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the-phantom-author · 1 year

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Hasan Piker | Dad headcanons

I’ve done it. I made them, it took so long. Enjoy.

@starsyoubreaklikesugardust

Hasan and Skin on Skin in the hospital. He’s just this big man sipping on his juice, my man definitely passed out at least once during the birth, with his little baby boy sleeping on his chest. Hasan is also probably sleeping. Everyone in the hospital room has had a long day, but it’s a peaceful few minutes.

He’s so soft and gentle with the baby. It genuinely surprised him with how small the boy is. Like he’s seen newborns before, he even held them. But his own kid??? It has to be a Big Boy, I mean your stomach was so large when you were pregnant. So when he first held it, it blew his mind, and also unlocked the new fear of how easy it could be to harm him.

He likes to stare at you before, but now anytime he see you with the kid he actually just stops for two to three minutes to watch the two of you. It does not matter where you all are or what is going on, he’s just obsessed with his new little family.

It was decided that you would go on shifts with the kid, he’d take the day and you the night. His job makes it easy for him to be able to get up when he’s in the middle of something and take care of the kid, and it also makes sure that you're able to recover.

This leads to a lot of the baby being on stream, and Hasan has mixed feelings about that. Ultimately it’s decided that The kid can be on stream but everyone knows that his name is not to be said anywhere online. Insead the kid is called different pet names, a lot of Turkish ones.

Also when Hasan has guest on the stream, you can bet that they are holding that baby. Austen, Will, QT, Rae, everyone. He’s just a social little boy, and he loves being with people. Like he’ll babble at people when their holding him, not his father though he’s just so entranced with that man.

One of these bitches being in the streaming room, There will just be segments where he could be talking about some super serious political stuff and there is just a baby looming in the background.

The chat constantly undermining him when he says the baby needs to do something. Like they be typing things like “Let him speak” anytime they baby is on stream or “Ask him first” when Has is getting ready to put him down for a nap.

One of the most notable changes to the stream format is that there is now a section where the kid gets to talk about something random for like 10 minutes. Sometimes it’s about things he’s learned, other times the kid is just like “Cows moo '' Hasan gets so into it and loves encouraging it. Always asking for more.

Anytime this kid is on stream he’s offering his snacks to the people around him. Hasan is the only person who always takes the food, but most people take it most of the time.

Chat also freaks out everytime when He babbles into the microphone. They also lose their shit when he says his first on stream. Honestly no one’s ready.

Speaking of the baby talking, he is raised in a bilingual house. Hasan is adamant on the kid knowing turkish, you also take up learning it. The look he gives on you when you say anything in his first language. He just loves you so much.

Hasan is also obsessed with holding the kid. Like as a newborn, this kid is just in Has’s arms whenever possible. He’s holding this kid like a football all the time, it’s really one of the only holds the kid likes. He also is constantly wearing a baby carrier, he forgets that he’s wearing most of the time. He’ll go one stream and just see a chatter mentioning it and he's like ”Oh shit”.

As the kid gets a bit older the kid likes to mess with Hasan’s beard. He’s entranced with it. It’s a bit annoying at first but Hasan grows to love it, to the point of learning how to talk/rant while making faces.

I personally don’t think that the kid would have a favorite, but i do think that he would pick up on Hasan habits more than yours. Like the kid would start staring at you, he doesn’t like biting his fingernails but he does like putting his hands in his mouth.

Hasan is an arts and crafts dad.

Like he’s doing the finger painting, the macaroni noodle art, He’s making matching bracelets for all three of you. When I was in kindergarten we made these Santa Ornaments out of clay. There is definitely at least one of them.

More about those bracelets, the are from those bracelets kits that you make on you can buy at any store. They have little charms on them, one for each of you, and have little nicknames spelled on them. Hasan’s has “papa bear” , the kids says “lil bear” and so on.

Also Hasan loves putting the boy in jewelry, honestly is basically a love language at this point. He just finds so much joy in having his little baby decked out in his absurdly large necklaces. Same goes for his hats and clothes. They just drown the kid.

On the topic of clothes, Hasan loves matching his son. Its another love language of his. He’d wake up with the baby and let him out what shirt to wear, then he’d change the kid into something that matches. There are some days when all three of you are matching, not like you're all wearing the same shirt but like it's the same color scheme or shoes.

Hasan is also obviously a PTA parent, there is not a meeting he’s not at. He’d be there with his youngest attached to him, just verbally attacking others ``Valery, not only is your pie bad but your ideas are stupid. You aren't even considering the fact that there are people, children, who live outside of the district that your proposal will affect. Or did you not consider that.” and “You can’t cook worth shit” it’s a whole job in itself to get him to stop cursing when making a point.

I mentioned going to family owned/hole-in-the- wall places when dating, but when he y’all have a family? Museum trips all the time, The family owned restaurants? They know you three so well to the point of the owner treating you like family themselfs.

Everytime he walks past his kid, no matter what he’s doing, he could be on an important phone call, he’s saying to the kid. He makes it a point to always stop and say “hello” while waving. This is the main reason why his son's first steps are because he wasn't greeted when Hasan was walking past him to go back on stream. The kid obviously follows him, Hasan does see him once he’s sat down, he of course picks him up and starts to talk to him, it is then that he realizes that his kid went from one room to another without anyone helping him. He gets super excited.

It is at this point the kid becomes a little pest. He’s always interrupting everything, streams, videos, calls, whatever. He comes in shots ``Papa look” and hands him something random, leaves, rocks, cords, just random things he’s found in the house or in the backyard. He once brought him a bug that was alive, which made for a fun clip.

This kid also has this habit of running up to the microphone saying “Hi” and running off. Hasan will always run after to bring him back on stream, it's always a good laugh.

When the boy starts saying curse words, because he really is so much like his dad, you make it Hasan’s job to have the kid understand when the correct time to use those kinds of words are. It’s just Hasan getting on knees in the middle of a store to explain to his son why shouting “fuck” after dropping and breaking a container of pickles in the store is not the right time or place for that kind of language.

Big fan of mentioning the baby on podcast. He’ll be on Chadvice and say things like ”Chat you can trust me, I mean look, I’m a real man, I have family. You can trust me.” You could catch him on the Fear& podcast just holding the baby while Will keeps asking the bay for his opinions.

He is a family man, you know that he is constantly taking pictures of both you and the kid. When the two of you are napping together? He takes like five. Making dinner together as a family, he gets so many pictures, anytime his hands aren't full he’s taking one. As do you, He has the kid and is entertaining him and doesn’t release that you're up? You have so many pictures of him playing with his son and the trucks. Hasan and his son are in the pool? you definitely have like a hundred photos of that.

