An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The thing about werewolves is that they're doomed to fail.
It's a curse, see. An ugly one. If you want to disrupt an organisation, if you want to cause mass panic, and most importantly if you have the funds and the connections, you contact a guy who knows a guy who knows a warlock who can hook you up with what you need.
In the early oughts, when Eliot's working his way steadily up the rungs of Moreau's organisation, someone slips a bomb into their ranks.
He wakes up in a cell.
a hurt no comfort Moreau-era werewolf Eliot situation, featuring dog metaphors and cannibalism vibes, and barely an AU. enjoy.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
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The Old Family Job
Sophie Devereaux is doing just fine. It's been years since Nate has passed, the new team is everything that a grifter-turned-mastermind could ask for, and everything is just as it should be. So what if she's still living with the ghost of Nathan Ford in her head, and a tropical storm put someone from her past on their doorstep?
She's doing just fine.
Author Note: Rewatching the OG Leverage. Just a nice reminder how much I fucking love Eliot. He's my favorite. || Not my gif.
Masterlist | A03 Link
Parker staggered into the dimly lit apartment that belonged to Nate, which also doubled as the Leverage team’s makeshift office. Every part of her body felt strained and battered; aching muscles, sore joints, and fresh bruises blossoming across her skin like dark, irregular flowers. Her clothes were torn and stained with dirt, sweat, and the grime of relentless training, evidence of the effort she’d pushed herself through. She hesitated for a moment, questioning why she had come here instead of her own place, telling herself it was closer, more accessible; somewhere she could collapse and find a moment of relief. It was late and she figured with Nate out of town, she could crash on the couch and figure out the rest in the morning.
She tried to move carefully across the apartment to the living room but her muscles immediately rebelled. Tender spots flared with every tentative step, sending sharp, stabbing pains through her limbs. She questioned herself if she broke a bone somewhere? Her body was protesting her overexertion; an unmistakable reminder that she’d gone too far, again. Maybe she should have stopped earlier, slowed down, listened to her body. But she just wanted to drown out the relentless, swirling thoughts filling her mind; thoughts that she thought she had locked up, the memories she desperately wanted to forget.
As she slowly crossed the room, her hand automatically went to her side, where a sudden, sharp stabbing pain made her wince. The ache was intense enough to make her stumble slightly, but she kept going, too exhausted to stop. She didn’t notice the faint glow of the kitchen light or the figure standing silently in the shadows, eyes fixed on her. She was only a few feet from the couch where she could rest and sleep for a few hours when she heard a quiet cough, followed by a familiar, incredulous voice: “Parker, what the hell did you do?”
Eliot was in the kitchen, a bandana wrapped around his head and a dish in his hand, carefully washing it in the sink. His sharp eyes caught sight of her the moment she entered the room. His expression tightened as he took in her battered condition; bruises, torn clothes, and the weariness etched into every line of her face. A flicker of concern flashed behind his eyes. Without hesitation, he set the dish down and moved swiftly across the room, closing the distance in just a few quick strides.
“Parker.” He says again, grabbing her attention off the floor and for her to look at him.
She paused briefly, trying to dismiss it with a nonchalant shrug. She’d endured worse injuries both on the job and during training; but there was something in Eliot’s gaze that made her feel uncomfortably exposed. “Just some training,” she mumbled, her voice strained and weary, her body slipping against the wall for support. The attempt to appear unaffected only highlighted how much she was hurting, both physically and emotionally. “I was just going to get some sleep, then head to my place to clean up. I didn’t think anyone would be here with Nate and Sophie gone.”
Eliot’s eyes narrowed. “Training,” he repeated, his tone unimpressed, half suspecting she might not be telling the whole truth. What the hell kind of training was she doing? He stepped closer, scrutinizing her with a practiced look, bruises spreading across her arms, scratches marrying her face, a faintly bleeding cut near her temple. His jaw clenched. “You look like you’ve been through a war. Sit down.”
Parker hesitated, her stubborn streak kicking in despite her body’s protests. She was used to handling things herself, and she wasn’t about to admit weakness. “I’m fine, Eliot,” she insisted.
He, however, wasn’t convinced and wasn’t about to let her dismiss him. “You’re not fine,” he said with conviction. “Come on. You’re too exhausted to argue.” Without hesitation, he reached out and carefully but insistently guided her toward the couch, easing her down gently. She sank onto the cushions, wincing.
Eliot looked at her carefully for a moment before sighing softly. “You’ve got a lot of small cuts and bruises. Let me help you clean them up.” His tone was gentle, a warmth in his voice that Parker liked to tell herself was meant just for her. She has never heard him use that tone with anyone else but her.
Too drained to argue further, Parker simply nodded, trusting Eliot to take care of her; he always did. There was a reason she turned to him whenever nightmares haunted her, when she didn’t want to be alone or had an injury. She briefly wondered if tonight he would ask why she hadn’t come to him, if he’d notice her reluctance or the shadows behind her eyes.
Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment as she leaned back, the sting of her injuries sharp in her senses. Eliot moved with practiced precision, retrieving antiseptic wipes, bandages, and ointments from a nearby kit he kept in the kitchen; he was the unnamed team’s medic after all. Carefully, he began cleaning her scrapes and small cuts, his touch gentle as he dabbed away dirt and blood from her face.
“Just stay still,” he murmured gently, his voice almost a whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again, haven’t you? We’ve gone over this before. Instead of overexerting yourself during training, you’re supposed to come talk to me.”
She grimaced as he dabbed at a particularly tender bruise on her shoulder. He was right; they'd discussed this before when she fainted in his arms in the middle of a training session after not eating for twenty-four hours. If she was struggling with her feelings, she was supposed to come to Eliot, and he would help her work through it. The two had an understanding with each other unlike the rest of the team members. “It’s just… training… part of the job,” she muttered, her voice lacking conviction. Her muscles were tight and sore, every part of her aching and she regrets not going to Eliot like she promised him weeks ago..
Eliot looked at her seriously, then shifted his hand to gently hold her wrist, pressing slightly. A flicker of frustration crossed his face when she moaned in pain. “You’re not invincible, Parker. If you keep pushing like this, you’re going to get into real trouble. You’re not a machine, you’re human.” His tone softened, but his eyes burned with concern. “That should mean a lot coming from me.”
And the words do mean a lot coming from Eliot’s mouth to Parker’s ears.
He finished cleaning the minor wounds and carefully began to bandage her left wrist. “Not broken Parker, just sprained,” he said softly, his tone reassuring. Parker gives her a nod. Parker’s skin was slick with sweat, and her breathing was uneven. She was doing her best to maintain her composure, but her eyelids fluttered open as Eliot’s hands tightened the bandage around her wrist.
Once all her injuries were taken care of, Eliot paused for a moment, then gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Can I?” he asked softly, his voice cautious and caring.
She looked at him, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face before she nodded slightly. “Yeah,” she whispered.
Eliot’s fingers moved to her tense muscles, and he began to knead and massage them slowly, his touch deliberate and gentle. A soft moan escaped her lips, and Eliot couldn’t help but briefly grin at the sound. His hands were firm but careful, working out knots and releasing tension in an effort to bring her some relief. Parker winced at the pressure, a sharp intake of breath slipping past her lips.
“Sorry,” Eliot muttered, pulling back slightly. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She shook her head weakly, her eyes closed. “No, it’s… okay. It’s just… sore. Don’t stop, please.”
Eliot nods gently, even though he knows she can’t see him. He’s a little surprised that she’s allowing him to touch her like this. But he understands, trust isn’t given lightly from Parker and her allowing him to touch her like this, it means she trusts him a lot. It warms his heart, knowing she’s letting her guard down with him.
He continues to work on her muscles, his movements deliberate and soothing, each press and knead aimed at easing her tension. “You shouldn’t push yourself like this,” he said softly. “I’m not going to yell at you for what you did tonight.” He understands. “I do wish you’d come to me though. You’ve punished yourself enough for whatever’s going on in your head. Just let me do this, and wait until you’re ready to talk.”
He pauses for a moment, fighting the urge to say more. Instead, he restrains himself from mentioning that next time she trains, he should go with her; so he can make sure that she doesn’t push herself to injury or exhaustion. But he keeps those thoughts to himself, knowing she is not ready for that conversation yet.
She opened her eyes, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze. In that brief moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of how close they were to crossing a line past friendship. Neither of them were particularly skilled with emotions; they balanced on the edge of what they felt for each other, and unsure how to explain it to each other. Yet, in that shared look, it was impossible to ignore the tension and the underlying feelings simmering beneath the surface.
“Just a little more,” she murmured, her voice strained.
Eliot’s hands paused for a moment, then resumed, massaging her shoulders and upper back with slow, deliberate strokes. His touch was gentle but firm, working out the tension in her body. His mind was racing; partly out of concern on what was going on in Parker’s mind and partly out of something else he couldn’t quite name. He was used to being the protector for the team, but with Parker, it felt different. More personal. He wasn’t used to this feeling.
“Parker,” he starts to speak quietly. “I know something is on your mind. Do you want to talk about it?”
Her cheeks were flushed, a mixture of exhaustion, tangled thoughts, and the warmth of his hands. She wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat, so instead she said, "I'm trying to figure it out. It's jumbled, my head."
Eliot understood her without needing further explanation. "You're too stubborn," he whispered with a half-smile, knowing she'd heard him. He eased his hands away from her skin, leaving her feeling a slight sense of loss. "But I get it. Just promise me you'll come to me. I'll even let you win."
She hummed softly, a small, tired smile curling on her lips. “Yeah? I’ll remember that. Make you keep your word.”
Eliot sat back on the couch, his eyes fixed on her as he waited for her to make a move. Beneath his tough exterior, he cared deeply for the team, but more than that, he cared for her. Seeing her so exhausted, so vulnerable, sparked a strange sadness in him that he couldn't quite explain. “Parker...” he said softly, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words to say.
