#but it can’t just be me that mixes him up with elias right?? they did say he was doing an impression of jon so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rinniewrites · 1 year

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Ghost Stories Chap.1- No Man’s Land

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Ghost Reader (MW2 (2022) X COD:Ghosts (2013) crossover

Summary: Taskforce 141 is sent on a confidential mission where they discover Ghost isn’t one of a kind.

A/N: decided to rewrite the first two chapters because I did not like the way the story started. I combined the new ideas mixed with the old ones and made one long chapter!

Word Count: 2.8k

Task Force 141 was sitting at a booth in a bar with their usual banter. Soap and Ghost make horrible jokes making Gaz howl in laughter while Price shakes his head. “Aye! Laswell!” Soap shouts pointing his drink in her direction. “Hey boys I have a very special task for you,” Laswell says as she approaches the end of the table with a file in her hand. “Special, eh?” Gaz questions as he reaches for the file. “Top Secret.” She says pulling up a chair from a nearby table.

“I have a very good friend down in Santa Monica. He has two sons. He’s sent them on a special mission down in No Man’s Land. It is a confidential mission but his sons can’t go alone and I want you all to assist them.” “And what will we be assisting them with?” Price raises an eyebrow as he reads the file on Logan and Hesh.

Laswell glances around the nearly empty bar before turning back to the group of soldiers. “My friend, Captain Elias Walker has recently discovered that the Federation seeks to overwhelm the United States and they plan to do it using the ODIN missiles.” She explains pulling out more pictures of documents. “Bloody hell.” Gaz sighs. “Your job is to help assist Logan and Hesh in grabbing intel and finding out who is in charge of the Federation and take them out. I can have a plane ready for you by the morning to take you to their base in Santa Monica. If you are up to the task.” Laswell explains. Price nods his head, “We’ll take it.” Ghost looked away taking another shot and getting up to leave.

------------ SANTA MONICA 1400 HOURS

“Aye we should go to the pier and ride the wheel huh L.t?” Soap wraps his arms around Ghost. “Johnny gets off of me we are almost there.” Ghost grunts. They approach the entrance to the base where Elias Walker was waiting for them. He quickly scans the group of men before standing up straighter. You could see the conflict in his eyes. “Gentlemen. I am Captain Walker I run the base here.” Price fixes his hat before taking a step forward, “Captain Price. This is my taskforce 141. This is Sergeant MacTavish, Sergeant Garrick, and Lieutenant Riley.” The men nodded in greeting. Ghost could feel Walker’s eyes lingering on him. Obviously, it’s something he was used to but he did not enjoy it when people stared longer than they should.

Walker continued to talk while his eyes were still on Ghost, “I’m sending you to assist my boys in a secret mission in No Man’s Land. That’s the area where the accidental ODIN missile hit. Right in front of the stadium. The federation has turned it into a base. They already got a headstart so the path should be clear and you could meet them right at the tunnel. After you gather the intel you will meet with a very special recon team. They will help the rest of the way.” He explained to the task force. He then turns and nods at a soldier behind him that had a box of new radios. “These are the radios with special comms you will need to complete this mission.”

As the men begin to switch out their radios Walker called out to Ghost, “What’s your callsign Lieutenant?” Ghost looked back at the Captain before answering, “Ghost, sir.” Walker hums before asking a question. “You ever hear the Ghost story.” At the mention of that Soap and Gaz shoots up. “The infamous story about the Ghost Team that took on hundreds of enemy soldiers and won? I used to hear that story all the time when I was a little lad.” Soap said cheerfully. Gaz nodded. “That’s just a made-up story though right? That was only the story reported of them and it is kind of hard to believe.” Walker chuckled before turning back to Ghost, “You remind me of one, a Ghost. They wear those masks like the one you got on your face.” Ghost remained silent but was interested.

Walker starts to walk towards a jeep signaling the men to follow. “This is the truck you will be taking follow the road down until there is no more left. You will see the entrance to a forest, follow the trail and it will lead to where my sons are. Good luck soldiers.”

---------

The men finally see the entrance to the tunnel in the distance Price sigh in relief as the journey to get there wasn’t easy. He thinks back to how the ground shook as they walked on the edge causing Gaz to almost fall off the end of the edge, a deer scaring Soap causing him to curse loudly in his native language which caused Ghost to scold him resulting in a small argument almost alerting the enemy.

Once they reached the right side of the tunnel Ghost spots two people laying the grass, which would’ve been invisible to the untrained eye. Logan and Hesh stand up and train their guns at the other men. Price holds his hands up, “Sergeants, we are taskforce 141 sent by your father to assist you.”

141 quickly introduces themselves. Hesh steps up nodding at the group, “Nice to meet you all, our job right now is to head into the tunnel and gonna put this camera on Riley so he can scout the area and look for intel. We will meet with a recon team after” He leads the group to the tunnel.

As the six of them and Riley, the german shepherd walk into the tunnel, Gaz notices multiple conveys coming down. “Vehicles incoming, shifting right.” He warned. The group quickly shuffles behind rusty cars as the vehicles pass. As they get to the end Hesh puts his hand up, “Hang on. Straggler on the right, two o’clock. Take them out.” Logan signals for Riley to kill him. As Riley takes down the Soldier the team continues moving forward. “Jackpot,” Gaz says. Price looks in the direction Gaz is, “Sergeant, there is a massive enemy camp just ahead.” Hesh nods and hands Logan his tablet, “Sync up with Riley.”

Logan syncs up with Riley. The dog slowly moves forward and climbs through the entrance of an abandoned bus before continuing out of sight. “Wanna see why Riley is the most valuable teammate?” Hesh asks pointing to the tablet. The team gathers around Logan and watches carefully.

As the soldiers watch the camera they see Riley in the grass dodging Federation soldiers. Suddenly Gaz points to an area on the screen, “The guy on the trailer, you see him?” “Hold on Riley.” Hesh zooms in to see an unfamiliar man standing on the trailer as two Federation soldiers bring out someone their faces weren’t visible since the man was blocking the view. “Riley move to the right.” Riley obeyed Hesh’s orders as the captured person came into view everyone looks in confusion. Soap turned to Ghost and says, “Ghost he looks like you.” Hesh turns to his brother, “ Logan sync up the mic let's hear what the bastard is saying.”

The mic soon pics up the conversation, the man leans down to look at the masked man, “What’s wrong? You look like you've seen a Ghost.” He taunts. They could hear Ajax’s shaky voice, “Rorke?” He asks. The group listens intensely. None of them had heard of a Rorke before. Rorke signals the two soldiers to send Ajax back into the truck. The man, Rorke turns to the rest of the soldiers, “Move everything to firebase Charlie! Including him! Operation Homecoming will be on schedule!” He exclaims. Hesh curses quietly telling Riley to head back.

“What the hell is Operation Homecoming?” Ghost asks. “Hell if I know.” Price says as Riley returns. Suddenly, Hesh’s radio goes off, “Viking what’s your position? You all better double time or get left behind.” Hesh groans in frustration before responding, “Let's move! Stalker-Six, we're headed to your position. Don't start the party without us!”

The men regroup with Riley at the exit point. Riley takes off forward, barking. “What the hell Riley? Slow down!” Hesh shouts after the dog. “What’s up with the dog?” Soap asks watching Riley growl at the tall grass ahead. “It looks like he senses something.” Ghost says.

Growling was heard all from multiple directions.“Shit! It’s wolves!” Gaz exclaims reaching for his handgun. All at once, the wolves started running at the group from all directions. Ghost shot at a wolf that was heading for Logan, he nods at him in thanks. While Ghost were focused on Logan another wolf tackles him. Ghost hits it with the butt of his gun and it backs off before attacking Riley. Logan shoots at the wolf. Not being able to catch a break, the handgun runs out of ammo. The wolf Ghost shot at looking pissed as it leaps toward him. The wolf almost got a hold of the masked soldier before a man tackles it down. Two other dark figures run past him shooting the wolves off.

As Logan, Hesh, and 141 gather themselves the three new figures turn around to face them. There were two men and a woman. They wore all black but masks covered their faces. Ghost makes eye contact with the woman. You look him up and down as Keegan side-eyes you before throwing a nasty look at Ghost. Price and Gaz share a glance and Soap gawks at them. “Holy shit! You’re the Ghost team! The one from the stories! Yer real!” Ghost quickly hits him upside the head, “Quiet MacTavish.” You smile at the man with the mohawk. “You’ve heard of us before?” You smirk. Merrick scoffs before turning to you, “Noir we don’t have time for this.” He heads over to Hesh. “Do you have the intel?” Hesh stares at Merrick before grabbing the intel, “Captain Merrick? We were waiting on you, sir.” Merrick scans through the intel. Price speaks up, “ We saw a group of Feds moving a guy to Firebase Charlie. He was wearing a skull mask as well.” You glance at the tablet in your captain’s hand. “Yeah Ajax. They’re taking him to the stadium.”

Merrick nods while putting the intel away in his vest. “All right, we don’t have a lot of time. You stick with us but you listen to what I say no questions asked, understood?” There was a chorus of “Yes sir!”.

-------- Fireball Charlie 1546 HOURS

The group crouches in an abandoned building right across from the stadium. Keegan prepares a gun before turning 141. “Remote Sniper. It’s not loaded. Anyone wanna do the honors?” Ghost grabs the sniper and points it toward the stadium. You slyly scoot next to him before leaning closer, trying to match his line of sight. You hear him scoff but chooses to ignore you. “You have eyes on Ajax yet?” Keegan questioned pushing in between you and Ghost. Your face scrunches up and you gently push his shoulder. “Negative.” He briefly responds. Soap comes and sits on the other side of Ghost, “Aye, L.T. check the press box. Twelve O Clock.”

“You got eyes on him?” You questioned. “Affirmative, but they’re moving him.” Merrick grabs a grenade launcher. “We should move in.” Gaz looks at Merrick puzzled, “Move in? There are at least a couple of hundred soldiers out there. What about backup?” “Why do you think you’re here.” Merrick sneers. “Convoys incoming. Logan, Noir, Price, grab a grenade launcher and help me tag them.”

You four tag the trucks as they come by. “Convoy cleared let's move.” You reach two empty trucks and climb in. Ghost sits in the front with Keegan. Riley sits next to you sniffing the air and listening for enemies. Keegan starts the truck up before turning to Ghost. “Watch and learn kid.” Keegan begins driving across the street. “Approaching Gate,” Merrick announces. The gate was heavily guarded by Federation troops. “Blow the charges on my mark.” Price tells you and Logan. “NOW.” Trucks explode as Keegan accelerates through the gate alerting the troops in the field. “WEAPONS FREE!!”

Shots are flying everywhere as more and more soldiers come out to stop the truck. Keegan makes a sharp right causing everyone to hit the other side of the truck, nearly falling off. “Fucks sake Keegan you can’t drive for shit!” You yell trying to grab your gun and continue shooting at the soldiers. Keegan makes another turn before driving up seats and into the stadium crashing right into a concession stand.

Merrick frantically gives orders over the chaos, “Noir! Take the 141 and go find Ajax! We’ll hold them off from here and meet you on the second floor near the southwest box.” “Rog! Riley, let’s go!” You run as the rest of the Ghosts throw smoke and flash grenades. As you reach a dark hallway a flash bang goes off. “Company! One O Clock!” You exclaim while covering your eyes. Gaz pulls you cover with him. “Looks like they’re protecting the door.” You nod as you get back up shooting an enemy and throwing your knife at another that tries to crawl away. You grab a flash and throw it toward three more federation soldiers blocking the door. “EKIA. Let’s move.” You push through the doors to find the room mainly empty. Nothing but an injured enemy on the ground. The rest of the Ghosts run in behind you, Merrick grabbing the Federation soldier and holding him up.