Hasan takes the kid to basketball practice with him, always making sure that the kid gets at least one score each time. He holds the boy while the boy has a ball in his grasp, just walking up to the basket so the kid can score. Everyone who is there makes it a big deal.

The kid not wanting to go from his crib to a big boy bed? It’s decided that the thing to do is sleeping in the bed with the kid until he knows that it's safe to sleep there alone, and on nights when Hasan is the one to sleep with the boy, you bet all 6’5 of him is scrunched up on a twin bed, it makes for such a funny sight.

#hasan #hasanabi #hasan piker #hasan x reader #hasanabi x reader #hasan piker x reader #my writing

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pistachiotalenti · 1 year

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After all this time, Dream can’t believe that he and George have actually made it. They’re a couple. Boyfriends. Partners.

George is the love of his life, his best friend, his future personified. He swears he’s gonna marry that man some day. And holy cow, he’s so overcome with the fact that George actually loves him back that he could sing his joy from the mountaintops.

So Dream gets a little restless when, months after they start dating, George has still neglected to update anyone aside from Sapnap about their relationship. And naturally, when Dream gets restless…

"You're an idiot," George laughs, smiling broadly at his phone. He turns to Dream, who lays beside him in the warm nirvana of their shared bed. "You're causing chaos."

Dream grins back, proud, and folds his arms closer to his chest. "Yes. And?"

George shakes his head. "It's chaotic."

"You say that as if you don't also like causing chaos."

"Why do you keep posting weird tweets?" George chuckles, resuming his perusal of Twitter.

"Because you like it." Dream shifts closer, arm draping across the soft plane of George’s stomach. Together, they scroll past fandom tweets and reminisce the not-too-distant memories, until the screen settles on a post from earlier on in their relationship—a blurred picture of George hiding his face as Dream leans in for an obvious kiss.

Dream beams at the sight. He can’t help it, not when he can feel the happiness radiating from the photo. And if it weren’t for the insane puff of George’s cheeks blooming in front of the screen, Dream might not have known just how big George is smiling, too.

Dream pulls back, laughing and hurling an accusatory finger at him. "See! Why are you smiling? You–"

As if it helps to hide his own giddiness, George slaps a hand to his face. "I'm not," he murmurs.

"You are! You are a freak who likes chaos. See?" Dream returns to his position from before, selfishly latching onto George, touching him everywhere he can reach. “And you were trying to make me feel weird for posting them.”

George clicks his tongue and looks back to his phone with a soft grin. "Whatever. So what if I do like chaos?"

“Soooo,” Dream starts, “are you gonna join in on it?”

George pauses and tilts his head in Dream’s direction, his dark brown hair brushing against Dream’s forehead. “What do you mean?”

It’s an innocent question, but Dream is so eager for George’s answer to his own that he gets a little huffy. “You know. Are you gonna reply to me? Post that picture you took of us the other night?” He waggles his eyebrows impishly.

George snorts, bashful. “No.”

“Okay, then just a reply.”

“No.”

Dream frowns. “Why not?”

“It’s funnier if I don’t.”

“Funny to see the fans’ reactions, or funny to see mine?”

“Mmm, both.”

Dream exhales heavy through his nose. It’s a different sort of noise, one in which George senses the genuine frustration. After a beat, George rolls over to face him, and Dream sighs again, nervous anticipation rising in his throat.

Once George gets resettled, he places a gentle hand on Dream’s cheek. Dream feels his face warm under the touch.

“Dream,” George says, “what are you so impatient for?”

Dream melts, flustered and embarrassed all at once. So they're having this conversation now. “I-I don’t know. I–” He waves his hands in front of his face as he musters an explanation. “I don’t know if ‘impatient’ is the right word. I’m just… so… this is gonna sound cheesy, but I’m just so happy. And like, I don’t even know if I’d be posting this much deranged stuff if all the fans knew about us, but I think now, just knowing that they don’t know and I can’t just be gross and sappy and disgusting about you online at any given moment… it’s like, making me really jittery. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

Dream chews on his lip and looks into George’s sweatshirt. George hums, his thumb passing over the short stubble along Dream’s chin.

“Mmm. That makes sense,” George says. “So… do you think it’d be better if we just… came out and told everyone?”

Dream furrows his brow. “I don’t know.” He exhales and meets George’s eyes, brown and searching. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” George repeats, pausing to gather his thoughts. His thumb twitches against Dream’s face. “Well, I dunno. Don’t you think it’s nice just keeping things between us for now?”

A small smile slips onto the corner of Dream’s mouth. It’s an answer that he probably could’ve predicted coming from George, a man so infamously calculated in crafting his online presence. But it’s also an answer that clears some of the fog in his own head. Dream nods, saying, “I guess there’s, like… less pressure to perform. Fewer eyes watching us and waiting for us to do stuff we wouldn’t have done before.” Dream cocks his head. “And it is sort of fun to think that we’re basically the only ones who know. Like it’s our dirty, little secret.”

George smiles back. “Yeah.”

“I think… in the end, the pros of keeping our relationship on the down-low probably outweigh the cons. But I don’t know.” Dream titters, sheepish. “I sort of feel bad for stringing along all the fans.”

George offers Dream a small smile. “We don’t have to tell them, not yet,” he reminds delicately. “It’s not like they’re entitled to knowing. And besides, the real fans already know.”

Playful, Dream rolls his eyes. “Well, clearly not. Every time I post something cryptic, I’m, like, flooded with responses from people who can’t tell if I’m joking or not. I’m getting tired of getting ratioed on my own tweets, George.”

George laughs brightly before letting his voice drop to a smooth murmur. “That’s not something you’re used to, hmm?”

“It’s not. And it’s very not-cool.” Dream frowns to himself before blinking out of his train of thought and catching George’s gaze, warm and fond. It makes Dream fumble his words. “B-but– I mean– I guess it’s fine.”

George pulls his hand down Dream’s face, fingers curling into Dream’s hair. “You guess? Changed your outlook that easily, huh?” he chuckles.

“No,” Dream answers honestly. “But I know you like your privacy, and– and I like you, so…” Dream’s eyes wander down George’s face. “I guess I can handle getting ratioed, for your sake.”

George’s hand stills, resting warm at the crook of Dream’s neck. “Good answer, Dream,” he says before pulling Dream in for a lazy kiss.

It’s like falling, each time they kiss. George’s scent and taste and touch is a body of water that Dream can dive into endlessly, with zero hesitance, reaching so deep until George is all he perceives. Fingertips ghost lightly down his shoulder, making him shiver. He barely licks George’s upper lip, and the shuddering breath George lets out against his mouth makes his head go fuzzy.