She was leaning back into the couch cushions, now just inches away from where Eliot was sitting. Her breathing was evening out, and her muscles were loosening under his gentle touch. “I like when it’s just us, you know?” the words slipped out of her mouth, soft and unguarded. Eliot froze for a moment, surprised, silent but fully present, eager to hear what she had to say. He always listened when she spoke. “You feel like home,” she added quietly, her voice carrying a vulnerability that hung in the air between them.
She doesn’t look at him, staring at the wall of monitors that are off in the dark apartment. Eliot feels a few minutes pass, as he aborses Parker’s words of ‘You feel like home.’ repeating in his head. He thinks for a moment how those four words were the nicest four words someone ever told him.
He feels Parker’s hand hover over his for a moment before hers gently falls onto his. She whispers softly to him, “You don’t have to say anything to that.” Then, she shifts slightly, letting her head fall to rest on his shoulder. “Do you think I can sleep right here for a bit? You make a comfortable pillow.”
His heart beats a little faster, unsure whether it’s her reassurance, that he doesn’t need to respond, or her question about falling asleep on him. How could he say no to it? He takes a deep breath, then responds softly, “Yeah, Parker.” He leans back more into the couch, slightly, moving to place his feet on the coffee table. And letting a gentle smile grow on his face when Parker moves her head from his shoulder to his lap. He allows her hand to go to head, letting himself start to play with her hair. “Fall asleep, darlin’. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sinners Come Down (2334 words) by foxwritescringe
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Leverage (US TV 2008)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Nathan Ford/Eliot Spencer, Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford, Sophie Devereaux & Nathan Ford & Alec Hardison & Parker & Eliot Spencer
Characters: Nathan Ford, Eliot Spencer (Leverage), (mentioned), Sophie Devereaux (Leverage), Parker (Leverage), Alec Hardison
Additional Tags: Alcoholic Nathan Ford, Minor Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford, basically the same amount as in the show during s2, placed during s2, once again! i am a Nate Guy and it WILL happen again and i am no longer sorry, this one you dont have to squint to see the nate/eliot, Tasteful Fade To Black, One Shot, Short One Shot, POV Eliot Spencer (Leverage), Bisexual Eliot Spencer (Leverage), hes the core of the team okay. centerpiece between all of them, and to me hes aromantic but we dont have to talk about that right now, anyway. servicing the underrepresented community of nate ford fanboys, which is a large group consisting of me myself and i, and my wonderfully tolerant best friend winter
Series: Part 3 of Leverage One-Shots
Summary:
Sophie's departure and the con they ran on the loan shark, Doyle, took their toll on Nate (who is not known for his ability to handle things gracefully.) Their current job is getting touchy, and Eliot follows Nate to his hotel room to try and get a handle on the situation. They both get more out of it than they expected.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
So she asks, “How do you make them?”
Peggy’s smile grows fond and sad. “Oh, did you never do that?”
Parker shakes her head. “I didn’t…None of my friends were ever into that. But it sounds fun.”
“It is.” Then Peggy’s eyes go wide in excitement, like Sophie’s does when she’s just remembered that they can go 'shopping' on their next con. “We should make them together! I’ll teach you, and we can drink wine and talk shit about all our awful childhood friends.”
or, Parker reflects on her team, through making bracelets
My first Leverage fic!!! I couldn't help myself lol
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Leverage, White Collar (TV 2009)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Characters: Alec Hardison, Parker (Leverage), Eliot Spencer (Leverage), Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke (White Collar)
Additional Tags: I just wanted my two ot3s to meet and this happened, thank you to my followers on tumblr that enabled me, Crossover, TONS of crime hijinks, neal looking at the married leverage ot3: I Want What They Have, Parker as Agent Hagen, Hardison as Agent Thomas, ot3 marriedness
Summary:
It should be a routine job for the trio of thieves- con their way into a gallery, steal the painting when no one is looking, replace it with a fake, and get out with everyone none the wiser. Give it to their clients with satisfaction and a smile. Simple.
Except the painting they steal is already a fake, marked with the initials NC in the bottom corner. Stealing a fake meant leaving their clients with nothing but a sad story and disappointment- something they couldn't accept.
With no other options, Parker, Hardison, and Eliot have to wade into the waters of New York City's White Collar division to get close enough to the man that forged the painting- Neal Caffrey.
Okay but I’m absolutely living for “eliot teaching parker and Hardison fighting” like
—
“Don’t throw a punch like that, you’ll break your thumb. Hold your hand like this.”
Eliot adjusts Parker’s fingers, patting her hand when he’s done. “And don’t lock your wrist.”
She nodded and threw another punch. Hardison ducked, slightly panicked. “The punching bag! Hit the punching bag, babe!”
“Oh, come on. You’re fine,” Parker shrugged.
“That was a good shot,” Eliot praised; Hardison shot him a look. “But next time, go for the punch bag.”
“You guys are no fun.”
“Hardison, your turn.” He took Parker’s place, standing in a fighters position. “No- okay. Fix your foot and your hand. Stand like this.”
Hardison mirrored his position and Eliot stepped closer to adjust his hand and arm placement. He looked at Hardison with a soft look in his eyes that made him blush. Parker smiled and watched them exchange glances.