“Where is he?!” “I don’t know!” Keegan notices Riley sniffing the ground, “Riley’s got his scent let’s go. Merrick slices the soldier's neck before following Riley.

Riley leads them to a slightly open shutter door. You give Ghost a smoke grenade. “Smoke ‘em.” As the room begins to fill up with smoke, soldiers start piling out Soap and Gaz shooting at them until no more came out. Once you make sure the room was cleared you continue to follow Riley. You walk in between Soap and Ghost. “Dogs are really intelligent and easy to work with I believe every task force should have one.” Ghost huffs out a breath that you think counts as a laugh. “Johnny’s fuckin’ terrified of dogs almost pissed his bloody pants once when he thought a pitbull was chasing him.” You hold back your laugh to save Soap’s pride. “Oi, L.T. don’t go around telling my business you fucking clipe.”

-------

Riley leads them to a clubhouse door. Price steps up and puts his ear to the door. “This must be where they’re holding Ajax. Gaz, help me smoke them out.” as soon as they throw the gas you all rush in, quickly clearing the room of Federation soldiers. “On Riley, he’s found Ajax.” The room was dark but you could hear Ajax’s haggard breath. You turn on your flashlight to see Ajax beaten up and bloody, barely clinging to life. Keegan rushes over and takes his mask off, holding him up. “Come on Ajax stay with me.” He feels blood on his hand as he sits Ajax up. “Shit it’s bad.” Your heart dropped as you see your teammate, an unbeatable Ghost, dying in Keegan’s arms. You don’t cry though, you know how dangerous this job can get and the many sacrifices that will come. But it doesn't stop you from feeling anguished.

Ajax gasps for air and spits out blood. His lips quiver as he tries to speak. “Rorke, it's Rorke… Look at the wall... Look. He’s targeting…” He suddenly stops moving. “Ajax!” You call out. “He’s gone.” Merrick curses loudly. Price and Gaz take off their hats in respect. Hesh takes your flashlight and walks to the wall. “Holy shit.” Ghost walk towards him. “What is it?” Hesh calls out, “Merrick come see this!” The rest of you (besides Keegan) stalked toward the wall. The wall displays a bunch of notes in different foreign languages. Pictures of the team are scattered all around. You see a picture of Ajax with his face crossed off and his mask hangs by the photo. Merrick takes the mask down and holds it in his hands. “Rorke, he’s targeting Ghosts. This is a kill list.” You stare at the candid photo of you. It was you talking to Ajax a few months back outside the safe house in Rio De Janeiro. Next to the picture was a blank face photo with question marks on it. Showing that they did not know what you looked like behind the mask. Ghost asks the question most of you were thinking. “Who the hell is Rorke?” He got no response.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #COD Modern Warfare 2 #cod ghosts #cod x reader #simon riley

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decadentpaperduck · 2 years

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siiiince you're accepting eddie requests i figured i'd ask for a hurt/comfort where eddie survives after the events of vol 2 but it like really freaked the reader out so he just kinda assures her that he's okay and it's fluffy hehe

ilysm tj!!

1.2k of ramble status fluff?? It's not perfect, it is in fact my first Eddie Focused Thing!! So, let's hope there's more and I can get some practice in?? Warning: Blood, fluff (what a mix?? hahaha), friends to lovers and ily too elia!

Eddie begged you to stay behind. He told you it wasn’t your fight, wasn’t your problem. You’d forced a laugh when he confessed he barely wanted to go. Your sweet best friend, whose strong suit was not confrontation. He wanted a simple life. A contrast to a chaotic childhood.

But this fight was different. It was his chance to save Hawkins with the help of one of his best friends, and maybe some new ones. They were going to put things right. He was going to put things right.

You let him go. But you demanded you were allowed to guard the gate. He relented, of course he did, he couldn’t say no to a face like that. You called it a compromise, exchanging a pinky promise with a grin. “You can’t come with us, but you can guard the gate.” Part of him relished extracting something fun from such a sombre scenario.

“Deal.” The promise ended in a hug. A rare ending for a pinky promise. But it felt apt.

You had, however, underestimated the agony of faintly hearing everything and seeing virtually nothing, whilst standing at the gate.

You smile softly, with faint glimmer of pride as he plays the guitar. It’s bitter-sweet as you realise he has just declared himself bait. You begin to think they should have debriefed you a bit more on the plan.

Pain ruminates through your skull as your furrowed brow causes you a headache. You faintly see blurred shapes pass over the gate. You swallow your fear. You wonder how Eddie feels, you hope he’s not too scared. Henderson brings out the best in him. When the song stops, you hold your breath. There is a drawn out deafening silence and your stomach churns.

Your pacing around the haphazardly-tied-together sheets, dangling from the Upside Down. Eddie never said anything about coming after him.

By the time you have run over every possible turn out, every eventuality, you hear Dustin scream. Your heart drops. He doesn’t just scream. He screams for Eddie. Your heart is racing as you wonder about the other, indistinguishable, warbled noises. Your chest heaves. Tears are in your eyes. You can hear the suffering.

“He wasn’t made for this.” You whisper. He was a solitary creature, he was a sensitive soul. The idea that something has happened is causing panic to run like an electrical current through your veins. It’s painful, but its pumping adrenaline around your body.

The world seems to stop as you see Eddie and Dustin in the image of the gate above you. Dustin is holding him up, he is bleeding. The gasp that leaves your body is low and almost causes you to choke. “Get up here. Now!” You rush to put the mattress down on the floor and clear the surrounding space.

Time seems to go so slowly as you rush around the trailer to find something for the blood. The commotion of Eddie and Dustin trying to get back to the real Hawkins is clashing with the noise you’re making in a bid to source the First Aid Supplies.

As you wrap your hands around some lame bandages, you turn around to see Eddie on the mattress and Dustin beside him on the floor. They are armed with less than they went in with. Your heart aches.

You rush to the other side of Eddie.”What happened?” You look over his body. He’s shaking. “Dustin, find me a towel! A clean one.” A laugh sneaks past Eddie’s lips amongst his tears. “Don’t laugh! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?” His famous expressive eye brows melt your panicked persona.

“Eddie.” Your voice wobbles. Your face is wet. You hold his hand and place on your heart, beating at least seven times faster than the average heart rate. You close your eyes and miss his stunning smile. He resists the urge to make a comment as Dustin leaps into action.

“Two towels, both hopefully clean, one wet, one dry.” You open your eyes and blink away the tears.

“Right. Thanks Dustin.” You try to breath evenly as you take the wet towel from him and dab away at Eddie’s wounds gently. Eddie watches with admiration and hope.

Dustin follows her actions, mopping up the blood, a gruesome watercolour. Eddie flinches at the dry towel, its texture unwelcome against the drying blood. He grimaces but he pushes through. For you.

You can’t sit still. You’re dabbing, wiping, cleaning, getting water, pacing. You are worried nothing you do will be enough.

Your breathing is still outrageously laboured as Eddie is positioned upright on the couch, a bandage round his middle, the situation a lot calmer than it was moments before. You fold your arms and gaze at him from the doorway. Dustin nudges your side.

You take the hint and approach Eddie. You slowly sit beside him, taking care not to move the couch too much. “Hey.” You utter softly. Dustin retreats to the other room. He is beat.

“Hey.” His hand covers yours as it rest on the sofa, palm down. “Am I that scary?” You laugh and shake your head, looking down at your hands together. His, dirty, yours lightly stained with his blood. “I did it.” He whispers.

“You did it.” You match his volume and his enthusiasm equally. “God, Eddie are you going to be okay?” Your face contorts, tears returning.

“Of course. Look at me. I’m unstoppable.” Those eyes of his were gleaming with the emotion of it all.

“That you are.” He picks up the hand he covers, and places it on his heart, emulating your earlier action. You smile gently. “Feel that?” You nod. “It’s beating pretty quick huh?” The edge of his mouth lifts up. “That’s a sick man.” You frown and lean forward, searching his body for extra wounds or bleeds. “No, no!” He laughs. “Love sick.” You look up into his eyes and your whole body seems to relax for the first time in days. “I had to make it out.”

“You’re so cheesy, Munson.”

“Hey!” He raises his voice sightly and pouts, dropping your hand. “You did it first.”

“Oh Eddie.” You bring your hand up to his face but before you can touch him, he seizes your hand in his once again. He kisses your hand with his eyes closed.

“Oh you.” He murmurs against your hand. “I will never get enough of these healing hands, babe.” You flush as the pet name, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before.

“I can’t believe your kissing my hand before you’re kissing me.” You roll your eyes and before you can laugh, he pulls you into him, millimetres from your lips.

“My mistake, my lady.” You giggle at his eccentricity, as always, and he muffles your laughter with a kiss. Your eyes flutter closed and he strokes his fingertips up your arms, making you shiver. He breaks away first with a smile.

“I almost lost you.” Your foreheads are pressed together. “And I never told you-”

“Hey.” His finger ghosts against your lips. “You did.” He smiles and moves to stroke your hair. “Just not with words. I should have been watching out more.”

“Thanks to me, we have a bit more time to say it.”

“We do.” The pause is warm and wonderful.

“I love you Eddie.”

“I love you.”

And you share another gentle kiss in the artificial glow of Eddie Munson’s trailer. Awaiting the return of his friends. Relishing in the surge of love.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #spoilers #stranger things spoilers #fluff #blood #love #friends to lovers #emo #request

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bex-la-get · 3 years

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A Second Chance (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 2

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Natalie Cusack

Word count: 2175

Summary: While the hospital reels from the assassination attempt, Ethan gets his miracle. Sequel to What If...

Author’s Note: So @adiehardfan asked if there would be a part 2 to What If and at the time, I wasn’t sure but this came to me the other day and I thought this would be the perfect sequel piece after I ripped your hearts out (sorry about that, by the way). Enjoy! 😘

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. Nor do I remember the specifics from Chapters 10/11 in OPH Book 2. Any and all mistakes are my own. Thank you.

Please, he pleaded silently. Let her live. We have so much lost time to catch up on. Please. Let. Her. Live.

Ethan watched Natalie breath, her chest moving slowly as it rose up and down. He could tell she was struggling, growing weaker by the moment; but he could also see that she was fighting it. Fighting to get oxygen to her lungs, fighting to make it until morning, fighting to stay alive. He brushed some loose hair behind her ear and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of her breathing and silently praying that the combined efforts of Edenbrook and Mass Ken would be enough to save her.

He didn’t sleep that night. Too concerned of what might happen if he closed his eyes, Ethan stayed awake through the whole night, watching Natalie’s breathing and monitoring her vitals. He briefly stepped out of the room to splash some water on his face and wipe away the stray tears that were still sliding down his cheeks but that was the farthest he would be away from her. He refused to leave the room otherwise.

At around 3am, Harper and Naveen arrived with a couple and a young man; Ethan could only assume these were Natalie’s parents and brother.

“Ethan,” Naveen said on the other side of the door, “Dr. Cusack’s family is here.

Ethan nodded, stepped out of the room, and quickly changed out of the hazmat suit to speak with them; he stayed close to the entrance, however, and kept an ear out for the systems monitoring Nat’s vitals. He didn’t want to miss anything crucial while out of the room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cusack, I’m Doctor Ramsey. It’s good to meet you, though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

The Cusacks shook his extended hand and he turned to Natalie’s brother, greeting him as her mother, Julie, spoke. “Likewise, Doctor. Is there any update?” Her green eyes were filled with concern and worry and Ethan’s heart tightened.