They both see stars once they lean away. "I'm tired," George whispers, looking up at Dream with sleepy eyes.

Dream's mouth pulls into a fond smile. "Then lay here with me."

George follows suit and flips on his side, settling back into the nook of Dream’s arm. Dream doesn't bother to move his hand off George's body the entire time.

“But for real," Dream says above George's ear. "If I have to see a hundred more people clowning on me for being a boyfriend-baiting simp, I’m straight up posting your nudes.”

A shocked blip of laughter bursts out of George. It shakes the mattress. He scoffs, “What nudes?”

“What nudes?” Dream mocks in a nasal voice. George responds with a small laugh, and they both nestle closer to each other, attention turning back to George’s phone screen.

Dream sighs wistfully. In the end, he supposes he can wait a few more lifetimes before the man in his arms is ready to tell the world about them—really, truly tell them, with none of the frills and silly distraction techniques.

It shouldn't be that hard, Dream decides as he presses a kiss behind George's ear. He's okay with having George all to himself, after all.

#dnf #dreamnotfound #my writing #mine #thoughts #text

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besotted-eros · 3 years

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taste of ale and towers

Eren Jaeger x F!Reader (PoC)

Summary: Your favourite patron finally makes a move, and it takes you into the sky.

Content: Unabashed fluff, some jealousy, mentions of alcohol, jealous!Eren. Scouts getting to be stupid.

You liked your job.

Drunkards, vomit, and brawls aside. You enjoyed the warm atmosphere of the tavern, with its brick walls and its crackling fire. You enjoyed sorting through the clinking glasses and bottles, hearing the bar tales from old regulars and new faces. You were meticulous about cleaning, ensuring that this was one of the only taverns in the town that didn't reek of bile and piss. Instead the scent of soft hay, spiced mead and warm bread filled the room, fighting for dominance with the crowing laughs of the patrons. It was pleasant.

Yeah, you liked your job. Especially on nights like these.

"There is NOOOOO way you're taking credit for that one, that's all me." Connie's hand pushed into Sasha's face, his brows furrowed as the tall girl slapped his hand away and shoved a finger into his cheek.

"Yoush need ta shut up, Conster. Ain't a little tyke like you ever gonna get a titan THAT big. It was HUGE!" She burst from her seat, rocking the table and throwing her hands up to the ceiling. "IT WAS THIS BIG!" the table roared with laughter as Mikasa struggled to pull her back down. You smiled along with them as you filled a tankard. You'd have to cut her off soon.

"Stop knocking over drinks Sasha, you're going to give y/n more work."

The voice cut through the thrum of conversation. You could have picked the sound of him out of a storm, or a symphony. And it made your heart race every time.

You could feel him walking towards you through the crowd, and kept your eyes down. There was a deep scratch on the counter, and you dragged the rag over it repeatedly, until a hand entered your vision. His fingers were long, the skin taunt against bone and tendon. They were the hands of a soldier. But when he rested his it over yours, they were gentle.

"Hey, do you mind if I take this for a second?" Eren asked, his mouth twisted into a rueful grin as he nodded his head back towards his friends. "Don't want things to dry up and get sticky."

He was your most faithful patron. You knew that if he wasn't off saving humanity, he would be in your tavern after dinner at the barracks. But he never drank much, nursing a single beer, maybe two over a few hours.

"Oh, I can clean it myself!" You chirped, and his lower lip twitched slightly, head tilting.

"You're busy, it's okay. Let me." He pulled it away firmly, shooting you a small smile as he turned back. You were happy to see it. It seemed as though he smiled less and less these days. But there always seemed to be at least one for you. You regretted that you weren't able to sit with him tonight, have his gaze upon you as you leaned into his heat. He had been away for a few weeks, and you missed him. Even though he wasn't yours to miss.

"God, you might as well work here 'ren" Jean drawled, and the pale haired man's eyes flicked to yours. Eren scowled at him, wiping the table clean. "Would have pretty co-workers at least." You flushed at the compliment, turning on your heel to busy yourself with needlessly sorting bottles in the shelves. You could tell the group was appraising you now.

"Watch it." Eren snapped, flicking the rag quickly to snap against the scout's cheek. Jean grinned, smelling Eren's weakness. He snatched at the rag, tugging it from the green eyed man's grasp.

"I'll return this for you." Jean grinned, sliding out from the booth and padding through the crowded chairs and bodies. Before Eren could even formulate a way to get him to stop, he was at the bar, pushing his hair back and fixating you a handsome grin.

His friends stared with awe, even Sasha hushed by the sight of quiet rage in Eren's face.

"He's just blatantly making moves on your girl huh?" Connie commented, eliciting a glare from Eren.

"Don't have a 'girl', idiot. No clue what you're on about." Eren dropped into his seat, but his eyes were glued on how Jean was leaning over the bar, long arm outstretched to gesture to a jewel coloured bottle on the shelf. He was crowding you, leaning in so close. He could probably smell the scent of vanilla and rose, and see how prettily a lock of hair curled by your jaw.

"Oh puhlease, Errrren." Sasha took a sloppy swing of her ale, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You look at her with those big ol' cow eyes, and you're here, what? Every night?" She looked around the table for validation, only met with an angry green stare as eyes of grey, blue and black averted strategically. "You don't even drink!" She rested the glass against her face, eyes closed and expression pulled into a caricature of mourning. "Oh, how will your love ever withstand this distance of 9 feet? How will you ever cross it?"

"Can you shut up and eat some peanuts or something?" Eren snapped, his face red. Armin's mouth was twitching as he fought back a smile, and Mikasa had pressed her wineglass to her lips for an uncharacteristically long amount of time, eyes twinkling over the rim.

"We're out of peanuts." Sasha was truly mournful now, pulling the bowl towards her with both hands.

"Yeah, maybe we can ask Jean's new girlfriend for a refill." Connie murmured into his hands. Sasha roared with laughter, and even Armin couldn't hold back a chuckle, looking sheepish when his best friend glared at him.

"Sorry, 'ren. But Sasha has a point y'know. You have to make a move eventually." His fingers were knit around the tall glass of mead in front of him. But his eyes were still sharp, and his smile kind.

"I'm not going to "make a move"." He replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You guys are making a big deal of nothing."

"Oh come on, just admit it." Connie exclaimed, rubbing his fingers over his dark buzz. "It's obvious she's crazy about you too. She doesn't sit with anyone else, literally just you. And it's not for the conversation, because you suck at that." Eren glowered as the table nodded solemnly. But he couldn't deny it made his heart beat faster.

