggling team that is somewhat new to the city, and one of the leaders of the team is trying to look normal or something because he has a nine to five job and he doesnt live in these high priced homes to make it not look so obvious but the others, they are staying hid very well because there has been no trace of any clues as to who any of his partners are. This is Lorenzo Lopez he is best known as Enzo.

Kim finally looks away from the file in her hands and takes a look at the picture hanging on the board, and her eyes go huge. She looks over a Jay and they share this look knowing that this was the neighbor that Jay thought was very sketchy. Voight must have caught onto that look, cause he questioned them.

What is that look the two of you just shared?

Well it turns out that he lives in our building and right next door to Kim. He just moved into the apartment a few weeks ago and he seemed kind of sketchy but I never really thought anything of it.

Kim was just lost in her thoughts that she didnt really hear the conversation that was going on. Until Jay tapped her shoulder to get her attention. She slightly jumped that never happens, she just thought that she left him in the past and now she was going to be apart of the team to send him to prison and honestly she cant say that she was upset about it. It was one of the main reasons that she left him she knew that the business that he was in wasnt legal and there was no way in hell that she was going to let him mess up her career.

Kim are you alright?

Yeah, Im just thinking about someway, anyway that we can take him down.

Jay wasnt buying it but it was her first day he wasnt going to push the boundaries just yet. So he just let it go for now.

Halstead you and Burgess go talk to your CI'S and see if they know anything about this. Everyone just keep digging into his past and see what you can dig up.

Kim heard the last sentence and knew that she had to tell someone about her connection to the suspect before someone actually figured it out and wonder why she didnt tell them, so who is best to tell then her partner.

They get into Jay's truck and head out and she knew that if she didnt talk about it now that she never would. She lets out this deep breathe

Jay I need to tell you something.

You can tell me anything. Im here for you

Its about the suspect that we are looking into, you know last night when I said something under my breathe about our sketchy neighbor

Yeah, what about it?

Well, what I didnt tell you is that I know Enzo very very well

How well?

As in we were together for over a year

What?!?!

Yeah, when we first met he was normal like any other guy but then the longer that we were together its like I just didnt get the same vibe from him that I used to. When we would spend time together I would feel uneasy that something could go wrong at any minute. So after that night I just told him that I think that it was best if we seen other people and that I didnt see a future with him. Lets just say that he didnt take it the best and i had to end up moving somewhere else but a few weeks before I found out that I got the job here I felt as if I was being followed and yet somehow we end being neighbors. I didnt want to think nothing much about it when I first set eyes on him but it just seems like he found out from someone that I was moving here and just thought that maybe if he lived here first that I wouldnt think nothing about it.

Kim you definetly have to tell Voight about this

I know I just didnt think that I would ever see him again

Even though you never thought you would see him again doesnt change anything he is our main suspect and you could be the reason he is in Chicago and that may actually lead us to him, I would never actually make you do anything that would put you in danger I hope you know this

I do know this, but whatever helps put him behind bars quicker I am willing to help

Jay talked to a couple of his CI'S and they were not much help, So they started back toward the station when Halstead got a message with an address to meet the rest of the team. As they arrived they seen the team surrounding something on the ground and as they made it to their side they seen that it was a woman who couldnt have been not much older than 25 and she was laying there with a cut throat.

Do we think that this has anything to do with Enzo and his men? Kim questioned

We wont know anything until we get the autopsy back. Says Voight

Sarge is there anyway that I can have a word with you

Yeah, sure

They walked far enough away that nobody would be able to hear what they were talking about. She told him everything that she told Jay and hoped that whatever she told him would help.

Kim I know that wasnt easy to say but I am glad that you told me before we had to find it out on our own and then it would have looked bad on your end and looked like you were hiding something.

Thats what I thought and Jay told me that I should tell you right away and I feel so much better now that I did.

They join back up with the team and all head back to the station. Once they make it back to the station everyone gathers around the board and Voight feels the team in on everything you told him and they tried to figure out what was the best way they could get his guards down long enough for someone to get into his place to bug his apartment or even his phone.

Kim was the first person to speak up.

I think we know the only person that he is going to even let into his apartment is me

Kim you dont have to do this...Voight and Jay say at the same time

Your right I dont but I know that this is my job and that it is the right thing to do. You could always be close enough to that if I feel threathened that you will be right there.

If you are sure that you want to do this then we will do it

Its the furthest from what I want to do but its what I know needs to be done.

Alright everyone we will put everything in motion tonight. So get ready

Kim cant believe she is the one that thought of this but I think in the end its the only thing that would have made sense, Its the only way they will be able to bust him

#jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #Jay halstead x kim burgess #kim burgess #chicagopd #chicago pd x reader

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hopesilverheart · 4 years

Text

Title: I loved your colours (before I loved you) Artist: @calliartss Rating: Explicit (Chapter 10 only) Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Alec Lightwood & Clary Fray, Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood Word Count: ~95k Summary: Magnus Bane is a journalist who's always dreamed of modelling for Lightwood Fashions. When the CEO Alec Lightwood starts looking for new models for their spring collection, he jumps on the occasion.

In the meantime, Alec Lightwood is struggling with the idea of finally announcing his role as co-designer. When Magnus Bane strolls into his life, Alec is torn between keeping his secret or throwing all caution to the wind.

This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter 3: You lie a million little times

Magnus still couldn’t quite believe he was about to do this.

A week and a half had passed since his audition at Lightwood Fashions. A week and a half of having an official contract as a model. A week and a half of planning and phone calls with his new managers and running around trying to handle both his job at Fade Media and his increasingly busy schedule with Fray.

He had never been happier. And now he was going to make his life even better by quitting the job he had hated all along. This way, his new team would never have to find out about his past with their competing Media company. Not that he thought anyone would judge him for it, but he would rather not have to speak about it again. Ever, if he had anything to say about it.

He knocked on Lorenzo Rey’s office door, a smile on his face. His boss called him in less than a second later, and Magnus let himself in, dropping a pile of files and loose paperwork on the man’s desk.