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid. But we have a team working around the clock on a cure; some of the best doctors in the country are working to help your daughter,” Ethan answered.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Vic, as he had introduced himself, asked.

Naveen shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not; but thank you for offering.”

Vic’s shoulders deflated somewhat and his father wrapped an arm around him. “Thank you for watching over her, Doctor Ramsey,” Elias said, his voice quiet.

Ethan nodded. “She would do the same for me; for any of us.”

Elias smiled sadly. “That’s just like my Nattie.”

Julie sniffled and gazed at her daughter through the window, her eyes wet with unshed tears; Harper laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we wait in my office? You’ll be comfortable there and it’s close by so we’ll know when there’s updates.” Julie nodded in agreement and the Cusack family quietly said their goodbyes, following Harper down the hall.

Naveen rested a reassuring hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “How are you doing, my boy?”

Ethan shook his head and swallowed back a sob. “Not good.”

His mentor gazed at him sadly. “I wish I could reassure that she would be okay, but I cannot in good conscience say such things. But I do want to believe them.”

Ethan nodded and sniffled. “Me too.” He looked back through the window where Natalie was fast asleep, her chest rising and falling with every breath. “I can’t lose her, Naveen,” he said, quietly. “I-- she’s everything to me. I don’t know what I’m going to do if she doesn’t make it.”

Naveen squeezed his shoulder. “We have to believe she will make it, Ethan. Thinking otherwise will only drive us crazy.”

“I know; I just feel so useless. I can’t help with the cure and I can’t do anything for her in the meantime.” Ethan could feel the tears welling up again but he fought against them. Crying wouldn’t help anything right now.

“Being there for her in her hour of need is doing more than you can possibly imagine, Ethan. Trust me.” Naveen paused for a moment before speaking again. “Does she know how you feel?”

Ethan nodded solemnly. “I told her before she fell asleep. I just wish I hadn’t waited so long. I should’ve told her a long time ago, from the moment I knew.”

“We all have things we wish we could have done differently or sooner. The important thing now is that she knows.” Naveen squeezed his shoulder again then stepped away. “Go. Be with her. We’ll let you know when there’s news.”

“Thank you, Naveen,” Ethan said, making his way back into the quarantine area.

“Ethan,” Naveen said. Ethan turned to his mentor, finding a sad smile on his lips. “Assuming she makes it and they can make a cure, I hope you won’t let her go.”

Ethan shook his head. “I’m never letting her go again,” he said, resolutely.

Naveen nodded and watched as Ethan once again dressed in the hazmat suit before returning to his place at Natalie’s side.

------------------------

It was nearing six am when several members from both the Edenbrook and Mass Ken teams appeared at the window of the hospital room. Ethan’s heart pounded at their appearance, trying not to let his fears get the better of him. Please be good news, please be good news.

“Well?” Ethan asked, his throat going dry.

Tobias looked to Elijah who grinned and held up a small vial in his hand before handing it to Baz. “We did it. We were able to synthesize a cure!”

Ethan barely held back a sob as he watched Baz and June suit up and join him in the room. “What about the EMT? Rafael?”

“He made it through the night,” Tobias confirmed. “He’s being administered his own dose as we speak.”

Ethan nodded, fighting tears. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. “All of you, thank you.”

“She would’ve done the same for any of us,” Elijah said, looking at his sleeping friend sadly. “I just hope we did it in time.”

Baz and June administered the dosage to Nat and Ethan swallowed hard. “Only time will tell.”

--------------------------

“Nat? Natalie. Can you hear me?”

Natalie’s brows furrowed as the familiar voice pulled her out of her deep sleep.

“Natalie,” the voice said again. “Please Nat, wake up.”

She groaned and slowly blinked her eyes open, squinting through the bright lights of the room. She looked for the source of the voice to find him sitting next to her, a look of worry on his face. “Ethan?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

Ethan released a sound that was a mix of a sob and a laugh. “Oh thank god,” he said.

Her eyes adjusted to the room around her and she realized he wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit. Her eyes widened. “Ethan, you’re-- you look… normal. What--”

“Elijah and the joint teams synthesized a cure,” Ethan said, helping her move to a seated position in the bed. “You’re okay; the toxin is gone, completely.”

Nat took a shaky breath. “And Raf?”

“Also alive and okay, though he was in rough shape by the time his dosage was administered. It’ll take longer for him to recover but he will recover. You both will.”

Natalie felt tears welling up in her eyes. “Does that-- does that mean I can kiss you now?”

He gave her a watery smile and nodded. Without waiting another moment, Natalie pulled Ethan towards her and kissed him soundly. He cupped her face with his hands and returned her kiss with equal fervor, ignoring the tears slipping down both of their cheeks. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

She broke away to cough out a sob and buried her face into his shoulder. He held her tightly and kissed the top of her head, letting his own tears fall freely. “I love you too,” she said through sobs. “I was so worried I wasn’t ever going to be able to tell you again.”

“So was I,” he sniffled. “I love you, Nat. I love you so much. I’m never going to let another day go by without telling you that.”

She looked up at him and wiped some tears away from his cheeks. “Us until the end of time, right?”

He smiled and nodded. “Until the end of time.” He sniffled again and placed another soft kiss on her lips. “Your parents and brother are here; they’ll want to see you. Are you up for visitors?”

She thought for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I am.”

“Okay, let me go get them.” He placed one more kiss on her lips, this one lingering for a long moment before he broke away, kissed her forehead, then left the room. Nat adjusted herself in bed so she was sitting up fully then waited for her family to arrive.

Less than five minutes later, her mother practically burst into the room, making a beeline for her daughter. “Oh Nattie,” Julie said, when they locked eyes.

Unable to hold back the tears, Natalie began crying, falling into her mother’s tight embrace. Her brother and father quickly joined the hug, holding onto each other tightly, crying tears of relief and happiness that Natalie was okay. She was safe. She was alive.

Ethan stood outside of the hospital room, taking steadying breaths and trying to control the tears that kept slipping out. He was exhausted and was holding it together just enough so he wouldn’t collapse from relief. He sniffled and ran his hands through his hair, sending a silent thank you to the gods that listened to his previous pleadings.

“Ethan?” a voice said.

He turned to the source to find Tobias looking at him, an inscrutable look on his face. “Tobias, hi.”

“Are you okay?”

Ethan glanced into the hospital room where Nat was giving her family a watery smile and looked back at Tobias. “I am now. I--” he hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer to his old friend. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did. I-- you gave her-- me-- us a second chance. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words how much that means to me. How grateful I am.”

Tobias smiled. “It was my honor to help, Ethan. Natalie’s a good doctor, and an even better person. This world is better with her in it. You’re better with her in it.”

Ethan’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Yeah, I know.”

Tobias rested his hand on Ethan’s shoulder and squeezed. “I know our past has been rocky and this year has had its own struggles and difficulties; but I’ll always be around to help if you need it, Ethan. No rivalry or competition will ever outweigh our duty as doctors… or my loyalty to an old friend.”

Ethan nodded thoughtfully, feeling a twinge of fondness for his old friend and [former?] adversary. “Thank you. And the same stands for me.”

Tobias smiled again and he stepped away. “I have to get back to my own hospital and patients. But I’m glad to see she’s doing better.” He nodded respectfully to Ethan. “See you around, Ramsey.”

“See you around, Carrick.”

As Tobias disappeared around the corner, Ethan looked back through the window to find Natalie gazing at him, a fond smile on her lips. He returned her smile. “I love you,” he mouthed.

Her smile grew and she mouthed “I love you too” back to him.

His heart thumped in his chest as he locked eyes with her for a long moment before her attention was called back to her parents. He stood outside the room for another moment debating on whether or not he should stay when a new voice caught his attention. “Are you doing okay?”

He looked to the source and smiled at Harper. He nodded. “Yeah; better than okay.”

She smiled. “Good, I’m glad to hear it.” She looked him over and raised an eyebrow. “Did you sleep at all last night?” Ethan shook his head and Harper nodded knowingly, her lips pursed. “I can tell.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” she said, smirking. She stepped towards Nat’s room and gestured forward with her chin. “Go clean up; and maybe take a nap while you’re at it. Or at least get some coffee in you; I know you too well to think you’re going to sleep right now. I’ll keep an eye on Nat for you in the meantime.”

He looked down at his rumpled clothing and chuckled. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Thank you, Harper.”

She smiled. “I’m happy to help. And I’m happy to see you happy. It’s a good look for you.”

He chuckled. “I’m just glad I have a reason to be happy.”

“We all are.” She glanced at Nat and smiled. “She’s one of a kind, that one. You hold onto her.”

Ethan gazed back at Natalie and smiled. “I plan to.” Forever.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @paulfwesley @ethansdique @openheartfanfics @perriewinklenerdie @little-flowers-on-heaven @stateofgracious @coffeeheartaddict @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @mm2305 @gryffindordaughterofathena @actuallybored @writer-ish @queencarb @takeharryandgo @lsvdw-blog @itsjustwinter @imaneditorthankyouverymuch-deac @chaoticchopshopheart @ohchoices @maurine07 @oldminniemcg @parisa-kh @shanzay44 @uberamsey @izzyourresidentlawyer @adiehardfan @custaroonie @mia143 @a-crepusculo @takemyopenheart @toadfrog26 @quixoticdreamer16 @barbean @headoverheelsforramsey

#bexwritesstuff #open heart book 2 #open heart fic #ethan ramsey #natalie cusack #ethan x natalie #ethan x mc #open heart mc #open heart fics

71 notes · View notes

bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Six: mixed reunions Words: 4.2k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin, Daisy & Basira Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Basira seems happy to see you, Jon writes.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of gun and knife violence, mentions of death/murder, mentions of blood)

Stars are just beginning to fill the sky when there comes a knock at the door—two crisp taps, unhurried, but with a heavy insistence that has Martin standing from the couch quickly, mumbling, “I’ll get it,” and crossing the room while Daisy and Jon watch from where they’re still sat on the couch.

“Hel—oh, yes, come in,” Martin says as he opens the door and Basira immediately pushes past, her eyes scanning the room in front of her with a firm intensity. “Nice to see you too,” he mutters as Basira’s eyes find Daisy, and a wide-eyed expression crosses her face so quickly Jon can’t pin down what it’s meant to be.

“Daisy,” Basira says, and then she’s across the room and standing in front of Daisy, hand halfway outstretched towards her. “It’s… it’s really you?”

Daisy’s hand twitches where it’s clasped in Jon’s. He gives it a subtle, reassuring squeeze. “It’s really me,” she says quietly.

Basira’s eyes scan Daisy’s face, the outline of her body, as if searching for imperfections. After a moment, her eyes find Daisy’s again and she nods, as if confirming something for herself. “Right,” she says, retracting her hand and dropping it to her side. Next to him, Jon can feel Daisy tense slightly, though her face remains carefully calm. Basira takes in a deep breath, lets it out, then steps forward and wraps her arms around Daisy’s shoulders, bending down at an awkward angle to do so.

Daisy goes rigid for a moment before softening. Her hand slips out of Jon’s as she tentatively returns the hug, her hands ghosting across Basira’s shoulder blades and her fingers tracing the hem of Basira’s hijab. Basira exhales again sharply, gripping Daisy a little tighter as she does so, and says, “I thought you were gone.” Her voice is even, but there’s a layer of desperation underneath it that makes it sound choked at the edges. Jon suddenly feels very out of place, and he tries to subtly shift towards the other end of the couch to give them space.