"She looks at you the same way you look at her. Have you noticed that?" Armin asked, resting his chin on his hand.

Eren watched as you tucked a raven lock behind your ear, nodding as Jean spoke softly to you, his finger tracing the rim of a glass you had filled for him.

He hadn't noticed the way you look at him. He was too busy noticing how soft your eyes were, how you would always keep a place for children to sit behind the bar in case the room got too rowdy. How you'd stand your ground against men twice your size, sneering up at them in a way that was honestly intimidating. How gentle your hands were when they'd rest on his arm, laughing at some stupid joke or comforting him when he'd appear with bags under his eyes and ghosts on his breath.

"Do it." Came Mikasa's soft encouragement, nudging him from his seat. "Before Jean does."

Right as her voice met his ears, you laughed. It wasn't overly vibrant, or loud. But it was a laugh, Jean was making you laugh.

"He might kill him." Armin mused as they watched Eren elbow his way to the pair. Connie grinned, downing the rest of his drink.

"I always loved a bar fight."

"It's not that hard, when you get used to it." Jean was saying, the caramel of his eyes melting into yours as he attempted to hold your gaze. This wasn't the first time you had spoken to the tall scout, but it was the first time he had flirted so blatantly. "I could even show you sometime, could get on my back, or I could stra-" suddenly Jean's was on the ground, staring up in bewilderment as Eren made himself comfortable in the now empty stool. You blinked with confusion, lips rounded into a little o. It seemed that Eren had violently hipchecked the man off, and stolen his seat.

"You talk too much, Jean boy." He muttered. Jean scrambled up, chest expanded as he leaned in close to Eren's face.

"Say that again, Jaeger." He growled, threateningly.

"No." Eren's eyes refused to break from yours. But you could see that telltale bristling, and practically smell the pent up rage wafting from the men.

"If you boys fight in my bar, I'm going to have to throw both of you out." You warned, earning a sheepish look from both of them.

"Sorry, y/n." They said in chorus before glares snapped to each other again. You watched as Eren held Jean's gaze, and something unsaid passed between them. But finally Jean's face turned to a smile.

"Took you long enough." He scoffed, bumping the dark haired youth's shoulder as he walked back to his seat.

You looked at Eren, confusion making your lower lip press forward in a way that made his heart jump.

"Sorry about that." He mumbled, touching the back of his head. "We just... Fight a lot." You arched an eyebrow, a smiling playing on your lips.

"I can tell. But you're close."

He nodded, staring down at the drink Jean had abandoned.

"Can I get you anything? Tempt you into actually getting drunk tonight?" You removed the old glass and slid a new one into his hands. "You look like you need it."

He smiled, mouth twisting wryly. "I uh, can't get drunk."

"Oh? Why's that?"

He flexed his jaw, eyes refusing to meet yours. "Since I'm... Well a titan shifter. I regenerate too fast. As my body metabolizes it, I'm already healing. That's why Armin doesn't get drunk either." He motioned his shoulder towards the table, and as you looked over all their heads snapped away.

"That's fascinating." You said it sincerely, and met his gaze when his eyes raised. He had seemed timid to tell you. It's not that you didn't know, everyone knew. But not everyone accepted it.

"So, do you just really like the taste of our mead then?"

He chuckled, shrugging. "Yeah." His eyes flicked to yours, regarding you from under his dark lashes. "And the company."

You flushed, dragging your teeth over your lower lip. "Yeah, heard it's good here."

Eren grinned, running a hand through his hair. The fire caught the glossy chestnut of it, and you tried not to imagine what it would feel like under your fingertips.

"I like it, seeing you here." You absent-minded wiped a glass as you spoke, needing to channel the growing energy. "Makes me feel a bit..." You trailed off, biting your lower lip in earnest now. "Safe? Normal? Like things are going to be okay if I see you come through the door. The world hasn't exploded yet."

The youth had fallen silent. You wondered if you had overstepped, and raise your eyes to offer an apology. But his expression silenced you.

He looked at you with shining eyes, lips parted slightly with shock.

"I-" you began and were cut off by his hands slapping down on the counter as he leaned forward, gaze cutting through you. He was red, his cheeks like burning embers in the warm light, pretty mouth scrunched slightly to the side.

"Y/n, go out with me." He said, voice pitched and loud. You felt the tavern hush slightly, the loud drone muting as eyes turned to you. He blinked in surprise as you did, both of you caught off guard by the sudden intensity. He sat back on the stool, smile sheepish. "I uh, sorry. Will you go out with me?"

You let him stew for a moment. It was only fair, he made you wait so long for him to say those words. His smile faltered, eyes searching your face. But your lips curled into a smile.

"I'm off tomorrow."

The rap at your door was firm. You had wondered when it would happen, as you had seen Eren arrive at your door a little over ten minutes ago, staring nervously at the entry way. You had leaned out your window to watch him, the normally perceptive man oblivious to your wandering eyes. He had paced, wrung his hands, adjusted the backpack that weight on his shoulders.

"I'll be down in a second." You called, making him start and stare up at you open mouthed.

"Y/n,how, how long-?" He called up, but you shut the window quickly, holding back your laughter as you ran down the stairs, pausing to take a breath before throwing open the door.

"Hi," you said breathlessly, fixating him with a smile. He looked at you with mouth agape, eyes wracking over your form. He had only ever seen you in your typical work attire, a dingy apron tossed over an old puffed skirt, a modest button up to finish it off. So when you brushed your dark hair back off your shoulders, allowing his eyes to alight upon the soft skin of clavicle and chest. The blouse you had picked laid prettily off your shoulders, gripping onto the flesh of your upper arms. The soft cream complimented your brown skin in a way that would make Eren associate the shade with you forever.

"You... You look really beautiful, Y/n." He said finally, giving you a rougishly handsome half smile.

"You clean up well too." You replied, and he shrugged humbly The white button up was ironed with a soldier's precision, and the jacket he wore over it hugged the muscles in his arms temptingly.

"We match." He commented, gesturing to the dark green of your skirt and how it complimented the fabric of his jacket. You had chosen it because it reminded you of his eyes when the fire had gone down, right before you'd have to ask him to leave. He'd be heavy lidded, hair mussed and smelling like smoke. But would insist on helping you put up the chairs every time.

"So, where are we off to?" You asked, he turned quickly, face excited as he took a step. But then he paused, turning back around sheepishly. He offered you an arm, straightening his back. You held back a laugh at his excitement and containment of it. It was endearing, you thought as you took his arm and he began to guide you towards the outer wall.