“What is this?” Lorenzo asked, pushing the pile aside with a frown. “Have you finally decided to catch up on all the work you’ve been missing this past week? You’ve always been one of my best employees, Magnus, but you’ve been letting yourself go lately.”

“I have indeed,” Magnus nodded, smirking smugly at his boss. “I’m quitting, Lorenzo. I signed all the necessary papers with Fade this morning, but I thought I would stop by and say goodbye to you, too. Those papers are all the articles I started over the past month but won’t be able to finish, as well as advice for the colleagues I actually like. I wish I could say it was a pleasure working with you, but I’d be lying. Good luck trying to find someone as good as me to fill the spot I’m leaving behind.”

“You’re quitting?” Lorenzo exclaimed, eyes wide and fists clenched over the edge of his desk. Magnus’ smile widened at the man’s obvious distress. He had always known he was a vital part of the company, but it was nice to get confirmation from his boss himself. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing? You can’t have possibly found a better job than the one you currently have. The only company that surpasses us is… No.”

“Oh yes,” Magnus grinned. “I was offered a contract by the Lightwoods and I would be a fool to refuse it. Your competition is about to crush you now that they have me on their side.”

“You’re their new Head Editor?” Lorenzo asked. Magnus almost opened his mouth to correct him, but then he saw the fearful look in his former boss’ eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time his pride got him in trouble. Instead of denying it, Magnus shrugged nonchalantly, staring down at his nails. “I can’t believe it. I thought Maryse was still looking for someone, but I guess she wanted to keep this particular coup de maître under wraps. Damn it, Bane, do you have no loyalty?”

Magnus tensed and narrowed his eyes at Lorenzo, anger simmering underneath his skin.

“Not to you, no,” he seethed. “You have treated me like an errand boy for the past few years, acting as though you’re so much better than me for getting the position I rightfully deserved. I have worked harder than anyone in this office, you included, but was still pushed to the side because of my ex’s pettiness. So no, Rey, I don’t have loyalty when it comes to the people in this company. The Lightwoods were eager to give me the promotion I’ve been denied here, and I would have been a fool to refuse it.”

It wasn’t all a lie. He would have been a fool to refuse the contract Lightwood Fashions had offered him. However, that wasn’t what Lorenzo thought he was talking about and Magnus knew it. He just didn’t want to be mocked for his life choices. He may not be leaving to become Head Editor, but he would still be happier with Fray and her team than he had ever been here. He didn’t need Lorenzo throwing that happiness in his face by telling him modelling wasn’t a proper career.

“Well then, I look forward to seeing your pieces in their rag,” Lorenzo snarled, dismissing him with a single wave of his hand.

The man’s last words echoed inside Magnus’ mind as he walked out of the office, out of the floor, out of the building. Lorenzo was expecting to see Magnus’ name in future Lightwood publications. If he didn’t, he would undoubtedly figure out that Magnus had been lying about his position and new job.

That was something Magnus was desperate to avoid.

It took him a while to figure out what to do about it. He walked around aimlessly for what felt like hours, barely aware of what was going on around him. He knew what the easiest and most logical solution was. He could easily avoid Lorenzo forever and pretend like he had disappeared off the face of the earth. Sure, his former boss would probably figure out what Magnus had been up to eventually, but hopefully he would have forgotten about his claims of being Head Editor by then.

However, Magnus wasn’t always the most logical person out there. He was fiercely competitive and more than a little resentful about the years he had spent locked in an office that didn’t reflect all the work he put in. So, instead of putting together a rational plan that would keep him out of Lorenzo’s way, he came up with another idea.

An idea which, in hindsight, was absolutely terrible. He knew, even as he pulled out his phone to call Raphael, that he would regret it later. The truth had a way of coming out, and this plan was tempting fate to do just that.

Once again, Magnus wasn’t claiming to be completely logical.

“Magnus, what is it?” Raphael asked him, sounding harried. “I’m a bit busy, so please make this fast.”

“I need a tiny favour,” Magnus answered immediately. He had planned on explaining everything to his friend and maybe have him talk him out of his terrible plan, but… “Do you have Isabelle Lightwood’s number?”

A pause, then a shuffle. Magnus hadn’t even realised Raphael was in a loud room until the background noises disappeared.

“Why on earth do you need Isabelle’s phone number?” Raphael sounded suspicious, not that Magnus could blame him. Whilst his question was seemingly innocent, his friend knew him well enough to understand something else was going on. “I swear Magnus, if you’re trying to get into Alec’s pants already, I’ll make sure the entire office knows about it.”

Magnus scoffed indignantly. Yes, he found Lightwood ridiculously attractive, but he wasn’t about to ask him out so soon after meeting him. He wasn’t even sure the man was interested, for heaven’s sake.

“It’s not about her brother,” Magnus rolled his eyes, hoping his friend couldn’t sense it through the phone. “I swear, I just need her number for friendship purposes. She’s a nice woman, we got along well the few times we talked, we’re going to be working together a lot, and I just want to talk to her. Is that so hard to believe?”

The answering yes was silent, but Magnus heard it anyway. Once again, he understood why his friend was so suspicious, but he didn’t want to argue with Raphael about a stupid phone number all day. He had other things to take care of, and he couldn’t do that if he didn’t have a way to contact Isabelle.

“Fine,” Raphael sighed after a few seconds of silence. “But I don’t want to be blamed for anything if this is another one of your hare-brained schemes. I like my job, Magnus, and I don’t want you to screw things up for me because of some weird seduction you have planned.”

“Once again, not a seduction!” Magnus exclaimed, stepping into his apartment building – he wasn’t even sure when he had gotten there – and taking out a pen to scribble Isabelle’s number onto the back of his hand. “But thank you for this, Raphael! I’ll buy you dinner or something later, I promise!”

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Raphael sighed, hanging up without waiting for Magnus to answer.

A good thing, too, since Magnus would have had to lie to satisfy his friend. Whilst he had done stupider things in his life, this definitely ranked in the top ten. Part of him wished Raphael hadn’t been busy so he could talk Magnus out of his plan, but another – bigger – part of him felt like fate was telling him to go through with it.