“I was,” Daisy says, voice muffled by the fabric of Basira’s hijab. “But now I’m not.”

Basira laughs a bit unsteadily. “Right,” she says again. “I… I wondered if you were back. Didn’t want to think about it too hard, though. Just in case.”

Daisy is quiet for a moment. Then, so quietly Jon almost doesn’t hear, she says, “I’m sorry, Basira.”

Basira grips her tightly for a moment more, then pulls back so she can study Daisy’s face. “Don’t be. You didn’t force me to do anything. I made you a promise, and I kept it. That’s just how it was.” She exhales slowly. “Besides, none of that matters now. You’re back, and that’s a good thing. God knows there’s enough that’s wrong in the world right now.”

Daisy sits very still, a strange sort of tension keeping her rigid. “You’re… not angry?”

Basira frowns. “No. It was hard, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t you, Daisy. You were trying to be better, before, but you did what you had to, and so did I. It’s just how it was; no point in being upset about it.”

Daisy looks down at a point just beneath Basira’s eyes. “Yeah. No point,” she echoes. After a moment, she says, “You’ve been… okay, then?”

Basira’s lips purse. “I’ve been managing. Finding my own way. Dealing with…” She waves her hand in the air, an encompassing gesture, and Jon doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick over to him. He’s not particularly fond of it, though he fights back the scowl. “It’s been a mess.”

“You said it’s been bad,” Martin says, coming up behind the couch with four mugs of tea carefully balanced in his hands. He passes the first one to Jon with a thin-lipped smile, then to Daisy and Basira in turn. “What does that mean?”

Basira sighs and blows across the surface of her tea in an attempt to cool it. “Well, after you… reset the world? Which we’re going to have a long conversation about, by the way.” She looks pointedly at Jon, who looks pointedly back and takes a sip of his tea to hide his glower. He’s still a bit irritated about the whole… group decision situation. Maybe more than a bit. “I woke up in the Institute, still sitting at the same bloody desk I’d been working at when everything went to hell. I knew something was off straight away, because that feeling of being watched? It just wasn’t there. Didn’t matter how, didn’t matter why—it just wasn’t. So I assumed that the plan worked and the Fears were gone, but I didn’t know yet that we’d been thrown back in time or whatever. Got up and started looking around, trying to figure out where Georgie and Melanie went. Yeah, it was weird that everything looked the same, but I’d seen weirder.”

Basira takes a long sip of her tea. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Daisy shift, setting her still-full mug on the side table and tapping her fingers on her thigh in a rhythmic pattern. He thinks, for a moment, about reaching out, but instead, he just curls his fingers tighter around his own mug. “The place was pretty empty,” Basira says finally. “Before the change, the blood and stuff was all cleaned up about a week after that last attack on the Institute, and then it was just me and a few others. Rosie, a couple of people from Artefact Storage. The people who’d survived and who weren’t smart enough to just… stay away. Rosie was still at her desk. She looked like she’d seen… well. She looked like she’d seen what the rest of us had seen. And…”

Basira exhales slowly, and for the first time, she looks… hesitant. Like she’s not sure she should continue. After a moment, Martin says, “And what, Basira?”

Basira looks down into her tea, her jaw set. “And him. Elias. Jonah. Whatever. Just… sitting behind his desk when I opened the door to his office. Like nothing had even fucking happened.”

A shock of something simultaneously icy cold and red-hot laces up Jon’s spine, and he nearly drops his mug. He looks at Basira with wide eyes, even as he thinks that it makes sense, of course it makes sense, everyone who died while the world was wrong came back, of course he would too, why would it be any different. He remembers the sensation of the knife tearing its way through Jonah’s throat, the heat of the blood as it had dripped down his hands and wrists, tries to juxtapose the image of Jonah lying dead on the Panopticon floor with the image of him sitting alive and well and breathing behind his desk once again, and feels sick. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until the exhalation rips its way harshly out of his throat like it’s been punched out of him. He barely feels Daisy’s hand as it wraps around his, barely feels it as she takes the mug of tea from him and settles it on the floor so it won’t spill. He registers the brush of another hand against his arm, and he hears Martin’s voice from beside him, saying with concern, “Jon? Breathe, love. It’s all right, just breathe.” Then, to Basira: “Christ. He’s alive?”

“Was alive,” Basira corrects, and just like that, all of the air crashes back into Jon’s lungs and he takes a deep, rattling breath, his eyes focusing on her face as it twists into something that might be called a smile if one were being generous with the definition. “I… I didn’t really think. Just pulled my gun and pointed it at him. No Eye, no contract. No reason not to kill him. I wasn’t planning to shoot him, not really, but then he started rambling about- about apotheosis and failure and second chances, trying to convince me that there was no need to be hasty, that we could work something out. Called me Detective again. Just the same slimy bullshit, but without all the bravado and without the collateral.” Basira sighs and looks up from her tea, glancing at Jon with something unreadable on her face. “Melanie was pissed that I didn’t let her stab him.”

Jon makes a choked noise that he thinks, after a moment, might be a laugh. It’s devoid of any amusement, though, and might be bordering on hysterical. Beside him, Martin says quietly, “Shit. Well, uh. That’s… that’s good, at least?”

Basira grimaces. “Sure. It’s great that the bastard’s dead—again, I guess, assuming that you did kill him before everything went back to normal—but things are still a disaster back in London. I’ve been trying to keep them from tearing down the whole Institute, though don’t ask me why I even care about the place after all this. People are angry.” Basira taps her fingers on her thigh in thought. “It’s… probably for the best that you guys ended up out here, actually. Things haven’t been good for the people in charge of domains. They got ahold of Simon Fairchild, and it… it wasn’t pretty. There’s been some chatter about leniency towards the less actively malicious former avatars—I think that came up after they found Callum, actually, which… yeah, that’s a whole thing—but…”

Basira shrugs. But people wouldn’t be so forgiving towards the person who ended the world, Jon thinks with a wry, twisting feeling in his stomach. He fiddles with the notebook where it sits on his lap, but he doesn’t open it. After a moment, Basira continues, “So that’s the state of things, basically. Even though everything’s technically fixed, there’s still a lot of damage, and Georgie, Melanie, and I have been handling it as best we can. Though I think Melanie’s of the opinion that we should just let the entire Institute burn. She’s probably right, but…” Basira shrugs. “It’s just a building full of scary stories now. Might be able to make some use out of it.”

“Right,” Martin says with a sigh. “That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Basira says, sounding weary. “It’s… it’s nice to have a break. To just appreciate the fact that everything’s better now, you know?”

Better for us, Jon thinks bitterly, and he can feel the edges of his mouth twitching into a scowl that he forcibly represses. He doesn’t think pointing out that they’ve condemned an infinity of other worlds to suffering for their own peace of mind would be beneficial, given they’ve already driven that argument into the ground and then some. Besides, he thinks as he rubs his thumb over the spine of the notebook, that would require him to open the notebook and writing it down, and Basira doesn’t know about his voice yet. He’s too tired to hear whatever surface-level pity she might be able to conjure up for him.

“I’ve missed you, Daisy,” Basira says, an increased vigor in her voice as she turns to face Daisy. She looks like she wants to reach a hand out towards her, but she doesn’t. “It’s been… hard. Being alone with all of this. I’ve had Melanie and Georgie, but I… I could use my partner.”

Daisy stares at her for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is slightly more hoarse than usual. “You want me to come back to London with you.”

Basira nods, a slight frown forming on her face. “Do you… not want to?”

Daisy is quiet for a long moment. Her eyes stare down at the floor, focusing on nothing at all. “I don’t know,” she says finally, the words tense and choked, like the honesty of them pains her. “I… I need to think.”

Basira watches her for a few seconds, something stiff and rigid on her face. “All right,” she says at length, a touch of surprise and resignation lacing her voice. “That’s fine. I can’t stay past tomorrow, though—I have to get back and deal with what’s going on back in London. If you don’t want to…” Basira’s mouth flattens into a line. “It’s fine. I’ll understand.”

“It’s not—” Daisy cuts off with a frustrated noise, almost a growl. “I just need to think.”

“All right,” Basira says again, more placating this time. “I… won’t rush you.”

It’s quiet in the room for a long moment. Finally, as if at a loss for anything else to say and falling back on instinct, Martin offers a tentative, “Would… anybody like something to eat? You’ve been traveling all day, Basira, I don’t know if you’re… er, hungry or not.”

Basira stares at Daisy a moment more. Then, she sighs and says, “Sure, why not.”

“Great!” Martin says, sounding relieved. “Let me just… I’ll see what we’ve got that’s quick.”

He stands, and Basira stands in tandem with him. “I’ll help,” she says. “I’ve got some… things I want to talk to you about. And then after we eat, we’re going to discuss…” She gestures in the general vicinity of Jon and Martin. “Everything.”

Jon curls in on himself slightly. Martin just sighs and says, “Come on, then.” They disappear into the kitchen, and then Jon is left with Daisy on the couch, the faint clatter of cupboards opening and dishes rattling settling into the background.

Now that they’re alone, Jon reaches over and bumps his hand against Daisy’s, a silent question. When she turns her hand over, he takes it in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing firmly. With his other hand, he awkwardly flips the notebook open, ignoring Daisy’s sound of amusement as he clumsily takes his pen in hand and balances the notebook at the same time, and writes, Are you okay?

Daisy pauses for a few seconds before responding. “Yeah,” she says simply.

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When it becomes clear that she’s not going to, he writes, Basira seems happy to see you.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Again, Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Jon raises an eyebrow and gives her hand another gentle squeeze. After a moment, Daisy continues, “Even after the coffin, there had been this… weight, between us. I knew she was glad I was back, but I could also tell she was disappointed. She tried to hide it but, heh, she’s always been easy to read for me. She wanted the person I was before, and I knew that, deep down, she was frustrated that I wasn’t that person anymore. I was never… angry with her about it. I understood. Basira’s practical, always likes to have the upper hand. And me choosing to ignore the Hunt… it wasn’t practical. Not for her. She was happy to see me, but she also wished it was a different me. It just… feels weird that it’s not the same now. I’m different, and Basira doesn’t like different. She doesn’t like change.”

There’s been a lot of change lately, Jon writes. Then, while Daisy’s reading his words, he continues, She went through a lot after you were gone. With everything that’s happened, the world the way it is, I

Jon pauses, and Daisy waits as he taps the pen on the paper, leaving little half-formed dots of ink where it makes contact. After a moment, he sighs and finishes, I think she’s just glad that you’re back. Whatever version of yourself that may be.

Daisy looks towards the kitchen. There’s the gentle murmur of voices, too quiet to make out any words above the sound of things sizzling in pots and pans. “Maybe. I… don’t know.” There’s a pause, and then she says, quieter, “Maybe she’s just glad that I’m not a monster anymore.”

When Jon goes to write, she squeezes the hand of his she’s still holding tighter, shaking her head. “Don’t. It’s… complicated.” She’s quiet for a long moment, looking away from Jon and focusing on the faint light streaming in from the kitchen. “The parts of me that she valued the most,” she says at length, “the ones that made me a good partner, that made me strong—they were all that was left by the time she found me after the change. They were all Hunt. And I knew when she looked at me, when she pointed her gun at me, that she saw me. Not the Hunt, not some… monster. Me. But I don’t… know if she believes that it was really me.”

Daisy grimaces, like she’s not happy with the words. Carefully, giving Daisy time to stop him if she wants, Jon writes, You don’t know if she accepts that all the worst parts of yourself are still yours.

