how very

shadowhunters. maia/jace. 4454 words. explicit. post-s2.

They look at each other for a moment, and then Jace nudges his black boot against her fire engine red one. “Hey. Do you ever think about that night?”

Maia plays dumb. “What night?”

Jace arches an eyebrow with cartoonish exaggeration, something highly suggestive in the curve of his smile. Maia huffs a laugh.

“No,” she says, then, “Sometimes. When I take out the trash.” She leans back in her chair and brings her glass to her lips, but she doesn’t take a sip. She just surveys him over the rim. “Do you?”

shadowhunters. maia-centric, maia/jace. 2789 words. for @girljustdied.

Maia hasn’t gotten back on the PATH train since the day she stepped off the platform with everything that mattered to her packed into two trash bags and a black Jansport backpack. She never missed anything she left behind. Or anyone.

shadowhunters. simon/jace. 2910 words.

Being a Daylighter made sunlight feel like a secret. It was the winning hand that changed the game, and Jace had been the one to deal the cards. That made it a secret they held between them, made it so Simon could not see sun pass through a windowpane without thinking of Jace’s blood in his veins.

the punisher. frank castle/karen page. 1k. PWP.

A notch in the edifice of a building hides them effectively enough that Karen can hear boots carrying past in the street without so much as a pause. Karen takes a shuddering, steadying breath. Her heart is racing, adrenaline and relief tangling up into something else, something that that has everything and nothing to do with how Frank is leaning so close that his mouth could touch her throat if she breathed any deeper.

There was something to seeing Jace in sunlight.

Simon hadn’t appreciated it in the days before, back when he’d been too consumed with spitting hatred over what an unapologetic asshole Jace was all the time, but, well. There were a lot of things he looked at differently now.

Like: Jace ridiculous at midday in his head to toe black leather, stark sunshine only drawing attention to how much more natural his straps and gloves and bold runes were under the cover of darkness. But he was careless of how much he did or did not stand out, flashing a grin over his shoulder at someone else that Simon only just caught. White teeth. Hair gone gold from the sun. Gray of the buildings behind them and blue skies up above. Things Simon had taken for granted, before.

Being a Daylighter made sunlight feel like a secret. It was the winning hand that changed the game, and Jace had been the one to deal the cards. That made it a secret they held between them, made it so Simon could not see light pass through a windowpane without thinking of Jace’s blood in his veins.

Simon hadn’t realized how closely he was looking until one night in the Hunter’s Moon, everyone getting drinks to drown bad news. Jace leaned over Simon’s shoulder from behind, not close enough to touch but close enough to say, soft, in Simon’s ear, “Eyes in your head, Lewis.”

Jace’s body radiated heat that Simon felt down to his bones, and his skin buzzed like he’d gotten a sunburn.

Simon turned just a little, face only tilted towards Jace’s, and said, “No idea what you mean, man.”

By now, Jace knows when they’re coming. At first it had been harder to tell, especially since he’d been so trained to push past mild discomforts. But it’s happened enough that he began to recognize the signs: first the room gets too crisp and bright, like he’d activated his vision rune without meaning to. He did that sometimes now. But next was the wave of nausea, and that was when he knew for sure that he had to get the hell out of wherever he was. Soon after that he’d be on his knees, nerves shredded with pain that had no source, just a black hole opening somewhere inside him.

“What’s up with you?”

Maia speaks in that way she has that hard and disinterested but somehow expectant, like he better answer honestly or else. “You’re off lately.”

They’re combing the streets for the demons that had emerged from a newly-opened rift, Shadowhunters and Downworlders paired off in a half-assed team-building exercise. Jace didn’t expect to find any demons. It would be a miracle if no one ended the night tearing their “partner” to pieces. 

Jace’s own voice is bland when he replies, “Gee, I didn’t know you cared.”

His jaw is already clenching, because he can feel it. His vision is sharp enough to be disorienting. 

“Casually noticing and actively caring are not the same thing,” she says. Then there’s a spike of surprise. “Hey, are you —”

Even though he knew it was coming, Jace still does not expect the sudden roiling of his stomach. He stumbles, already, too early, too fast. “Fine,” he cuts her off, jaw tight. “You should take the night off. Find Simon, or something. I can finish the route myself. It’s —”

Again his feet forget themselves and Jace finds himself grabbing for whatever is nearest to stay steady, which in this case is Maia’s wrist. Her brow furrows and she grabs for his other arm, but she does not appear impressed. “Jace. What the fuck.”

“I’m sick,” he tries. “I’ll go back to the Institute.”

Maia watches him critically. “My place is closer.”

Jace disengages, letting his back slouch against the nearest storefront heavily, glass window chilly even though his jacket. He raises an eyebrow. (Against his will, he shakes.)

Maia rolls her eyes, shakes her head. “God forbid you keel over while we’re on patrol. Your grandmother will probably put me in a more permanent glass box.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Can you walk?”

“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” he tells her, but he’s not sure that he can until he does.

Her place is close, only one block up and one block over. The stairs prove to be a problem but she hooks an arm under his and hauls him along with more strength than he has without a rune to boost it. He takes in glimpses — gray walls, cracked floors — before she’s unlocking her door and depositing him on a teal velvet armchair, the kind that’s more cool than comfortable. Jace is bent so far his forehead’s on his knees, his knuckles white as he shudders through a spasm. When it ends he unfolds, slumps back into the chair and breathes like he’d been punched in the stomach. The break is a relief, but he knows it’s not over yet.

Maia is staring at him but Jace avoids her eyes, feeling caught and stupid for not having evaded it better.

“I’ll be fine in a little bit,” he says. It never lasts longer than fifteen minutes, twenty.

Maia looks at him, lips this side of pursed, and then she says, “Okay. Water?”

shadowhunters. alec/magnus. 4k words. canon divergent AU, they meet at pandemonium before the events of s1. 

Magnus sees the Shadowhunter before the Shadowhunter sees him, but that’s typical, isn’t it?

They’re hard to miss, especially if one is attuned to the signs. It’s not just the runes that stand out sharp and black on their skin like angry strokes of a pen. It’s the way they hold themselves, the way they take in the world: cagey expressions, tensed shoulders, twitching fingers. Always ready to go. Always courting trouble.

It’s not entirely unheard of for a Shadowhunter to be in Pandemonium, but it is unusual for one to be here alone. They tend to chase their leads in little teams. Safety in numbers or threats in threes, Magnus was never quite sure.