So he threw himself onto his sofa and pulled up a new contact, typing out a message before he could talk himself out of it.

It was foolish and would not end well, but Magnus didn’t let himself think about it too hard. He didn’t let himself think about all the ways in which this could go wrong, all the ways in which it was wrong. Instead, he told himself it was his way of making a point, of proving he could achieve what everyone had denied him over the years.

Pride, he told himself again, would be his downfall.

He sent the message to Isabelle and didn’t let himself second doubt his words.

***

The coffee shop Isabelle had asked him to meet her at was on the same street as the Lightwood building. It was bigger than what Magnus was used to at his usual coffee shops, but it was light and airy and the man at the counter had been nothing but kind to him, so he let himself enjoy the few minutes of calm left before the storm. A storm he was bringing upon himself, but a storm nevertheless.

“Magnus!”

He looked up from his phone and sent his most convincing smile Isabelle’s way. He couldn’t let her know something was up from the very start. What he was about to ask her was more than a simple favour, and he needed to make sure she wasn’t about to spill his secrets before he told her anything.

“Isabelle, thank you for meeting up with me on such short notice,” he greeted her, watching her wave the barista over. The blond man rolled his eyes at her but came up to them anyways.

“Izzy.”

“Jace, my favourite brother in the world, would you please bring me my usual drink,” the brunette batted her eyelashes at Jace – her brother, apparently, not that Magnus could see the resemblance. “I promise I’ll pay you later.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it,” the blond barista grinned, going back to the counter and – presumably – getting Isabelle’s drink ready.

Once that was done, the brunette turned back towards Magnus and grinned at him widely. To her, this was probably nothing more than a meet-up between two people who wanted to get to know each other and become friends. Magnus felt bad for having to lie to her and use her for his own gain, but she was his only shot at making sure Lorenzo didn’t find out about his tiny, white lie.

“I wasn’t aware you had another brother,” he started, glancing at the barista again. The two of them looked nothing alike, though he knew better than most that family wasn’t always a question of blood.

“He’s adopted,” Isabelle chuckled. “Our parents took him in when we were younger, and he’s been a part of our little family ever since. He’s the only one who didn’t want to work in the family business, hence the coffee shop.”

“It’s very nice,” Magnus said stiltedly. He wasn’t usually this bad at small talk, but his nerves were getting to him.

“It is,” Isabelle hummed. “Now, how about you tell me why you’re really here? I’m never one to turn down coffee with an acquaintance, but I have a feeling there’s more to this than a casual encounter.”

“You’re not wrong,” Magnus winced.

He hadn’t wanted to jump straight into the thick of things, but Isabelle clearly wanted to get to the point of their meeting. Once again, Magnus took it as a sign of fate that this was the right thing to do.

“Tell me, Isabelle, do you know where I work?” he asked, wanting to see how much Isabelle and the rest of the Lightwood team knew about him. Out of everyone, Isabelle was the one most likely to have heard of him before, and therefore the biggest liability. “Besides Lightwood Fashions, of course.”

“I assumed you worked for another media company,” the brunette shrugged. “Although my brother and the fashion team are under the impression that you work for Lightwood Media, for some reason. Did you purposely mislead them, or did they come to that conclusion themselves?”

“I never mentioned the company for which I worked, but I didn’t tell them I worked for your mother,” Magnus shrugged. He truly hadn’t wanted to lie about his job, although he hadn’t wanted to talk about his position at Fade Media either. “I didn’t know they would assume I worked for Lightwood Company already. However, that might- It might work in our favour if you agree to help me with this slightly insane plan I have in mind.”

“Insane plans?” Isabelle asked, her lips twitching into a mischievous smile. “Those are my favourite kind. Good thing you came to me and not anyone else on the team, because I’m pretty sure they would all have stopped listening as soon as you mentioned a plan.”

“Lucky me,” Magnus grimaced. “I would really appreciate your help, but I’ll also understand if you can’t help me with this. It’s a little bit… I wouldn’t say illegal, because I don’t think it is, but it would definitely involve a lot of lying and covering things up and a few manipulations here and there.”

Isabelle cocked her head to the side as though she was looking for something on Magnus’ face. He didn’t know what it was but, when she shrugged and nodded after a few seconds of examination, he figured that he had passed her test. It wasn’t acceptance, since saying yes to something before knowing the details would have been a stupid thing to do, but it wasn’t a rebuttal either.

“I told my former boss that I was quitting my company in order to come work for the Lightwoods,” Magnus explained slowly, glancing down at his coffee, and fiddling with the cup in an attempt to settle his nerves. “I didn’t tell him I was joining as a model, so he assumed your mother had hired me as her Head Editor for the Media side of things. I’ve been vying for that spot within my former company for years, so I understand why he assumed that. The thing is, I sort of hate this guy, so I didn’t…”

“You didn’t deny it,” Isabelle finished for him, looking torn between exasperation and amusement. “Oh god, Magnus, you are so screwed. Head Editors are mentioned all over our magazines, so there’s no way he won’t notice you’re not on there. You should have just told him the truth, it would have been a lot less humiliating than what you’re going to go through when he realises you lied.”

“About that…” Magnus grimaced, hoping Isabelle would catch his train of thought. He really didn’t want to talk about his half-assed plan out loud, especially since he knew it would probably sound a lot worse in words than it did in his head. “That’s when you would come in, if I were to put my plan into effect.”

“Where I- no,” Isabelle gasped, her eyes widening comically. “Magnus, please tell me you’re not implying what I think you are. Are you asking me to put your name into our magazine even though you don’t work for us? Because if you are, I’m not sure that’s something I can do. My position is pretty good, yes, and I have access to a lot of things thanks to my mother, but if someone found out…”

“No one would have to find out!” Magnus exclaimed, desperate to get her on his side. “Look, your brother and the fashion team already think I work for you, so it’s not like they won’t believe it if we tell them I was recently promoted. From what I understand, your mother is really only involved with the administrative side of things, so I’m sure you could come up with a cover story, and… And I could still do the job, alright? I know I can’t get paid unless your mother actually hires me, but you could tell her this is a test run of sorts.”