Daisy is quiet for a moment. “Something like that,” she says finally. “She… she said it wasn’t me. That the person she hunted through the apocalypse wasn’t me. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell her that it was. That it is. It feels like…” Daisy blows out a breath. “Basira’s good at compartmentalizing. It makes her a good partner, a good… hunter. But if I go with her to London, and she just… puts everything that happened during the change behind us, I don’t think things are going to last.” Daisy huffs out a laugh. “She’s stubborn. I like that about her. Can also make things… difficult.”

Jon laughs through his nose and writes, Yeah, Martin’s like that too sometimes. He hesitates, then continues, So what do you want to do?

Daisy studies his face for a moment. “What do you want me to do?” At his look of surprise, she continues, “I can see it on your face. You have an opinion, so just… spit it out. Write it down. Whatever.”

Jon scowls. I do not, he begins to write, before his hand stills, leaving the sentence incomplete. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and scratches the words out with a bit more force than is strictly necessary. Next to them, he writes in thick, dark lines, I want you to stay. Then, quickly after: But you should go with Basira.

Daisy reads the words and hums. “Why?”

Because she’s your partner, Jon writes, irritation and a strange sort of sadness mixing in him and twisting his lips into a grimace, and because she needs

“I meant,” Daisy says, bumping her knee against Jon’s to cut him off, “why do you want me to stay?”

Jon blinks at her, surprised. He looks down at the paper, holds the pen tightly for a moment, and then writes in careful, neat letters, Because I like you. Does there have to be another reason?

Daisy hums and, after a moment, shakes her head. “No. I guess not.” She bumps her knee against Jon’s again, a bit firmer this time. “Thanks. But you’re wrong, you know. About Basira.” Daisy looks at the kitchen again, where the sizzling has stopped and there’s the faint clattering of dishes. “She doesn’t need me. She’d be fine without me. Always has been.” She sighs. “And so would you.”

Jon nods and squeezes her hand. I know, he writes.

Daisy sighs again, leans her head back against the couch. “I think,” she says after a moment, “that… I have to do what’s right for me. Not me and Basira, just… just me.”

Jon is about to ask what that entails when Martin’s voice floats over from the kitchen, telling them that the food’s ready. Daisy doesn’t say anything more as she stands, snorting softly as her maintained grip on Jon’s hand pulls him to his feet as well, and together, they head into the kitchen.

The first half of the meal is spent in relative quiet. Basira keeps shooting looks at Martin, who returns her gaze with something firm and unyielding. Jon shifts in his chair and nibbles on his cheese toastie, trying very hard not to grab his pen and start tapping it on the table just to fill the tense, awkward silence between them all. Finally, Basira finishes her sandwich, looks at Martin again, sighs, and says, “Martin filled me in on what happened.” Then, at Martin’s glare: “What? I’m not talking about it. I’m just… acknowledging it.”

“Good,” Martin says, pinching his toastie just a bit too firmly between his fingers. “Because there’s not much to talk about. Which is why we agreed not to talk about it.”

Irritation washes over Jon, and he tries to squash it down. He can’t help the way his knee starts bouncing under the table though, and he takes a sullen bite of his toastie. Not much to talk about. Sure. For a moment, he entertains the thought of dropping the sandwich unceremoniously, grabbing his notebook, and scribbling out, Thanks for asking for my input before telling Basira your version of events and saying that there’s nothing to talk about, but he pushes the thought away and takes another, bigger bite to distract himself. It’s fine. Martin’s… Martin’s right, it’s not the time.

(He’s still upset that he didn’t even get the slightest say in the matter. It’s fine.)

Rationally, Jon knows that Martin is just trying to avoid what would probably turn out to be a long, spiraling, extremely upsetting conversation-turned-argument. Irrationally, he wants to push the words we’ve condemned a thousand realities to hell; are you happy now? into Basira’s face and watch her try to defend herself. Was it worth it? he wants to ask. Was it fucking worth it, just so you can have your happy ending?

He doesn’t ask. He knows what her answer will be, and he doesn’t want to hear it right now.

It’s fine.

“So,” Basira says, not so much breaking through his thoughts as driving a battering ram through them, “the Fears are gone. For good. And they took your voice with them.”

“Basira,” Martin hisses.

“Just making sure I’ve got all of my bases covered,” Basira says defensively.

Jon glares at his plate. He sets his sandwich down, suddenly no longer hungry. He takes a deep breath, looks up at Basira, and nods. His fingers itch towards his notebook; he keeps them still.

“Hm.” Basira taps a single finger on the edge of her plate. “That… that makes sense, I guess. What with Annabelle’s whole… thing.”

Jon’s stomach squeezes. Throat tight, he nods again, looking away. His eyes land on Daisy, who’s sitting beside him and watching Basira with something unreadable on her face. Her toastie is sitting on her plate in front of her, completely untouched. Then, stiffly, as if preparing herself for a difficult truth, Daisy says, “I... know a little bit of BSL. Picked it up back when I was still a PC. It’s not much, but… it’s something.”

Basira looks at Daisy, her finger stilling on the side of her plate. When she speaks again, it’s quiet, and she doesn’t sound surprised. “You’re not coming with me, then.”

“Sorry,” Daisy says roughly. “Just… need a bit of time. Soon, I promise, just…”

“… just not now,” Basira finishes. “It’s… all right. I understand. Honestly, with things the way that they are out there right now, it… it might be for the best. Just until things settle down.”

“Yeah.” Daisy picks at the edge of her toastie. “You’ll… be safe, though?”

Basira takes a deep breath, and when she lets it out, her lips settle into a smile, thin and bordering on humorless but still warm in its own way. “Always am.”

Daisy laughs a little, just an exhalation of air through her nose. “Right.”

It becomes clear that none of them plan to eat more, so Martin and Jon clear the plates and stack them in the sink while Daisy and Basira sit at the table. Basira says some things to Daisy in hushed tones, and Daisy responds under her breath, and Jon takes wet dishes from Martin and wipes them down with a towel and stares out the window into the darkened sky and focuses on the sensation of cloth under his fingertips so he doesn’t lose himself in the inky black swirling thoughts that are threatening to drag him down.

“Hey,” Martin says quietly by his side, letting their fingers brush as he hands him another dish. “You all right?”

No is probably the honest answer. Jon is sure that Martin can see it on his face even as he nods and busies himself drying the plate in his hands. To his eternal gratitude, Martin doesn’t push, even as his mouth flattens and he continues scrubbing the dishes in the sink with careful, methodical motions. Jon is sure that, at some point, something will crack and Martin will push. Push until it all breaks and shatters and crumbles into a million tiny, sharp pieces. But for now, Jon dries dishes and scratches his thoughts into the back pages of his notebook where they’ve begun to pile up into messy tangles of words and emotions and focuses on the fact that, when Basira leaves in the morning, Daisy will still be here.

That, for now, he thinks, will have to be enough.

#tma #the magnus archives #jaisy week #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #basira hussain #martin blackwood #my writing #my fic #before tag #4.2k... how did this chapter get so long ;___;

48 notes · View notes

janekfan · 3 years

Text

Hostile

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30583040

Jon always needed a strong hand.

Ever since he was small and wandering off without his grandmother’s permission only to be escorted back by disgruntled police.

Elias just wanted him to be the best Archivist he could be.

It didn’t stop the sting. Just reinforced how much he had to learn and how awful he was at this job. He was just being...sensitive, right? The others were fine. They didn’t seem to have any issues, certainly not like him. Meanwhile, it seemed no matter what Jon did, Elias browbeat him. Always gently, always politely, until Jon understood how he’d gone wrong and left in a state of distressing confusion. His employer made it so clear that Jon often felt foolish coming away from his office. If he’d just been smarter he would have figured it out on his own without needing his supervisor to explain it to him in terms he could understand.

He passed Tim and Elias chatting amiably in the hall, burying his nose in the stack of papers he was carrying to make himself as small as possible before shuffling past them. They didn’t seem to notice or if they did, made no move to acknowledge him and the last thing he heard when he rounded the corner was Elias chuckling at one of Tim’s bad jokes, the same one he used to tell Jon at least once a month up in Research. It was inane. Nothing to well, to write home about. Certainly nothing that should have piqued Elias’ interest.

Though, Jon supposed, he didn’t know anything about either of them did he?

“Martin.” Cultured, the smooth voice drifted through the office door, worming its way into Jon’s ear and straight into his already hammering heart. He was ashamed that he couldn’t stop himself from creeping to the door and listening closer. “This is fine work. How long have you been working here?”

“Oh! Uh! Um!” Jon rolled his eyes at the stammering, pushing down a spike of what was definitely not jealousy. Elias laughed, light and easy.

“No need to be so anxious. You’ve been an asset to this department. A good fit.”

“Ah! Th’thank you, Elias. Sir! I mean, I mean sir.”

The man’s amusement was so sincere. Jon must’ve been missing something when it came to himself.

“Ms. James, a word if you please.”

“Of course, sir. How can I help?” Jon pressed his back against the wall, the chill of the basement cement seeping into his button down and sending him shuddering.

“I wanted to thank you for your dedication. I realize things have been fraught, for lack of a better term, since the promotion.”

“I trust in the interview process.”

“I’m sure you do.” Jon held his breath. “And I appreciate your willingness to support this endeavor as it continues to grow. Especially where our new Archivist is concerned.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you again, Ms. James.” Heavier footsteps retreated and Sasha’s headed in his direction. Jon nearly ran from her impending approach, taking refuge again in his office with the thought that it should belong to her echoing in empty space between his ears.

“Jonathan.” He tried not to fidget under Elias’ intense scrutiny.

“Yes, Elias?”

“I received a call from the library.”

“I, I assisted with a difficult case a few months ago.”

“I can’t imagine why, but they are asking for your help again.” It was a cutting remark and Jon fought against the flooding mess of emotions. “They know you’re now our Institution’s newly minted Archivist.”

Oh.

OH. Of course! His impatience was mixing him all up and getting him up in arms before Elias finished speaking.

“Do you know what it’s regarding?”

“I can’t recall though you are making fewer mistakes over time. I do think your efforts would be better focused on your work in the archives, don’t you think? Jonathan?”

“Ah, w’well. Yes. If that is what you think I should do.” He could feel his face heating up, no doubt blazing red with an embarrassing blush.

“I didn’t ask for your thoughts only for you to leave it up to me. You need to be decisive, Jonathan.”

“Yes, th’that is. Yes. I will be.”

“And?” Lord was he ever bungling this.

“I will turn down their invitation.” Elias was no longer looking at him but at his desktop screen with a bored expression.

“Don’t worry yourself. I’ll take care of it for you.”

“Th’thank you, sir.”

“No need to have you tangled up in old efforts.”

“Yes, of course.” Jon shifted from foot to foot desperately trying to keep his hands still, to be professional until Elias glanced back at him in confusion.

“You can go, Jonathan. I certainly don’t want to keep you from your duties.”

It was rare that Jon left his office since taking, stealing, the position of Archivist and the uncomfortable silence that settled over the breakroom upon his arrival was damning.

“Need something, boss?” Tim raised an eyebrow, hiding a frown behind his cup. Jon felt whatever bravery he’d scraped up in the past several hours disappear.

“I, um. I just, Elias?”

“What about him?” Sasha folded her hands, prim and polite as ever since the announcement was made.

“Well, you. You’ve known m’me a while, years really, and. And I think, does, does he--?”