"I uh... Made us a picnic." He said, helping you over a puddle. "Well not just me. Sasha, she made the sandwiches. But I helped." It made you flush to think that the whole regiment was probably aware of what you were doing currently. It didn't help that Eren took you over wall Rose, the basket pulley system making you cling to him under the gaze of the soldiers manning it. You stood together at the top for a moment, staring over at your district. He pointed out the barracks, and you pointed out your home. He moved closer to you to follow your pointing, needlessly close. But you liked it.

"We don't usually let civilians over like this." He whispered as he helped you into the basket on the other side. "But I told them you're special." He gave you an easy half smile.

"Trying to squeeze free booze from me, Jaeger?" You teased as he climbed in beside you. His arm was around your waist instantly, bracing as the descent begun.

"Yeah." He responded, and grinned back at him. He made the fear lessen.

You admired him as best as you could, stealing glances as he walked beside you through the forest. The dappled shade touched his high cheekbones, made his green eyes flash like emerald caught under a jeweler's light.

"Here!" He exclaimed finally, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you towards a clearing. In the middle of it was a tall, tall tower, a wooden outpost made for guards to keep an eye out for titans.

"Wait one second, okay?" Eren asked, holding your arms and placing you against the leg of the structure. He draped his jacket over you before climbing up the ladder, at a speed you thought was almost showoffish.

You leaned against the wood, listening as the tower creaked above you. It sounded like the trees that surrounded, a part of the landscape. You hugged Eren's jacket tighter to you, dipping your head to your shoulder to inhale the scent of him from the collar. It was clean, vibrant almost. A sharp smell that made you think of knives and the edge of his jaw. The fabric was coarse against your nose, obviously military grade, utilitarian in its design. But you thought of the way it would hug his slim shoulders, his muscular arms, how it would -

"Having fun?" Eren's voice called and your head snapped up to see him grinning from the entry hole. "I'm ready for you up here."

You pulled yourself up, hoping the exertion would hide the embarrassment. He helped you onto the platform, large hands firm on your body to hoist you up.

"Ta-da." He said, gesturing to the blanket laid out in front of you. On top of it he had arranged sandwiches, two glasses that had been filled with deep red wine, and a loaf you recognized as sweet bread, soldiers "desert" rations for special occasions. He had even bought candles, perched delicately in a spartan holder. "It's not much but..." He guided you over, shrugging slightly. "I hope you like it."

"I love it, Eren." You sunk down onto the blanket, grinning up at him. "Didn't know you were such a romantic."

He shrugged again, but his cocky grin told you he was pleased with himself. It became somber as he sat across from you, reclining back on his hands.

"Just don't get the chance to do this, y'know." He said softly, voice gentle enough to be carried away by the breeze. The walls were low here, and even while sitting you could see over top. The forest seemed to go on forever, a sea of shimmering greens. You felt an intimate fondness for them and with a start realised why, as you looked back towards the man sitting across from you. He held the colour of life in his eyes, verdant and vibrant.

"I'm honoured that you're using it on me, then." You replied, earning yourself a warm smile. Your heart leapt at the sight of it, and you decided that even if this was the only time you'd get him to yourself, you'd make the most of it.

"There's no one else I'd rather." His voice was genuine, and seemed to even catch himself off guard. He blushed, prettily. "Uh, dig in." He grabbed his sandwich, quickly stuffing it into his mouth.

You pretended not to watch him eat, how his tongue would dart out to wet his lips or how you could see his Adams apple bob with every swallow. And he pretended not to watch you drink, how your lips pursed on the rim, how you'd hold the cool glass against your cheek as you listened to him speak. Hours passed like that, the food long reduced to crumbs and fuel to press the conversation forward.

He spoke mostly about his friends. Stories that showcased Armin's smarts or Mikasa's fortitude. You liked how he looked when he slipped into fond memories. Eyes glossy, smile crooked. He spoke with his hands, painting scenes with every movement of his fingers. Sasha grasping Mikasa by the shoulders, Jean being bowled over by an over excited Connie. The wind would wind it's fingers through his hair. It was long, not long enough to pull into a ponytail but long enough that it stroked the nap of his neck. The sun reflected the golden threads in it, and you wondered if there was any part of the forest that wasn't a part of him.

And he listened to you as though you were a preacher saving his soul. Eyes wide, leaned forward and nodding intently. You felt seen in a way you hadn't before. Sure people had looked at you, long and hard and even leering. But no one saw you like Eren did.

"The view is beautiful." You commented after some time, standing to walk over to the ledge. The sky had painted itself an orange peel, with a glowing lemon for a setting sun. You peered over the low wall, swallowing your vertigo. Eren followed you, and after a small pause placed an arm slowly around your waist. You felt his warmth glow through you, and were comforted.

"Yeah," he said, gazing at you as though you had hung the moon. "It is."

You let your head drop, leaning it against his shoulder. Intimacy was a stranger to the soldier, something that had no place in his life. In fact, Eren was almost scared. After titans and gore, after horrors that would rise bile for even the most hardened veterans, it was your soft figure that made him speechless. He didn't know how to hold you, didn't know what to do with the elation that filled his heart at the sensation of you soft and compliant in his arms.

Should he kiss you now? He thought as your face turned towards his. Your eyes were sparkling, smile so sweet it was almost saccharine. He could see peace in your face. A soft rest, head nestled somewhere warm with only the sound of heartbeats. But before he could close the space between you, a loud squak startled you away. Eren's grip on your waist tightened and he stepped you back from the ledge cautiously. In front of you a bird burst through the canopy, rushing towards the sky as another followed hot upon its tail. You watched as they cartwheeled through the sky, shrieks loud and grating.

You placed a hand over your heart, letting out an airy laugh. "Thank you, I would jumped right over."

"Glad you didn't. " He murmured, reflecting your smile. "It would suck to have to jump after you." The look on your face was unreadable, and Eren worried that he said something wrong. He was afraid of that, to love you wrong. What else would be expected of someone like him? He didn't know how to treat a woman, let alone someone like you. What was he thinking of, trying to kiss you. You, with your radiant smile that cut through the subdued warmth of the tavern and straight into his chest.

"Should probably pack this up," Eren began, turning back to the blanket. A soft tap on his shoulder made him turn back to you, eyebrow cock with question. Only to be met by your lips, crashing into his. The force made him step back, catching you by the waist. For a moment he feared you would actually topple over the side.

You kissed him exactly how he had dreamt. Like a stormcloud, soft but full, wetting the desert of him. Your hands cradled his cheeks, tender in how you held them. Eren couldn't remember the last time he had been touched so softly.

When you broke away, he was blushing.