“You want me to tell my mother I’ve found us the perfect Head Editor and convince her to put you on a trial period?” Isabelle repeated, her eyebrows raised and her lips pressed together. “All the while telling the rest of the team, both Media and Fashion, that you were officially hired a few weeks or months ago? Do I have this right?”

Magnus winced again. He had known it would sound terrible once someone laid it out in front of him. Instead of calling the whole thing off, however, he only nodded affirmatively. It was a crazy plan, but it was his crazy plan, and the only way to make sure no one let the wrong thing slip out at the wrong moment.

The only person who would know the full truth was Isabelle, and probably Magnus’ friends since he couldn’t keep anything from him. The rest of the Lightwood employees would just assume he had been there for a while but had only recently climbed up the hierarchical ladder and, by the time someone looked into it, Maryse would have hopefully hired him. It wasn’t perfect, but he had done worse in the past.

At least he had been sober when he had come up with this particular plan.

“Look, I know this sounds insane,” Magnus sighed, chuckling mirthlessly at Isabelle’s dubious gaze. “Fine, it sounds downright impossible to pull off, but I promise it isn’t. The hardest part of this whole thing is getting your mother to agree to have me on a trial run. However, I’m quite sure I could convince her if you really can’t.”

“This is absolutely crazy,” Isabelle groaned, resting her head in her hands and shaking it for a few seconds before looking back up at him. “You do realise people won’t take it well if they find out you’ve been lying to them, right? Being a model means maintaining a good relationship with your team, and if anyone figures out you’ve been lying about something as important as your job…”

“They won’t,” Magnus said decisively. “The only people who will know about the deception are you, your mother, and myself. My friends will probably figure it out too, but they won’t tattle.”

“I want to help you, Magnus, I really do,” Isabelle said after a few seconds of silence. “I think you’re a good guy, and I believe you’ll be an amazing model for this collection. On top of that, my brother already likes you, which is a miracle in and of itself. I’m also sure you’d make a wonderful Head Editor, but this… You realise if this comes out, people will paint you as someone no one can trust, right?”

“I know,” Magnus told her seriously. “But look, the place where I used to work… Lightwood Media is my only chance at getting a better position than the one I wanted over there. It’s my one shot at proving I’m as good as they knew I was, my one shot at proving they should have promoted me from the get-go. If this works out, I’ll have everything I ever dreamed of having, and Lightwood Media will have the best goddamned editor in New York City. Your brother will still have his model, and it’ll be even easier to work around my schedule if I’m part of your Media team. I know the fallout could be horrible, but this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“If my mother agrees,” Isabelle added.

“If your mother agrees,” Magnus nodded. “Although she can’t know I’m doing this as a way to get back at my boss. As far as she’s concerned, I’ll have to be nothing more than an amazing editor who quit his job just to join her team.”

“That’ll definitely appeal to her ego,” Isabelle hummed thoughtfully.

As soon as he saw the calculation and determination in the brunette’s eyes, Magnus knew he had won her over.

“So you’ll help me?” Magnus bit his lip, glancing at Isabelle hopefully. “Even though this is insane and probably a terrible idea and will more likely than not end disastrously?”

“I will, even though everything you just said is absolutely true. The things I do for people, I swear. You’re going to owe me a lot, Magnus. I want free coffees on my desk every morning and shopping days with you as well as your unconditional friendship. Also, you have to promise me you won’t drag me into anything crazier than this, because I’m not sure I could handle it.”

Magnus nodded, knowing very well she deserved all of that and more for what she was going to do for him. He thanked whichever god had created Isabelle Lightwood and thrown her Magnus’ way, because he wasn’t sure he could have made it through this impossible situation without her.

He also thanked whichever deity had given him a friend who was just as insane and reckless as he was. In between Raphael, Catarina, and Ragnor, Magnus usually got more speeches bringing down-to-earth than offers to help. Not that he could blame his friends, given how crazy he got sometimes.

“Thank you, Isabelle,” he murmured, squeezing one of the woman’s hands with both his own. “Seriously, this means the world to me.”

“Don’t mention it,” the brunette grimaced. “Seriously, let’s not talk about this ever again. I’ll get you your trial period, and you’ll start working on Monday. Feel free to tell everyone else you just recently got promoted, but don’t mention that god-awful plan ever again.”

“Works for me,” Magnus shrugged, eager to change the subject. He racked his brain for a topic and grinned widely when his thoughts strayed back to a particular redhead. “So, want to talk about your crush on Clary Fray instead?”

Isabelle’s face turned bright red, and Magnus burst out laughing. Perhaps the beginning of their friendship was a bit strange, but he didn’t doubt Isabelle and he would get along perfectly.

***

He got a text from his new friend and colleague less than a day later, confirming his new job as Head Editor. Apparently, Maryse Lightwood and Isabelle didn’t always get along, and the elder saw this as a way to get back on her daughter’s good side. Magnus wasn’t about to complain about the subtle bribing, not when it meant he was officially an employee of Lightwood Media. Or at least, as much as he could be for now.

“What’s got you looking so relieved?” Catarina asked him, raising a curious eyebrow at him and gesturing towards his phone. “Got a date with that hot boss of yours?”

“A date with Lightwood?” Magnus asked, frowning. He had barely even seen his new boss. Fray and the man spent their days locked in their offices, probably getting ready for the collection and the photoshoots and everything else that needed to be organised. “No, although I did just receive amazing news from his little sister.”

“Ah yes, your fellow model. What good news would this be, then?”

Magnus froze, suddenly realising he hadn’t told Catarina about his plan. He hadn’t wanted to alarm his friends too soon, especially not since his position within the Lightwood Company hadn’t been confirmed yet.

And perhaps he also hadn’t wanted to deal with their judgement and disappointment whilst he was still trying to sort out his own warring feelings. He could already imagine the exasperation on Catarina’s face, the frustration on Raphael’s, and even the amusement on Ragnor’s. He could also perfectly imagine what they would tell him once they found out what he had done.