“Spit it out, man.” He flinched at Tim’s bored tone. Tired of him. He shouldn’t have come here.

“He, the way he speaks with me?” Lord, this sounds ridiculous. He was ridiculous, just a sensitive mess. He always did this, turned molehills into mountains. Read into situations and only came out the other side wrong.

“Elias isn’t like that, weird maybe.” Tim sounded so sure, flippant and nonchalant. “He’s been nothing but supportive since our transfer. You’re misinterpreting him or something. You do that.” Jon’s stomach dropped, tears welling up in his eyes as everything he thought about himself was confirmed.

“No, it. It feels like more than that. It. Conversion with him doesn’t. It doesn’t feel right.”

“What, Jon? He’s being mean? Rough having a couple of new responsibilities?” Tim scoffed. “You got the job over someone more qualified, over someone who works harder than anyone--”

“Tim--” He held up his hand.

“Sash, he needs to hear this. Someone needs to tell him the truth.”

“The, the truth?”

Yeah, Jon. The truth. She deserves so much better than this and now her choices are to settle or flat out leave and it’s your fault. All because you couldn’t resist the urge to interview behind her back!”

“That’s not what happened!” Even Jon could hear his whinging, voice high and desperate for one of them to believe him.

“Not from where we’re standing, mate.” Tim crossed his arms and sat back in his chair and when Jon looked to Sasha she merely shrugged. Martin just looked helpless, staring into his tea and avoiding eye contact all together.

“I, I. That’s not.” Repeating himself wouldn’t do anything to save him and he fought against the tears gathering on his lashes. “I’m s’sorry.”

“Anything else?”

No. There was nothing else.

Jon kept to himself, kept his head down, arriving before the rest of them and leaving long after they did. He didn’t want to see them. He’d made a right fool of himself enough for now, unsure if his fragile self esteem could withstand another blow. Really, he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen and there was no way to explain how Elias had maneuvered him so skillfully into this position. Was he trying to drive a wedge between them? Knowing Jon would invite his two closest friends to accompany him? A knock on the door made him jump, reminding him for a moment of a very different and more sinister one from his childhood.

“Jon?” Martin, no doubt with another overture of friendship he was loath to accept. It was easier to remain alone rather than face the hurt of another rejection so soon.

“What do you need?” Caught off guard by his sore throat, he coughed roughly into his elbow, accepting the tea to soothe it with a nod of thanks.

“That doesn’t sound good.” It wasn’t. Now that he wasn’t burying himself shoulders deep in work and self flagellation he was aware of aching muscles and oppressive fatigue, a throbbing at the base of his skull that made him stomach sick.

“It’s nothing. I neglected to drink any water today.” It was true, he realized and Martin didn’t look convinced but Jon didn’t want to go into how miserable he’d been feeling lately. Tired and wrung out trying to avoid them all and figure this out and not have a melt down all at the same time.

“You should take better care of yourself.” Gentle and kind and Jon bristled with it, flustered with the concern.

“I’ll take that under advisement.” He turned away, staring at the messy surface of his blotter to avoid anymore interaction. “I have work to do.” Martin shifted, an expression Jon couldn’t parse on his face when he glanced up at the silence. “So…?”

“Oh! Yes, I’ll be going then.” Another awkward beat passed between the two of them.

“Thank you, Martin.”

Despite feeling particularly woozy it had been a good day.

Elias nodded to him when they passed each other on the way to lunch.

He pointed out a particularly competent piece of research.

Praised how well he was handling the job lately.

It was a shame it was at the cost of his sanity. Jon was falling apart at his poorly sewn seams, every moment another snapped suture and he was pinning himself back together with clothes pegs in a windstorm. Even he knew this wasn’t sustainable. He was going to burn out like a match overextending himself like this. But avoiding his assistants meant he wasn’t able to ask them for help. He’d made his bed. He just wished he could lay in it.

Maybe Elias would approve of Jon taking the rest of the day. He’d stayed late all week. Caught up with work and even plowed ahead a little bit. So when Jon caught him in the hall he tentatively asked.

"Y'you see, I. I've been a bit under the weather and I thought since I'm ahead--"

“Jonathan,” the disappointment in the way he said his name struck Jon like a bolt of lightning and he couldn’t stop the way his face fell. “You’ve barely begun.” Oh lord, he’d read this wrong. So very wrong. “Do you truly think it’s appropriate to ask for time off so early in your tenure?”

"No, of course not. I just meant, I just thought--"

"I find that difficult to believe.” He didn’t bother hiding his contempt. “If there's nothing else?" Jon shook his head, not trusting himself to speak lest he burst into hysterics right here. Elias left him where he stood and Jon took a few moments to compose himself before turning back the way he came only to nearly run into Martin.

"I didn't mean to listen!" He held up his hands in supplication or surrender. "I swear I didn't, Jon."

"S'fine." There wasn't enough left of him to care and when he made to step around the other man found himself stopped by a careful touch at his bicep.

“Wait, um. Please. Does he, does he always speak to you that way?” Jon eyed Martin warily. He was the only one of his assistants he didn’t really know. Why would he care?

“Only when I’ve made a mistake.” When I deserve it. When I’ve failed to figure out what he wants from me and done something wrong.

“It didn’t seem very professional.” Shame ran red-hot through his veins--what did he know?

“I assure you, I was. I was out of line.” Jon didn’t want to be here having this conversation with Martin of all people. He wanted to retreat to the relative safety of his office where he could sit in the dark and continue underperforming at his job.

“Jon, you’re not well.” Martin sounded upset with him and somehow it hurt worse than it did with Elias. At least Elias knew him. Martin by all accounts was a stranger. “You should be at home.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand.” Jon tore his trembling hands through already bedraggled and greasy hair. He was disgusting. Unprofessional. Sweating through his clothes and unable to focus long enough to make it through even one statement.

"What don't I understand?" Jon's expression turned hard.

"Forgive me if I don't wish to count the ways in which I've failed at my job for you."

"Jon I--"

"Leave it, Martin." And he stalked off in none to straight a line, leaving Martin to gawk at his back.

Jon collapsed against his desk, the old pine creaking under even his small weight, before clawing his way across it to the chair and barely grabbing the bin in time to be sick. With nothing to lose he laid over it, stomach convulsing painfully as he fought to win back tentative control and only putting it back when his own panting became too loud in his head. Jon allowed himself a cry, forehead pillowed on folded arms where he slumped, muffling the pathetic sounds that slipped past him with his teeth; biting his wrist where his cuff would keep the mark hidden.

Tim's unceremonious arrival surprised him and Jon yelped, reflexively running a sleeve over his face to erase the evidence even though he knew it wouldn’t make much difference.

"Martin told us."

"Tol'tol'you what?" Real fear rooted him where he sat, raising the hairs on his arms and sending a thrill up his spine. What did they know? What had he said? Did he tell them about Elias reprimanding him? Proof of his incompetence? Were they here to yell at him again?

"How Elias has been treating you."

"Jon. You do realize it's him being unprofessional."

“You can’t let him treat you that way.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We would have helped you.”

Like a volley of canon fire each fast phrase pounded against his crumbling defenses and left him reeling with contradicting information.

“You should have said something earlier.” He tried. He just hadn’t tried hard enough and he didn’t know what made the words tumble out of his mouth now but he couldn’t stop himself from blurting:

“I tried!” And he'd known better than to try again and risk another telling off. He was shaking and sick. He didn’t want to be here anymore, wanted to go home. “But I d’did this to myself, didn’t I? That's why you l'let me hear the t't'ruth.”

“No, I was. No, Jon--” He plowed on, overwrought and interrupting Tim, words spilling out of him too fast to be taken back.

“I thought we. W’we were friends. I thought I could come to you when th’things aren’t g’good. Like before, like in research.” Jon scrubbed at his face. “But you just. You hate me. And I know it's my fault. I know I'm not, not fit for this position and I know it's ungrateful of me but I don't want to be here. I’m so tired. I don’t. I don’t feel well. And I’m not allowed to leave.”

“What do you mean?” Tim was a hell of a lot closer than he had been, kneeling on the floor and holding Jon's hands to keep him from scratching himself to ribbons.

“I’ve been telling you.” It came out as a pitiful sob, squeaking past a throat tight from holding back the sea.

“Okay, okay. Just tell us again.” Jon closed aching eyes, hot tears falling over hot cheeks, breath panting and strained in his twisted up chest all tied up and tangled with twine.

“I can’t s’skive off. Elias said.” Like a touchstone a pair of soft hands guided him back in the chair.

“He’s burning up.”

“Doesn’matter.”

“Of course it matters, Jon.” Sasha’s voice came from far away, through a tunnel, wending its way to his stopped up ears through syrup. His next thought slipped away, dissolving in the heat swallowing him up from top to toes. Breathing became harder, impossible, lungs full of caking cement smothering choking snuffing him out like a candle flame.

“Jon?”

“Jon!”

Devoured and spit out again, again again

writhing,

drifting on an outgoing tide of misery and affliction,

waves of agony break over him and suck him under and roll him along the mud bottom of a polluted river and every gasp he snatches at the surface is less and less and less

Clicking, beeping, the chirping of a million birds in a thousand trees and each one wants his attention tick tick ticking away like the blood red hand of a watch and awareness trickles in like hot black tar against the surface of his eyelids.

Fluorescent lights carve their way in between heavy lashes and Jon recognizes the broken sound of denial as his own. A noise, a voice? in the room and the blinding glow receded enough to think about figuring out where he was. He coughed, mouth a desert, and welcomed a spoonful of ice chips blissful and cool against the heat seeping through his veins, his arteries, his skin.

“Jon?” He recognized the sound, the person, the thumb tracing circles over the back of his hand. “Hey, there he is. Welcome back, bud.”

“T’Tim…waz…?” Fairy floss crowded out any thoughts and Jon spent the next seconds trying to come up with more words and failing.

“Do you remember what happened?” Martin took up space next, then Sasha, crowded around him and no, he didn’t. Was barely able to catalogue his body; the deep seated ache, a prickly itch in the corner of his elbow.

“Hos’ital?” Tim nodded, offering up another spoonful and Jon let them melt over his tongue. Lord, he was tired, prying open eyes he didn’t remember closing.

“S’okay, buddy.” He was being so kind. Like he used to be in Research and the last thing he felt before it all faded away were twin sweeps of familiar fingers wiping away tears.

All three assistants were still there the next time he woke though Jon had no idea of how much time had passed. He wasn’t as confused, actually aware of his surroundings and he scratched absentmindedly at the IV taped to his skin. The thin gown didn’t have sleeves long enough to hide the lines left behind by his nails. He didn’t remember clawing himself up like that.

“How do you feel?” Martin looked relieved, tired.

“Uh. Fine, fine.” He plucked at the stiff blanket, avoiding their eyes. “What. I’m s’sorry. I can’t seem to--what happened?”

“You’ve been sick, Jon.” Tim plunked himself down in a terrible plastic chair. “Bad stomach flu, dehydration. You’ve been here for days.” There was a hard edge to his voice and Jon suppressed a flinch.

“S’sorry.” Sasha sat down at his other side, taking up a hand, and Martin offered him a smile.

“Jon, please don’t be.” She looked tired too, drawn and pale. “Tim and I are the ones apologizing.” Jon shook his head, staring at his lap and withdrawing his hand to worry at his fingers.

“I shouldn’t have--”

“What?” Tim cut him off. “Asked for help?” Jon nodded, earnest, glad they were all on the same page.

“Yes! You’re understandably angry with me. I didn’t respect that.”