"I... Wow." He managed to get out, chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. "I didn't expect that."

"I'm sorry," you murmured demurely, making to step back. "It's just that..." You chewed on your lower lip, and he thought about how you were most likely tasting him. "You meant it. That you would jump after me. I liked that."

The smile spread like a wildfire across Eren's face. "I did." He said breathlessly, pulling you back towards him. This time he kissed you, fingers sliding their way from your jaw into your hair.

When your lips broke again, you wondered how you were still standing. Your heart felt as though it could break through the canopy itself, and your knees fragile enough to give under the next strong gust. Eren was in a similar state, all red face and gentle hands, feeling their way through the length of your hair. He ran his fingers through it, from root to tip, repeating the motion has the wind fought him for the chance to stroke your locks.

"Been wanting to do this." He whispered, hand going still on the back of your neck. "From the moment I first met you."

You rolled your eyes, trying to quell the fluttering that grew in your stomach. "Use more lines on me, Jaeger."

His dark brow furrowed, and he used his grip on your hair to pull you closer. It embarrassed you how heat ran through your body as he did it. "'ts not a line, y/n. I mean it." He dipped his head to rest his forehead against yours, green eyes boring into you. His hands slid down you, moving like a landslide. You felt the topography of your body would be forever changed by him, born anew by the fact he was touching you. They came to settle on your hips, and he hummed into another kiss.

"You were fighting someone." Eren said finally, and you let out a quick laugh. "No, really. When I first saw you, you were fighting someone." You felt like you were falling when you saw the expression on his face. He recounted seeing you like he recounted his friends, eyes soft and full of adoration for the memories that made him whole. "I had gone for a walk, just needing to clear my head. And all of a sudden in front of me this door swung open, and a man stepped out. Nonchalant, holding it open as he checked his watch. And all I could hear was this... Yelling." He laughed, squeezing you slightly as you leaned into him. A part of you wanted to press your face into his neck, to find how the curves of your body fit. But you needed to see his face as he spoke about you. Commit it to memory. "And then this fucking hulk of a man stumbled out, and he was *blabbering* like a kid. Just apologising, over and over again. And then you," he paused for a moment to press another kiss to your lips. "You come out holding a broom like I've held a blade, just ready to kill. And you had it up against his chin, right here." Eren dipped his head and nudged yours back, exposing the expanse of your throat. His lips found the thin skin of where your neck curved into your chin, and he kissed it. "Your hair was a mess, and the light made it look like you had a halo. No wonder the man ran." He held you by the small of your back now, dipping you slightly. Your eyes had fluttered closed as he clung to him. "And you caught my eye as you turned, God I must have looked like an idiot. But you caught my eye and you smiled. Apologised, and then thanked the man holding the door so sweetly. And I thought..." He pulled away now, blushing.

"You thought what?" You pressed, pressing into him.

"What mouth you'd kiss with. If you'd kiss hard and passionate, or soft and sweet." He gave you a boyishly handsome smile. "It's both. "

You pressed your lips to his again. And again. The sun set against your entwined bodies, and Eren had a feeling the night watch wouldn't be impressed with his request to come back over. But it didn't matter, he thought as you pulled away to smile up at him, brighter than the moon. Because this was worth it.

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janekfan · 4 years

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omg you're taking prompts?? best day EVER!!! i was thinking. season 2, where jon is complaining about some kind of illness/pain that's actually worse than he's letting on? maybe elias sends jon, tim, and martin on some kind of gay little errand and jon's either really ill or already hurt, and he keeps trying to communicate that he really wants to go back to the hotel and lie down, but they're so angry with him that they assume the worst? then, comfort :) if you don't like this i can try again!

@taylortut :D I hope you like it!

6 hours and 47 minutes.

The average amount of time it took the train to travel from the London station to Edinburgh.

And that being if they didn’t run into some sort of delay. Or hit a cow. Rupture the fuel line and be trapped on the tracks for the rest of the day.

Jon massaged his temples, shifting uncomfortably on the hard cushion that honestly might as well not exist for how much good it was doing him. Barely back from their mandatory thirty days leave after the Prentiss, Elias, the prat, sent them away to investigate the vaults beneath the city regarding the murders committed by Burke and Hare nigh 200 years ago.

And Jon really, really didn’t want to.

He’d been looking forward to sitting in the dark of his office and going through statements at a snail's pace and possibly, possibly skiving off early because he hurt and hadn’t been sleeping well because of it. The injuries left behind had been deep and damaging and he'd walked out of the hospital with a brand new cane. Leaning against the window and easing the weight off his left side, Jon tried to let the scenery slipping by lull him at least a little bit. Tim and Martin were spending the majority of their time in the dining car sampling the assortment courtesy of Elias’ generous travel budget and that was fine by him. While Martin may be better at hiding it, both of them were quite angry with him and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the next week spent in their company.

Pain exploded in his bones, waking him from his nap and he whacked his head against the window blinking hard, breathing shallow, as he gathered his wits about him and took in Martin sitting across from him.

“Tim,” he admonished, setting a cup of tea down in front of Jon and turning the handle toward him. “Should perk you up a bit; you look tired.”

“Yeah, Boss.” Tim mocked him, prodded a particularly sore spot on his side. “Drink your tea.” Jon chose to ignore him.

“Th’thank you, Martin.” He spoke low, shrinking away, into himself, and holding the warmth close to his chest, checking his watch: two hours and change. Surely it wouldn’t be this awkward between them the whole week?

Jon was often wrong and this experience would prove no different as he pushed himself as fast as possible following Tim and Martin, the tip of his cane clacking unevenly on the cobblestones. It was dark and he had no desire to be caught alone on the streets at night, sure that whatever else had complaints with them wouldn’t hesitate.

“Tim, slow down.”

“Ah, sorry, Marto.” Jon looked away, feeling the heavy weight of Tim’s gaze press down across his shoulders and he almost stumbled beneath it, catching himself and thankful he’d chosen a backpack instead of luggage. “Tired from the train?”

“I happen to be, yes.” Authoritative, eyes cast pointedly forward. “Besides, it’s a nice night. Let me enjoy being away from the Archives for a moment, won’t you?” Tim laughed, pounding Martin on the back, and the two discussed going out for drinks at the various pubs they passed along the way. While grateful for the decreased pace, Jon was isolated and alone, throat closing up so tight it was like choking, face turning hot, but he refused to cry.

He’d dug this grave. He’d have to lie in it.