“The delightful Isabelle may or may not have gotten me a job at Lightwood Media,” Magnus started, not wanting to reveal too much too soon.

Catarina’s face lit up, a congratulations undoubtedly at the tip of her tongue, but Magnus saw the moment when she realised something was off. She snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes in his direction, clearly not believing this was just some innocent job at the bottom of the chain. She knew him too well for that.

“Magnus, what did you do?”

“Always so suspicious,” Magnus sighed dramatically, though he dropped the act when Catarina failed to laugh. “Alright, I may or may not have concocted a bit of a plan with the lovely Isabelle. It’s not my fault, though, I swear! It’s just that Lorenzo was being so smug about me quitting and then I mentioned the Lightwoods and he assumed I had been hired as their Head Editor, and I…”

“And you let your pride get the better of you again,” Catarina completed for him, groaning and burying her face in her hands. The gesture reminded him of Isabelle’s reaction and Magnus had to hold back the completely inappropriate giggles that almost spilled past his lips.

“It’s not that bad, alright? The fashion team already thought I was a part of their media company, so they won’t suspect anything. The media team will be fed some white lie about me wanting to keep my importance a secret for a while. And Maryse Lightwood herself accepted to put me on a trial run. Isabelle may or may not have misled her about a few things, but it’s all clean and real. I actually do have somewhat of a job there.”

“One that you got because you convinced your new friend to help you out of a sticky situation,” Catarina pointed out. “I know you wanted that position badly, Magnus, and I understand why you didn’t want Lorenzo to think any less of you, but you do realise this could go horribly wrong, right?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Magnus sighed. “Look, I’ll admit I could have come up with something a little smarter and a little less impulsive, but Lorenzo threw me off guard and I reacted before I could sit down and think.”

Catarina shook her head exasperatedly, but at least she didn’t comment on his stupidity and lack of forethought any further. She clearly didn’t agree with his choices, but she wasn’t about to repeat herself a hundred times, especially since the deed had already been done.

“Raphael is going to be so mad,” she said a few minutes later, once she had downed the rest of her wine. “He gets along well with the Lightwoods, and if they find out and think he was involved in this whole mess…”

“I’ll make it clear he wasn’t if it comes to that,” Magnus waved her concerns away. “Raphael means too much to me for me to throw him under the bus like that. If possible, I’ll even try to keep Isabelle out of it. I’m the one who came up with this entire plan, and I don’t want anyone else to pay for my poor decision making.”

If anything, that only seemed to annoy Catarina further. Her brows furrowed deeply and she pursed her lips as she always did when Magnus said something she didn’t appreciate.

“I hate that even when you do these dumb things, you’re still one of the best people I know,” she breathed out. “But just so you know, this is one of the most idiotic plans you have ever come up with.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that,” Magnus smiled at his best friend sheepishly. “What can I say? I love a good challenge once in a while. But this isn’t all bad; I’m getting a new friend out of it, for one, and I’ll get to show Lorenzo up, even if things come out eventually. On top of that, I get a job at a place I actually love, which is exactly what you’ve been telling me I need all along.”

“And I stand by that,” Catarina sighed. “I just wish you didn’t have to lie and manipulate your potential future boss to achieve your goals.”

“Oh please, what’s one small lie in the grand scheme of things?” Magnus chuckled. “The probability of people finding out is a lot lower than the probability of this remaining a deep, dark secret for the rest of my life.”

“For your sake, I certainly hope so.”

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #fanfic #my writing

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freddieslater · 4 years

Text

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Enzo St. John x Maria DeLuca | Michael Quinn x Maggie James

Glancing up at the flashing neon sign above, Enzo doubts himself. Those damn travellers were so cryptic before they decided to spontaneously combust. The only thing they left behind was a note to him.

Find her. Roswell, New Mexico. Wild Pony.

For years, the thought of finding Maggie once he was finally free--because he was sure he would be, someday, somehow--was one of the only things that kept him going through it all. To thank her. To see that she got the life she deserved; a life full of love and happiness. A human life.

But a bar? She wanted to help people. He takes another quick look at the note, but sure enough, the sign reads the same name beneath the flashing image of a cowboy riding a horse.

Stuffing the slip of paper back into his jacket pocket, he shuts his car door and walks across the gravel to the entrance. He pulls the door open and steps inside.

The room's lit with soft lights, almost dim, just enough to feel welcoming. Chatter from the locals fills the air, a chuckle here or there from the tables. The quiet clatter of a pool cue hitting a ball over to his left, followed by a triumphant cheer and some lighthearted arguing.

He immediately decides that it's preferable over the Grill. Though perhaps that's because he's still unfamiliar here. Make a few enemies, specifically out of the bartender, and then it'll probably feel the same.

Not moving from the doorway, his eyes dart all across the room. They sweep from left to right, to right to left, taking in every face. None belonging to an elderly lady.

Disappointment sweeps through him briefly. Probably for the best, he thinks as the loud-mouthed rednecks at the pool table spout some distasteful language.

Ignoring them, he finally moves, making his way up to the back of the bar. Maybe the travellers sent him here to find one of her relatives, perhaps her child. Though he has no idea if he'd even recognize Maggie now, never mind a descendant of hers.

But when he reaches the bar and seeks out someone who'll be able to give him something to ease his frustrations, he stops dead. Proven wrong, it would seem, because he instantly recognizes the woman behind the bar, caught in the middle of a playful conversation with a rather tipsy man on a stool.

Except it's impossible. Not a feature has changed. She looks as young as the day he compelled her to forget him and walk out without ever looking back. Those dark eyes, so soft yet filled with life like a blazing match. The curve of her lips, that smile that filled his mind to replace the darkness everytime he closed his eyes.

It isn't possible. The only way...

His heart drops. He can't even stomach the thought. Compelling Maggie was meant to protect her, to keep her as far away from his world as possible. Unless she found another vampire more willing to turn her without knowing.

No. He refuses to believe that. But the proof is right there, undeniable. A relative, he tells himself. A daughter with an uncanny resemblance to her mother.