“Can you hear how ridiculous you sound?” Tim wasn’t shouting but it was a close thing. “We froze you out! Left you alone! Accused you of lying about how Elias was treating you--Jon. Being upset about a stupid promotion doesn’t warrant how we treated you. You know that, right?”

“I don’t. I don’t know?” Sasha hushed Tim before he could start up again.

“It doesn’t. And when you became ill we blamed you for that too, for not telling us after we gave you no reason to trust that we would help and it wasn’t right.” Gently, she embraced him and he couldn’t stop himself from collapsing into her and while she wasn’t always one for physical displays of affection, she pressed him closer. “We’re going to do better.”

“We’re in this together, boss, like we should have been from the beginning. From this minute on.” Tim clasped him on the shoulder. “Okay?” Jon, exhausted and confused and hopeful, looked up at Martin when he nodded too.

“Okay.”

#TMA #The magnus archives #Jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #elias bouchard #hostile work environment #hospital #overwork #stop being mean to jon :<#sick jon

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

Note

Oooo 16 mixed with 39 w Jon for the fluff/angst prompts?

Hello there, anon! Can you believe, that in all of my whump fics, I’ve yet to tackle the bread knife incident? High time we corrected that. The two prompts this is referencing are- “Do you need to go to the hospital?” and “If you don’t rest you won’t get any better.” Had this written for a bit, but I spruced it up and decided to post as I’m working on reconstructing chapters. Hope you like!

“Jesus Christ.”

“I-It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Admittedly, it doesn’t look great.

There’s a trail of blood following Jon to the sink, a bloody handprint or two on the counter (and probably a few door handles), and his shirt is similarly stained, the rumpled white button-up painted with red. The slice (more than a slice, probably a stab) to his arm bled more than he anticipated and is probably still bleeding under the towel he’s currently using to stifle the flow. Jon’s swaying where he stands; the loss of blood has him feeling weak, and the dizziness and dull throb in his head leftover from Michael hasn’t abated. All in all, he must look a mess.

Judging by Martin and Tim’s expressions, this is probably a fair assessment. Martin immediately goes to his side, though Jon flinches away as he tries to reach for his arm. He tamps down the guilt he feels at Martin’s look of rejection. “It’s n-nothing, really-”

“Nothing?” Tim scoffs, slowly making his way over as he dodges Jon’s mess. “We leave you alone for twenty minutes and suddenly you’re finger painting with blood. The hell happened?”

“Did you reopen one of your wounds?” Martin’s hands are hovering above his arm, like he’s trying to approach a skittish animal. “I told you not to pick at them-”

“Uh, n-no.” Jon leans against the counter- his vision’s starting to go, he should’ve sat down instead of puttering about like a fool. “It’s-it’s a new one.” Sufficiently cowed by Martin and Tim’s worried stares, he gently removes the towel with a hiss and yes, it’s still bleeding profusely. Damn.

Tim hurriedly pressed the towel back down, leading him over to a chair as Martin lets out one of his disbelieving squeaks. Tim’s always been good in a crisis and Jon wants to lean into the touch but something in the back of his mind rebels against it, whispering paranoid nothings in his ear. Wrong wrong wrong. There’s something wrong, something bad. Find out. So instead he flinches out of his hold as soon as he’s sat down, ignoring the exasperated look this gets him and putting pressure on the wound himself.

“What did you do?” he asks but Jon doesn’t meet his eyes, instead looking down at his lap. “How’d you get that?”

“A-A sandwich.” He can feel Tim’s stare, practically hears Martin’s fretting. “I-I was-”

“A sandwich,” Tim repeats, his voice deadpan. “A ham and cheese stabbed you.”

“No!” Words aren’t making sense, they’re hard to put together. He wants to lay down, he wants to sleep, he wants to be far away from these people and what they’ve done and what they might still do to him. “I cut myself...making a sandwich. W-With a knife. A bread knife.”

“A bread knife.” Martin’s talking now, his voice high-pitched and concerned. “A bread knife did that.”

“Where is it, then?” He wishes Tim would let up, would just take the story and leave him be, let him bleed.

“I-I put it back. I cleaned it and I put it back.”

“Let me get this straight-”

“For God’s sake, Tim- that doesn’t matter right now!” Now Martin’s at his side, hauling him up out of his seat with a steady hand that takes the brunt of his weight as he lists to the side. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I-”

“Why am I even asking? Of course you do.” Martin’s muttering, already dragging him halfway out the door. “I’ll get us a cab. You two will just bicker the whole way. Take care of all this will you, Tim?” He gestures with one free hand to the mess Jon’s made and Tim just sighs wearily, nodding his head. He throws Jon one last glare but it’s weak and more worried than anything. He feels the guilt bubble up again. He should apologize for the inconvenience, tell them what happened, who visited. But then the voice creeps up, starting its chorus in the back of his mind.

He stays silent. He doesn’t speak as Martin takes more and more of his weight and the world tilts around him. He’s in a cab. Martin’s hand is warm and should be comforting but it isn’t. His arm stings and Helen’s gone and Michael’s laughter echoes and he can feel the worms burrowing back in, and over this cacophony of pain is the miserable choir singing wrong, wrong, something’s wrong someone’s there someone’s watching, waiting until they’ve got you alone-

He struggles in Martin’s hold but its weak and must seem more like a squirm of discomfort, for Martin doesn’t let go, just keeps up his murmured reassurances and his touches that sting like a thousand tiny needles.

He doesn’t know how long they’re at the A & E for. He barely registers Martin dragging him inside or talking to the nurses. He watches dispassionately as the wound’s stitched up, his other scabs disinfected from constant picking. Nobody lectures him or says much of anything- one mention of the Magnus Institute shut them right up. Jon is as much thankful as he is discouraged. He really is alone. He feels it even as he’s shoved back into Martin’s arms with a disingenuous smile and a ‘get well soon!’

Martin’s eyeing him critically as they wait for the cab; Jon’s too tired to fight at the probing hands that inspect the bandages. “Still your story, then?”

“Hm?” The world is hazy, but Michael’s laughter is starting to fade.

“Bread knife.”

“Oh...yes, yes it is.” He tries for some defiance but his voice is small and weary. Martin sighs in turn.

“You know you can tell me about these things, right? Me o-or Tim, maybe Sasha-”

Jon snorts. “Tell you when I’m making lunch?”

Martin’s face remains serious. “If that’s what you want to call it, sure.”

Jon doesn’t want to have this conversation so he nods in a clear dismissal, sighing in relief as a cab pulls up outside. Martin reaches for the car door, helping him in before hurrying to the other side. Jon’s about to tell the driver to take them back to work when Martin interrupts in a no-nonsense tone, rattling off an address with a please and thank you.

It’s Jon’s address.

How does he know my address? Has he been following me? He is the one who found Gertrude’s body, after all. What if- what if-

“I can see your mind going a mile a minute, Jon. What’s wrong?” He startles, moving as far away from Martin as possible and hitting the car door with a wince. Martin continues, his eyes betraying nothing but concern as Jon’s mind spirals. “You’re not going back to work. You just got stitches-”

“How do you know my address?” The words are meant to be an accusation, but they just sound like the bark of a small dog. Martin seems to agree with this assessment because he rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and every second makes Jon’s heart beat faster until it’s rabbiting in his chest. What does he know, what did he do?

“You don’t remember, do you?” Martin sounds sad, disappointed. It hurts more than Jon would like to admit.

“R-Remember what?”

“You don’t remember the three times I had to do this, back when you were supposed to be on sick leave?” Jon blinks.

He doesn’t remember much of that time. He remembers the pain, the paranoia, the fear- all of it tuned up to a fever-pitch. Trying to go back to work and being promptly shooed out by Martin, who took one look at his limp and still-bleeding wounds and shoved him back in a cab. Was he covering his tracks? Is that why he didn’t want me around? He has the faintest memory of arms scooping him unceremoniously from the trap door to the tunnels at night, this time accompanying him in the cab and making sure he got home, since Jon had exited the cab early and snuck back several times before. It’s embarrassing and disconcerting, these gaps in his memory. Gaps that Martin has to fill. Martin, who he can’t trust. Martin, who’s talking right now.

“- really, Jon- if you don’t rest, you won’t get any better. Tim tells me you’ve been skipping physical therapy, skulking about-”

“I don’t skulk-”

“Well, it’s sure as hell not sneaking if you leave a trail of blood wherever you go!” Martin’s voice raises in frustration, though it immediately quiets as Jon flinches, again. He heaves a massive sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. “We’re worried, Jon. We’re all worried. About you, about Gertrude, this whole mess- but you’ve got to talk to us. You’ve got to let the police do their job. And for the love of god, let us help you. Because-” he swallows, his next words earnest and spent. “-because we’re scared too. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Martin’s worried. Martin’s scared. Martin found Gertrude’s body. Martin’s always outside his office. Tim’s tired, Tim’s getting angry. Sasha smiles when she shouldn’t smile. Elias is up in his office, telling him everything’s fine and to rest but something’s watching, something’s wrong, Gertrude’s dead and someone killed her and someone’s coming for you next-

The next thing he knows he’s standing outside the door to his flat, Martin at his side. The door looks like a normal door, but Helen went through a door and didn’t come out. She didn’t come out, and Michael laughed, and there’s a war coming and he’s so stupid, so ignorant-

“Are you going to be okay?”

Jon takes the key from his coat pocket with shaking hands, shoving it in the lock. He doesn’t want to go in but he can’t stay out here, not with Martin who found Gertrude, who knows where he lives. “Y-Yes. You can go. Thank you.”

He’s inside before Martin can protest any further, slamming the door shut and leaning against it wearily. It looks like his flat, he hopes it’s his flat. Martin’s talking on the other side, asking him to call if he needs anything. Jon’s not going to do that, of course. He waits for the inevitable sigh, listens until Martin’s footsteps fade away. He’s safe, for now.

He locks the deadbolt.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073586

#prompt fill #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #cw blood #injury #paranoia #it's season two and jon's not having a good time #martin tries his best #Anonymous

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buckysgoldenheart · 3 years

Text

Unexpectedly Bitten

Vampire!Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Your ex gets into some trouble with Vampires, and his mistakes lead the bloodsuckers back to you. After seeing you, one vampire gets a little attached and he’s taking his time deciding what he plans to do with you, but whatever it is, you’re not afraid. In fact, you might just be a little attached to him too.

Warnings: cursing, POORLY WRITTEN smut (Haven’t done it in forever!!!!), violence. (Count on spelling mistakes or repeating words too often. it’s very likely.)

Notes: Let me emphasize this: there is little rhyme or reason to the way this story is broken into parts. I did my best though, and I stuck to 7. I tried not to make each part too long.

This is a Vampire!Henry x Reader story where each chapter, while chronological, is a different conversation or event during the course of their evolving relationship.

Words: 1643

Part 5: Forty-Eight Hours

Even days later, you couldn’t stop thinking of him, naked in front of you, looking at you the way he was. You couldn’t stop imaging what would’ve happened if he had kissed you, and you couldn’t ignore how much you wanted him to. But of course you wanted him to. When hadn’t you wanted him to? You were certainly ready for it the very night he dragged you to his home. It was embarrassing to admit, but if your kidnapper had kissed you right after tossing you in his bedroom, you never would have stopped him.

But kiss or not, the odd look he had on his face after he told you he could hear your heart beating, nagged at you. It was partial shock, you could tell, but you didn’t understand why. As stories told, Vampires could hear the hearts of humans whenever they wanted as some sort of tracking method, but Henry acted as if it were rare.