Unable to stand one moment more after climbing the stairs to their room, Jon collapsed heavily to the couch, digging his knuckles into his thigh in an attempt to stop the awful seizing in his muscles. His whole body was trembling with fatigue and when Tim suggested it was the perfect time to head into the Vaults he could have kissed Martin for insisting he was too tired tonight because he knew he was only saying it for Jon’s benefit and he didn’t understand why. How could he...after all. He hated him and he still--

“Well, I call rooming with Martin and there’s just one bed. That leaves the couch for your skinny arse, Boss.” He batted big dark eyelashes at Martin, making the other man blush furiously and sputter and despite himself Jon smiled, just a little, bidding them a quiet good night neither of them would hear through the door between them.

He could tell already he wouldn’t be getting much sleep, if any at all. The pain wasn’t anything sharp anymore, just a low level throb impossible to ignore, and no amount of adjusting or staying still or squeezing his fists so tight crescent moons were bit into his palms would change that. So he laid there, in the dark of an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar city, filled with unfamiliar sounds and listened to the deep and even synchrony of his employees’ breath. More street lights kicked on, the glow pleasant if only because he could see, transforming eerie shadows into shapes he could identify. Jon nibbled his bottom lip, shifted, pushed his feet into the cushions to exert pressure? Release pressure? He wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to accomplish other than keeping himself quiet.

Dragging his bag over he dug blindly through it for the bottle of paracetamol settled at the bottom, fighting with the child safety cap and tipping too many pills into his hand. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t touch it. Not really. But hoping for a placebo effect was better than writhing in agony and Jon swallowed them dry because getting up wasn’t an option. Rigid, shivering, he pulled up the blanket, trying to take comfort in its weight and the sun was coming up by the time heavy lashes fell shut over tired, burning eyes.

“Wakey, wakey, Boss!” Jon jerked violently awake, whole body thrumming in panic and pain before he had the sense to realize what was happening and by then Tim was gone.

“Sorry Jon, I tried to distract him.” Sheepish, Martin offered up a small smile and a cup of tea, setting it on the low table beside the couch. “You alright?” He’d relaxed back into the cushions, trying to gain back any of the soft, drifting nothingness he’d finally succumbed to and failing miserably. Good lord, he wasn’t well.

“Just fine, Martin.” Rubbing away the remnants of sleep, Jon struggled upright and took a sip. “Thank you.” Strong and dark and perfect, the caffeine would help. “When, what time are we investigating the Vaults?”

“Midnight or so? There will be fewer people on the streets then.” Silence broken only by Tim’s puttering in the room settled between them. “We’re hoping to sight see, be proper tourists for the day.”

“Ah.” He hid his disappointment behind the rim of his cup. Of course they would. Of course and they deserved it. “That sounds like a fine idea.” It didn’t. He wouldn’t make it, surely. Almost choking on his tea when his jacket came down over his head, Jon sputtered and coughed, catching a glimpse of Tim slipping on his trainers.

“And you’re not getting out of it.” Martin reacted to Jon's sigh with exasperation and hurt.

"Look, Jon. I know you'd rather be anywhere than with the two of us, but try to enjoy yourself?" And while that wasn't entirely true Jon was unfortunately too much a coward to refute it.

Which is how he found himself here, now. Nauseated, Jon sipped carefully on some juice, sitting stock still in his chair and watching Martin and Tim sample almost everything on the menu. He’d been dragged through the city and while he’d enjoyed some of the history and honestly their company, the pain cast a dark pall over the day. It was only on his third try asking for a break that they passed a pub and Martin suggested supper, and not a moment too soon. Even with the cane and Jon's white knuckle grip on his self control, his leg felt ready to give way.

“Come on,” Tim cajoled, tongue loose and on his third pint. “Don’t you want to waste Elias’ money with us?”

“Not that hungry I’m afraid, but go on. Looks good and you mustn't forget dessert.”

"Martin! You heard the boss-man!" After sitting in the low light, resting for a bit, Jon felt up to a drink, enjoying how it blurred everything at the edges and dulled the worst of it so quickly on an empty stomach.

When they returned to the room for a nap prior to their excursion, Jon barely remembered passing out on the couch.

It was cold, the jacket completely useless against the underground chill and his exposed fingers were numb on the handle of his cane, on the torch. Long after this happened, Jon asked for a reprieve. They’d been down here for hours already and they had all week so with no leads they could come back another night, couldn't they? It had fallen on deaf ears and when he tried to speak up again, this time because he’d fallen more than a few steps behind, it was clear he just needed to tough it out. Obviously, he was supposed to be handling this better and he was only embarrassing himself by being overly dramatic. Gritting his teeth, Jon pushed himself faster, catching back up only to lose ground seconds later.

“I’m. I’m sorry. I.” Why was this so hard? Asking for help, for a break, to go back and just please stop standing up. “Could we. Could we take a moment? Just. I mean--”

“Spit it out!” Tim’s frustration echoed painfully in the enclosed space, bouncing off walls and striking Jon from all angles like a series of blows. “We don’t have time for whatever you’re on about.”

We don’t have time.

“Leave off, Tim.” Something caught Martin’s eye and he veered away from the pair of them.

We don’t have time for you.

Stop it.

Stop being a child.

“Of course. Yes. Push on.”

Sick with exhaustion and shaking from pain, Jon was falling further and further behind, the torch losing its effectiveness as the dark closed in, heavy, tight, suffocating. He couldn’t call out. They wouldn’t. He. They’d made how they felt clear and asking again would only be shameful. But his cane wasn’t enough anymore and it dropped from his ennervated fingers, clattering to the ground while he held onto the wall with both hands. He’d be lost here, buried here, in the oppressive black, his body saved by the End for experimentation and dissected by medical students and he didn't think he cared about being forgotten but the thought of it felt far too real. He sobbed. It echoed. And he clapped his hands over his mouth and let the tears glance off them as he slid to the ground.

He’d just hide here. In the dark behind his eyelids, stifling the pathetic sounds forcing their way up his throat and between his teeth. If he was quiet he wouldn’t be found, nothing could find him if he was quiet. Not the things scuttling around in the black, not the pain doing its level best to gnaw its way through his skin, not the overwhelming weariness clawing open his chest, between his ribs.

“Jon!” He flinched. He hurt. He curled tighter despite it. He didn’t want to be found. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. “J--Christ, Jon.” Martin’s heavy footsteps slowed to a stop on the stone in front of him, shifted nervously. “Hey, what’s. Jon? What’s wrong?”

“M’.” But it was so much more than that and he didn’t know how to explain, so he didn’t and Martin’s voice came from above him.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn't you say it was this bad? ” But he had. He had tried. Hadn’t he? After being ignored he thought he was just being needy and dramatic. Annoying. Tim had similar injuries and he was fine. Jon ducked his head into folded arms, shoulders hitching with a shaky breath. He didn’t know what to say or how to justify how bad off he was.