She notices him at last, her eyes flicking over to him. Straightening up and abandoning ber conversation in the process, she shoots him a warm, friendly smile that makes his throat close up.

"All right there?" she asks with a slight chuckle, eyeing him. "You look lost. Or like you've seen a ghost. Neither one uncommon here, surprisingly."

Enzo doesn't know what to say. He realizes she doesn't recognize him. Nothing in her expression or her eyes tells him she has the faintest idea who he is. Of course not, he chides himself. Because she's not Maggie.

"New in town, I take it?" she continues on anyway, apparently unbothered by his lack of response. "I know all of the local's faces; I should, considering I've lived here my whole life."

Something comes loose in his chest. Her whole life. Maggie wasn't from Roswell. There's a sinking feeling inside of him that he can't ignore no matter how he tries.

"Your whole life?" he hears himself ask faintly, forcing an interested smile onto his face. "Must really like this town."

The woman shrugs. "It's my home. But" --she leans both hands on the bar, grinning at him now with that same spark in her eyes-- "with an accent like that, I can see I was right in saying it's not yours."

Enzo huffs out a chuckle and nods. "You caught me. I've visited before, though. Couple times, long time ago."

Her eyebrows furrow the tiniest bit and her head tilts in curiosity as she stares at him. He can see her trying to recall him.

"Weird," she says after a beat. "I feel like there's no way I would forget someone like you..."

She trails off somewhat pointedly, expecting an introduction. He opens his mouth to give it despite his better judgment, but she beats him to it, holding a hand up to stop him.

"Wait, hold on, I'm psychic. Let me take a shot at this."

Her eyes are wide and excited, and he can barely bring himself to be fazed by the claim of being psychic. There's a snort from down the bar from the man she'd been talking to.

She rolls her eyes but otherwise ignores him, her attention fixated on Enzo. Keeping their gazes locked, her eyes narrow. It's taking everything in him not to give anything away. If she's really psychic, somehow, then that won't be a problem.

"I think that... your name is... Michael." As soon as the name falls from her lips, there's a guffaw from her friend and she groans. "Oh, tell me I'm wrong."

But Enzo's heart has stopped again. Michael was the name he had on his file when she was working at Augustine. Dr. Whitmore had taken him from the Air Force, while he was still under his alias of Captain Michael Quinn. It's what Maggie knew him as him until he confessed his real name a few months before she left.

"Just can't get me off your mind, can you, DeLuca?" her friend says, evidently enjoying himself a great deal. He turns to Enzo. "I'm Michael, by the way. The person that the lovely Maria here claims to despise, and yet..."

He waves a hand as if providing all the evidence he needs to make his point. Maybe that's it, Enzo thinks, and his mind catches the name this Michael uses. Maria. Not Maggie. Similar but not the same. Maria DeLuca, by the sounds of it. Not James.

Maria scoffs and aims the towel in her hand at Michael, who merely laughs and dodges the blow of it.

"Ignore him," she tells Enzo, turning back to him.

He laughs it off as well. "That's okay. Maria, was it?"

She nods, her lips pressing together in a smile again. "That's right, mysterious stranger whose name is definitely not Michael. Sorry about that. Sometimes I'm right, sometimes I'm wrong. It happens."

Part of him is tempted to tell her she's not wrong. After all, he was Michael for over ten years. Who's to say that means it isn't still part of his identity?

"Well, it is my middle name, so not entirely wrong," he decides to say. "I'm Lorenzo. People usually just call me Enzo."

Maria's face lights up, her smile brightening. "Middle name is good enough for me. And it's nice to meet you, Enzo. So, what can I get for you?"

"Er, just a bourbon, please."

He hesitates, then takes a seat on one of the stools. His eyes stay glued to her as she pours him a bourbon. How is this even possible?

Doppelgangers exist. He knows that far too well from his brief time in Mystic Falls, but that was a curse. Maggie was never in the middle of some two-thousand-year-old love affair involving vengeful travellers. As far as he's aware.

Maria sets the glass down in front of him. He thanks her and slides the money over before taking a long drink. At this rate, he's going to need a lot more than one glass.

"So, Enzo," Maria says, and pain spikes through his heart at hearing that same voice say his name again after all these years. "What brings you to our lovely but ultimately boring little town? Is it the aliens?"

He can't help but laugh at that. Once upon a time, it was in fact the aliens that brought him here.

"No, no, though I wouldn't mind seeing a few," he jokes, and is pleased when she laughs, too. He then sighs. "But I'm looking for someone. A woman I used to know. We... lost touch for a while."

Maria frowns. "Oh. Well, what's her name? Like I said, I know everyone in this town. If she's been here, I'll remember."

He stares at her for a moment. I'll remember. Something about the way she says it sends a shiver through him.

"Maggie James," he says before he can process he's doing it. "Her name's Maggie James."

For the briefest flicker of a moment after he says it, he admittedly expects recognition to flash across her face and for her to say that's her mother's name. Or an auntie. Someone in her family, something to explain this, because he can't think of a single logical explanation otherwise.

But her eyes stay blank and distant, still frowning. Then he notices that her frown has actually deepened. More thought than required for remembering a name of a stranger you met once or twice. And the blank look in her eyes is too blank, like they've glazed over, completely detached from reality.

Enzo's heartbeat quickens. Her expression twitches. It's a tiny movement, invisible to the human eye. But he catches it, and everything crashes down inside of him. It's the look of someone trying to unearth a memory buried beneath layers of compulsion. Just below the surface but forever unreachable.

Then she blinks, and it's as if she's thrust back into her body. She straightens up a little too quickly, her eyes wide and dazed. But alert. And lost.

"Nope," she says, and shakes her head, reverting back to her casual composure from before. "Sorry. Doesn't ring any bells."

He can hear the lie in her voice. Feel it from her. It did ring a bell, just one she couldn't quite hear. Muffled by his own doing. Or something else, he just wouldn't know what. It can't just be his compulsion. It doesn't explain why she'd still be this young, why she has a completely different identity and life. None of it makes sense.

"Don't worry about it," he tells her, plastering on another careful smile. "I'm sure I'll find her."

He doesn't know why, but it feels like the truth. Something tells him he won't have to look far. It's just more complicated now, is all. But when has he not loved a few complications here and there? They're what make things interesting.

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carmenlire · 5 years

Note

Prompt: Malec playing with the Alliance Rune, +\- magnus (being a little jealous?) not liking Lorenzo’s magic running through Alec, wanting it to be his. Alec loving Magnus’ magic

Thanks for sending a prompt Bel!! I hope you like this!

read on ao3

When Magnus notices, it’s a punch to the gut. It makes bile climb up his throat, seeing the nauseatingly yellow magic around Alec’s hands– his Alec, his darling Alexander, using another warlock’s magic is intolerable.

And Lorenzo, the bastard, he knew. He knew how it would feel to see another’s magic around his fucking fiance.

Magnus is well aware that it’s neither the time nor the place for such a primal reaction. The truth is, the alliance rune had saved those closest to him and secured his own freedom from Edom.

That doesn’t mean that Magnus doesn’t almost choke on the knowledge, though.

Still, everything happens so fast after the rescue mission and it’s weeks later before it comes up again. The two of them are walking through Central Park and it’s the most peaceful Magnus can remember feeling in years– decades maybe.

It’s winter and they’re bundled up in their coats and scarves and Alec’s wearing those fingerless gloves that Magnus adores even if he wonders how on earth Alec’s staving away frostbite. It’s quiet, snow spitting down, and it feels like they’re in their own little world.

Alec hauls him a little closer with his arm over his shoulder and Magnus hides a grin in his scarf, tightening his own arm that’s slung low around Alec’s back.

“You know,” Alec starts and when Magnus looks up, it’s clear that his husband is choosing his words carefully, that this is far from the spontaneous little conversation he’s clearing aiming for. “I love your magic.”

A little taken aback at the abrupt declaration, Magnus merely blinks. “Thank you, darling,” he says, nonplussed.

He looks up in time to see Alec roll his eyes, though he doesn’t know if it’s at himself or Magnus. Looking over, the breath stalls in his chest at the intensity in Alec’s gaze.

“What I mean is– I love the feel of it, the way it seems to reach out to me sometimes, especially when you aren’t even paying attention. It feels familiar.” Magnus watches, entranced, as Alec swallows hard, as his tongue darts out to swipe across his lip. “It feels like home.”

Something melts in Magnus and he leans further into Alec. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Alec looks like he wants to say something else but he doesn’t and Magnus doesn’t push. Instead, they continue strolling aimlessly down a path while Magnus’s head spins. It’s nothing new or unexpected but damn if Alec doesn’t know how to lay waste to Magnus’s defenses with the simplest of declarations.

His thoughts catch on Alec’s words, however, and his head snaps back up. “You said it felt familiar,” Magnus drawls. He raises a brow. “More familiar than a certain other warlock’s?”

Wincing, Alec doesn’t pretend not to know what Magnus is alluding to. “I’d much rather have been your partner for the alliance rune than Rey’s, I assure you. While it was cool, it felt like his magic was fighting me every step of the way.”

Filing away that useful bit of information, Magnus replies before his brain has a chance to catch up to his words. “Then let’s do it.”

He comes to a stop as Alec freezes and while he hadn’t meant to, he knows his voice had betrayed his irritation. He meets Alec’s eyes with a challenge in his own.

Breath catching as Alec steps close, as his husband cups his cheek and tilts his face up a bare inch, Magnus can’t look away as Alec asks, “You mean that,” in a low tone.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it, Alexander. Besides,” he asks with a quick grin, “If I can’t share the alliance rune with my husband then who the hell can I use it with?”

He watches the way Alec’s eyes darken and then he’s being pulled into a searing kiss that makes Magnus hot, no matter that it’s thirty degrees outside. When Alec finally steps back, his voice is hoarse as he says, “Home. Now.”

–

Alec sits on the couch, twirling his stele absently in his hand. It’s unfairly attractive and Magnus feels his stare land on him as he lights half a dozen candles around the living room. The late winter afternoon is gloomy, casting the loft in shadows. Taking their outerwear off, Magnus had rolled up his shirt sleeves as Alec had settled. Magnus feels a shiver wrack up his spine and can’t help but feel like the mouse to Alec’s cat.

A few minutes later, Magnus is done and he strolls over to Alec. Looking down at his husband, he blinks slowly and between one moment and the next, his glamour dissolves. He hears Alec’s breath catch and he grins as he steps so that Alec’s thighs are between his legs.

Tilting Alec’s head up, he murmurs, “Are you sure about this, darling?”

Alec’s nodding before he’s even finished asking. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admits and a fire blooms in Magnus’s gut at the earnest words, at the way he reaches out and grips Magnus’s hips in steady hands. “I want all of you, Magnus.”

Magnus lowers himself until he’s straddling Alec and he holds out his arm. His voice is husky as he offers, “Mark me then, Alexander.”

Alec’s fingers dig into his hips for a moment and Magnus half hopes he follows through on his clear desire to push Magnus back onto the couch and do wickedly wonderful things to his body.

Instead, he takes a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts and wraps a hand around Magnus’s arm. His thumb brushes over the sensitive skin of his wrist and Magnus shudders in his hold. When he lifts his other hand and the tip of his stele touches him, though, Magnus can’t stop his instinctive flinch.

Memories course through him, flashes of a chair and restraints and an Alec he didn’t recognize.

Catching the little movement, Alec stills, too. “You okay,” he asks softly. “I won’t hurt you– besides the rune itself stinging a little as it’s applied– but I don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Shaking his head a little to clear it, it’s Magnus’s turn to take a steadying breath and when he looks up at Alec, his expression is serious but sure. “I want this. It’s just something new and unexpected and my body hasn’t quite caught up with my head.” He sees the hesitancy in the tension seeping into Alec and all he offers is a quiet, “Please.”