“S’sorry.” He’d have to stand in a moment. To continue the investigation and even the thought made him want to cry. “Just need a. N’need.” But it hurt so much and when the next breath he reached for broke open he heard Martin sigh heavily, shoes scuffing the ground and this time his words were at his level.

“I’m sorry, Jon. You. You did tell us. We just didn’t listen. Thought you were cross at being sent here with us.” A warm palm enveloped his forearm. “What do you need?”

“N’nothing. Just.” Deep breath. Relax. You’re alright. “I’ll be ready in, in a m’moment.” Thick and hoarse, he didn’t want Martin to see his face. He didn’t want to see the disgust in his. “You, you go on. Tim shouldn’t be alone.”

“And you should?”

Yes.

Yes, because he’d be fine. He was always fine.

Before he had the chance to answer he heard Tim coming back, steps angry if there was such a thing, and calling through the tunnels.

“I see, just abandon me to the spooky vaults, serve me up on a platter next time, it’ll be faster!” Jon risked a look and saw Tim staring down at him. “What the hell, Martin? Jon, sure, but you too?” And that hurt, cutting to the quick of him deep enough that he almost checked for blood. Tim didn’t really think he’d abandon him, did he? “What’s with the secret meeting?”

“We need to go back to the room.”

“What?! We’ve barely started anything!”

“Jon needs a break.”

“Of course.” Scoffed, Jon could practically see him rolling his eyes

“Tim--! No, Jon’s been. He’s tried to ask a few times and I know we’ve got work to do but--”

“It’s alright, Martin. I can. Keep going.” The crease between Martin’s eyebrows deepened. “O’or stay here until you get back.”

“No,” Martin spoke sternly, “Tim, help me get him up.” Jon didn’t think he’d ever seen such a scathing look on his face before but it was enough to shift Tim. They lifted him together and as everything stiff stretched back out fire bled into his bones and he couldn’t help but cry out, trying to collapse back to the ground and into himself. “Oh, okay, Jon. Okay.”

“Ah, it’s.”

“If you say “fine” I’ll drop you right here.” Tim adjusted his grip, tried to take more of his weight and Jon was ashamed that he let him but--

"Good lord, Jon. You're so pale." When had Martin gotten so close to him? “I’m, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” The shaking started up again when he tried to take a step and Martin had to catch him before he collapsed all over again. This was so stupid. Why was he like this? Why did he hurt so bad?

“You can’t walk like this.”

“No! No, I can! I just…nngh.” His teeth were chattering, he was shivering. Just leave him here. This was mortifying and he all but gave up, following their soft directions until he was draped across Martin’s broad back and suffering through the strain of forcing his leg far enough forward for him to get his hand under it to lift him. Off his feet and pressed against a veritable wall of warmth, Jon lost his grip on the frayed threads holding the last of him together. They unspooled, slipped from his hands, and tears soaked the back of Martin’s collar.

"You're warm." Empty, sitting limp on the edge of the couch, Jon leaned into Martin’s hand on his forehead. “Are you sick?”

“No…” Clumsy fingers clawed open the bottle of paracetamol, irrationally angry when Martin only allowed him double the dose.

“Jon.” Tone firm, Jon looked up at him without lifting his head. Didn’t think he could if he wanted.

“S’mm.” He pulled in half a lungful of air with difficulty. “When it. When it hur’s like this.” The next breath strangled him and he thought he saw Tim and Martin exchange a look, one he couldn’t interpret and didn’t care to if it just meant they were leaving him here to go back to the vaults. He didn’t bother worrying about the new moisture dripping off his chin. He just wanted to disappear.

“Jon?” There was a packet of digestives being thrust under his nose and his stomach turned. "I haven't seen you eat at all today, or yesterday for that matter. I'm not going to let you take all those pills without at least a little something."

“Mm.” He forced one down his throat and pushed insistent hands away, swallowing the medicine with some lukewarm water Tim helped him hold, gasping when they manhandled him down to the cushions, sighing when something cold eased the fire in his hip.

“Ice, should help, okay?” And Jon concurred, new tears slipped between closed lids in relief, in weariness.

“Try and sleep, Boss.”

Quiet voices tugged him up through layers of cotton. Martin. Tim. Talking. Hushed.

“...shouldn’t have pushed so far.”

“So stupid...didn’t think…”

“Shh.” Caught eavesdropping. Jon swallowed. Everything they were saying about him was true, he wouldn't cry over it.

“Hey, Jon. How’re you feeling?” Sore. Foolish. Like he wanted the couch to open up and drag him down to wherever loose change went.

“Better.” When he made to sit up Martin stopped him. “Really, m’fine.” He stayed put.

“I need to apologize, Jon. I, I was so stupid. I didn’t even think about. Well, your injuries. Caught up in myself, I suppose.”

“No! I. Martin, it, it isn’t your fault. This,” he gestured to himself and laughed humorlessly. “This isn’t your fault.”

“We should have listened.” Now Tim was sat on the arm nearest his feet. His elevated feet and his face must have shown his confusion. “Did some googling. But we shouldn’t have let it go so far.”

“It’s--” he stopped abruptly at their combined frowns. “It’s. Um. Thank you, for taking care of me.”

“How is it?” Jon looked at his folded hands, guilty.

“I’d. If I could stay here today?” He closed his eyes, waiting for the frustration, the disappointment. “Not because I don’t want to, to, I want to. I enjoy your company! I’m.” He was botching this, just speak your mind, Sims. “I’m just. I’m very tired. Haven’t been, uh, sleeping much.” Opened them again when Martin cupped his shoulder and saw understanding reflected back.

“Sure. Of course you can.”

“We’ll make a day of it.” Tim flashed the company card. “Back soon, gents.”

The day was spent watching bad daytime television and Jon dozed on and off between being plied with sugary snacks and tea and watching Martin scold Tim for throwing wrappers at the worst of the actors.

“I’d clean it up, Marto, but,” he gestured to Jon’s feet where he’d tugged them over his lap. “I’m trapped, clearly.” It was so much like old times, away from the pressure of the Archives and Elias that Jon couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this could be fixed after all. Maybe it wasn’t all lost.

In the end, they’d discovered nothing new. No evidence to back up the statement givers that inspired this whole excursion in the first place.

6 hours. 47 minutes.

It didn’t seem such a long time on the way back.

#TMA #the magnus archives #prompt #jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #strained friendships #pain #chronic pain #bad coping mechanisms

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