Alec nods to himself and then the stele is touching him once more. Alec draws the swirling lines in a competent hand and he wasn’t lying– it does sting as the rune flares with light before settling into a deep crimson against his skin. The pain sears into him for one heartbeat, for two and three, before it settles back down and Magnus bites his lip at the feeling.

It strikes him immediately that it’s different than the first and last time he was runed. This pain is comforting, familiar, something he wants to sink into. His mind’s a little hazy but he has a desperate wish to chase the sensation and when he shifts, biting back a moan, he knows that Alec’s picked up on his reaction from the way his gaze sharpens.

Magnus doesn’t say anything, though, and neither does Alec and as the heat banks back down, Magnus is struck by a different feeling.

There’s a connection there and it’s like he’s been jump-started. There’s a different energy buzzing under his skin and he has the sudden desire to– to do something, anything, that can test the limits of the power he can feel simmering just below the surface, waiting to be tapped.

He doesn’t do any of that, though. Instead, he reaches for Alec’s stele and as soon as his fingers wrap around it, it glows red.

Alec doesn’t comment on the color and when Magnus darts a look up, it’s to see his husband’s unsurprised face.

“You knew?”

Raising a brow, Alec merely replies, “I know who I married.”

Huffing out a laugh, Magnus reaches for Alec’s wrist only to be stopped. He looks up, curious, but Alec just urges him to lean back. With enough room to maneuver, he pulls his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor next to him.

Tapping over his heart, Alec murmurs, “Right here.”

Swallowing hard, Magnus nods once. He’d studied the alliance rune that first day– his eyes had burned into the rune Lorenzo had drawn on Alec’s arm and he’d poured his gaze over the scrap of paper Biscuit had drafted.

He draws the rune over Alec’s heart now with a steady hand. When he’s done, they both take a breath and Magnus rests his hand over Alec’s chest, feels his heart beating wildly underneath his palm.

Looking up, Magnus’s breath catches as his eyes lock on Alec’s. He reaches a hand up, running a thumb over his cheek.

Distantly, he thinks he understands Alec’s reaction to seeing his mark because seeing Alexander with gold eyes is one of the most stunning images Magnus has ever been treated to.

“Mine,” Magnus breathes, tipping Alec’s head up, and he feels the shudder that rolls through his husband at the declaration, at the possessiveness lingering in his undertone.

When his husband lifts a hand to put over his, they see the blue tendrils wrapped around his fingers at the same time and the breath is punched out of Magnus anew.

If seeing his mark on Alec was gorgeous, watching his magic wrap around his love is something else entirely. Magnus doesn’t have words for what the sight does to him, for the primal surge that rocks through him at seeing his magic– his soul, his essence– intertwined with Alec.

He’s not entirely aware of doing it but in a flash, he has Alec on his back, pushing him into the couch cushions, leaning over him with hands on his chest.

They both freeze for a moment as they realize what’s happened and then Magnus is grinning down at Alec and it’s sharp, wicked and teasing.

Before he can do anything else, though, Alec’s across the room. There’s a flush riding high across his cheeks and his eyes are glinting with challenge, with a look Magnus has only ever seen when the heat of a mission was thrumming through his blood.

“Catch me.”

Magnus has a second to register the words before Alec’s gone and it’s more instinct than anything else that has him giving chase.

It’s odd, to feel the power of runes running through him. They stay in the loft and Alec flashes from one room to the next, letting Magnus get close without quite managing to win. Magnus supposes it would be anticlimactic for vampires or even werewolves but warlocks have never had increased speed or strength. Magnus might be exceptionally fit for a human but any superhuman power comes from his magic and it’s a thrill to feel his heightened senses working in a totally different way than he’s used to.

There’s another piece of it, though, and he follows Alec, reaching through their connection. His magic binds them and he can feel it working in Alec. The ebb and flow, his power sparking in an unfamiliar body while still recognizing it on a molecular level.

It’s like Alec mentioned earlier, Magnus realizes. His magic has recognized Alec since the beginning, since before he used Alec’s strength to restore his depleted levels so long ago. It’s made a home in Alec for longer than Magnus realized– it’s burrowed its way into his husband until Magnus is fairly stunned at how happy it feels to be in Alec, crashing through his system like a purring cat.

Clearing his head, Magnus redoubles his efforts and when he finally catches Alec, he pins him against the wall in the living room. He’s not quite aware of just how effective the strength rune is, however, and when Alec leans in and crashes their lips together, Magnus’s hands drag down his sides until they’re settling against his thighs and he’s pulling, both of them breaking apart to gasp in surprise as Magnus lifts Alec until he can wrap his legs around his waist.

Magnus doesn’t even break a sweat and he feels more than hears Alec groan, his own chest aching in response.

It quickly devolves from there but when Alec’s hands cup his face, the kiss turns impossibly deep and everything slows down until they’re grinding against each other and Magnus has the thought that they should probably move this to the couch or bed or, hell, the floor, but then Alec moves.

Magnus almost comes in his goddamn pants as his choked off cry echoes through the room. When he opens his eyes, it’s to see Alec staring at him, shock and delight flaring bright in his face as they have the same realization.

Alec’s hands had moved down until he was pressing desperate nails into the small of Magnus’s back. Without knowing how– and the very small piece of Magnus’s brain that is still online is racing at the implications– Alec had coalesced his own pleasure and doubled it back, pushing it into Magnus with a shock wave of feeling.

Sex magic is intimate and while Magnus loved it, particularly with Alec as the very willing recipient, it took extensive training and an emotional bond that had to be carefully cultivated.

The fact that Alec had had the alliance rune for less than an hour yet was able to do such a thing was nearly inconceivable.

Magnus gives very brief thought to pursuing it on an intellectual level but the desire still running through him quickly drowns that inclination out.

It looks like Alec is on the same page as they lean back into each other, mouths meeting in a kiss that’s as hot as it is desperate.

As Magnus steps away from the pillar, still holding Alec effortlessly, he turns toward the bedroom.

He can’t wait to thoroughly test out the alliance rune’s abilities.

#intangibel #asked #answered #my writing #supernova #malec prompt #malec fic

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