It had changed him immediately. Suddenly, it was like he knew your every thought--how much you wanted him in that moment—and decided to test you to see if you’d act. But…he wanted it too. He wanted you, until he pulled away and ordered you back to your room. And he hadn’t spoken to you since; only sent Chris to make sure you ate and slept like a good girl.

But this became the new irritation. You no longer cared for the answers to the questions you’d had since he brought you. You wanted the answer to the question you had now. How long did he think he could keep avoiding you? You would search the whole damn castle until you found him, but then you heard voices through a crack in one of the many doors.

“The plans did not change. He is coming, Henry, in two days. Two. We knew this was happening and now it’s time,” Chris said.

You dared a peek through the sliver of space the door allowed to see Chris leaning against a desk with his arms crossed, looking at Henry, who sat in a chair with his elbows braced on his knees and head in hands.

“Hell,” Chris continued. “We tricked her boyfriend into finding us offerings for this specific situation. Which we still have none of.”

“He wasn’t her boyfriend,” Henry said, looking up. “You know that.”

“Fine. Whatever. But Elias is to be here in forty-eight hours, and he will not take this well.”

“I’ll protect her.”

Chris groaned. “Henry—”

“I heard her heartbeat.”

Chris’s head jerked and his arms dropped to his sides, then there was a long pause. “That…How? That doesn’t…that doesn’t happen anymore. Humans don’t develop those kinds of feelings for us, Henry. Not with how things are these days. I know Y/N isn’t scared of us, but still--”

“I heard it, Chris,” Henry stressed. “It was unmistakable.”

The blond blew out a long breath and shook his head. “All the more reason to get her out of here, then,” Chris said. “I get it, ok, you know I do. You don’t want to let her go, but think clearly. If she’s here when he arrives and we refuse to hand her over, he will realize how you feel and break her.”

Henry’s head fell as he cracked one hands knuckles with the other. “…I know.”

“Then, fix this. Preferably before we’re all screwed.” Chris walked over to Henry and squeezed his shoulder. “I care about our little human too, Henry, but this is safest for us all.”

You took in a shaky breath, but it was just loud enough for the vampires to hear, and Chris was swinging the door open before you had another chance to inhale. He looked at you, then back at Henry, who appeared in the doorway alongside Chris a moment later.

“Chris…” Henry began. “Can you—”

“Yea,” He replied, giving you sympathetic look before disappearing down the hall.

Henry took you by the hand and led you inside the office, shutting the door behind you. He eyed you up and down and then shook his head to himself with a sigh. “I’m taking you back.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“You don’t belong here,” He said. His voice was turning stony; hardened. He was building a wall to shove you away. “This was a mistake.”

“No.” You stepped back, pulling your hand out of his grasp.

“You can’t be here when he comes.”

“Why? What if I hide, or stay quiet, or—"

“No.”

“Henry, I’m not scared of some big, bad vampire!” You all but stomped your foot in defiance.

“I’m scared!” He yelled. His voice boomed off the walls and rattled in your ears, its intensity matching the flare in his eyes. Your whole body seemed to jolt back as if the mere force of it could knock you off your feet. “He…” He began as he stepped closer, raising his hands to touch you but thought better of it and clenched his fists. “He will try to take you from me and drain you. If I refuse to give you up, he will snap your neck in front of me to make me suffer. Do you understand? I am not allowed to have you.”

“But—”

“No.” Henry looked down, unable to watch the devastated look as it took hold in your eyes. “You are going back first thing in the morning.”

“Henry, please.” You put your hands on his cheeks to try to get him to look at you, but he remained stubborn. “I don’t want to go back. Don’t make me.”

“I don’t care what you want right now. You are--”

You leaned up and kissed him hard, just to get him to shut up, to stop him from saying the words that dared to break your heart. “Let me stay,” You whispered against his lips as you slid your hands over until they settled at the back of his neck.

“Lamb,” He muttered, still averting his gaze. He sounded tortured, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel sorry for what you had done. You wanted to stay with him. You needed to stay with him, desperately, and that trumped all else. “Why’d you have to go and do that?”

“Let me stay…” You said again, giving him another quick peck. He wrapped his arms snuggly around your waist like a possessed man, pulling your bodies close, your chest to his.

His eyes remained closed, but his eyebrows pinched together as he touched his forehead to yours. “Fuck…I can hear it again.”

“Hear what?”

“Your heart.” With a light groan, Henry inched his head down to your chest and placed a kiss on the top of your left breast, then peppered a slow trail of kisses up to your neck. His lips sucking at the spot just under your ear forced a small cry to tear from your throat. It was the final piece he needed to fall off the edge. You both knew he wasn’t going to stop now, and you thanked even the Devil himself for weakening Henry’s composure.

His fingers traveled down your sides, and when they reached the hem of your dress, they sharply yanked the fabric up around your waist. You were lifted in his arms and whirled around until roughly placed on the cherry wood desk.

You separated your kiss to rip his shirt over his shoulders, and he dragged your underwear down your legs until he could toss them to the side, then he settled himself between your legs and grabbed under your knees to hike them up around his hips. One of your hands fisted in his short hair and pulled his lips back down to yours when you could no longer take the distance.

When you couldn’t reach the buckle of his belt, you groaned and tugged at the waist of his jeans until he stopped his kisses and looked down at you. “Off,” You said.

“Yes, Lamb,” He breathily chuckled and did as you asked, making your eyes go wide as his cock sprang free from any confines. As you gaped, he reached up and slid the straps of your dress down until it bunched at your waist, uncovering your breasts. “So perfect,” He whispered and kneaded them in his palms, running his thumbs over your nipples until they peaked for him.

“Kiss me,” You said.

“Anything you want,” He hummed and nudged his nose against yours before connecting your lips again. As he lined himself up with your entrance, you quivered in anticipation, unsure if you could take it. But he didn’t give you much of a chance to worry whether or not he would fit, stuffing himself deep inside of you before you could think and forcing stars at the back of your eyelids.

You moaned at the mix of pleasure and pain, biting his lip until you tasted his sweet blood, but he didn’t even flinch. He just kept kissing you, his blood smearing on your mouth the way your lipstick would on his until you were sure you looked like a vampire yourself, right after draining your latest victim.

Each thrust destroyed you entirely. You felt fulfilled in a way you never knew you could. You felt right, as if everything in your life prior to him inside of you had been wrong. Never before would you think something so ridiculous, that you could care less for the life you had solely because of a man. But this man was different. To you, he was more than a man. He was protective, yes, but he didn’t force his claim on you despite your willingness to give yourself over. You weren’t his human toy, and he didn’t want you to be. Because, to him, you were more, too. And you knew that now.

----

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kenanda · 3 years

Note

For the smut prompt a lonelyeyes mix of 106, 111 and 127? If you want only.

This took a while, but it was just too good a prompt not to give it my best shot. I hope you enjoy it.

Happy belated birthday!! Consider this your gift from moi <3 🎁🎉

prompt 106. “Were you just masturbating?” “U-uh..no, i was just..” “Want some help?” prompt 111. “You have no idea how much I want you.” prompt 127. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

CRAVING Rating: EXPLICIT Words: 5,7k Pairing: LonelyEyes Characters: Elias Bouchard; Peter Lukas; Tim Stoker; Martin Blackwood; Gertrude Robinson (mention); Jurgen Leitner (mention). Tags: Established Relationship; Parenthood; Smut; PWP; Mutual Pining; Fluff; Sweet; Masturbating; Cock sucking; Handjobs; Scent Kink; Fingering; Anal Fingering; Anal Sex; Dirty Talk; Banter; Wearing the other's clothes; Doting Parents!LonelyEyes; unbeta'd; Tim and Martin are their kids AGAIN

Disclaimer: These characters AREN’T mine. They belong to Rusty Quill’s The Magnus Archives. Warning: This work ISN’T SUITABLE for minors. It’s a NSFW piece of slash fiction. Therefore, if you’re a minor or in any way squicked by what’s in the tags, DO NOT READ!

Filthy, FILTHY LonelyEyes below the cut, my beloved. It's official, this is now a Verse.

Ever since they became parents, Peter and Elias haven’t known what alone time is anymore. Life is a jolly mess most of the time, with all things required for the rearing of two children. Even if the boys are now a bit older and can shoulder small responsibilities, it still seems like too much is going on at once.

Some days are more hectic than others, which often sends the two men to bed at 10PM feeling like they could sleep for days. Work hasn’t been any better in allowing for a break — Peter’s schedule has him away for months every now and again, and Elias can hardly ever catch a break from the Institute (he’s the Head, after all).

Needless to say, it all takes a toll on their love life. They can count in one hand the number of times they’ve had a weekend for themselves in the past few years. When they want sex, it’s always rushed and quiet, afraid that one of the kids will wake up because of a nightmare and ask to sleep with them.

Elias misses the days when he and Peter would go on long dates and weekend trips; catches himself thinking about those every once in a while, of how they would spare a day to stay in their room talking and getting each other off. They aren’t that young and horny anymore, but there’s still enough of that old spark that Elias will sometimes get turned on merely watching Peter doing mundane stuff, like doing the dishes.

To think that they didn’t get along at first. Elias chuckles whenever he remembers the first time they were together. Peter had been a cocky bastard, but Elias had been cockier and given Peter one hell of a show. Elias still has the eye tattoo on his stomach, but he had removed the nipple piercings once he’d started working. Peter had been so impressed by them, he had played and pulled on them with his teeth once they actually went on a proper date.

Elias lets out a nostalgic sigh.

“Everything alright?” Peter asks over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Elias breathes. “Fine. Just reminiscing about stuff.”

“Such as…?” Peter rinses a bowl of oatmeal.

“That time you used to be more of an insufferable arse.”

Peter snorts. “You’re one to talk, love.”

Elias can’t help a smile. “We turned out alright. Sometimes though, I miss those days.”

Peter’s disbelief is visible even from his back. “Really!? We used to be swamped all the time, and there was that professor, Jonah- Wouldn’t leave you alone. I think he wanted to — what was it he used to say — see you.”

Elias shudders with a disgusted noise and gets up. He circles Peter’s waist and hooks a chin over his shoulder, pressing their bodies flush enough that there’s no mistaking that he’s half-hard. Peter drops a spoon in the sink with a clatter.

“Oh, wow, hello there.”

Elias giggles. “I miss you,” he whispers. He gives Peter’s nape a slow, open mouthed kiss, causing the larger man to shiver.

“Elias…”

“I know, I know.” Elias pauses, buries his nose into Peter's neck, where his silver hair has grown past his ear. He smells so good. “I could take a day off tomorrow. We could ask Gertie to keep an eye on the boys over the weekend. She’s always delighted to see them.”

After the beach incident in which they had met, Gertrude Robinson had become a dear friend of the family. She and her husband (an old scholar with a booming voice and a gentle face called Jurgen) had a massive library and a collection of items from all over the world. The boys always returned home with strange facts about books and places of which neither Peter or Elias had ever heard. Gertrude also had a grandchild a year older than Martin, Jon, whom Martin had (at the tender age of seven) sworn to marry.

Peter thinks about it for a moment, but doesn’t sound too hopeful in his reply. “They’ll need me at work tomorrow. I already said I’d be there, and it could take a while.”

“Can’t always have it all...”

Peter turns around and holds Elias’s face to give him a kiss. Elias struggles at first because Peter’s hands are covered in suds, but eventually gives in. The kiss is slow and warm; if he isn't careful, Elias can easily get carried away with it. Peter’s growing beard is ticklish, but when it slides down his jaw and neck, Elias has to stifle a whimper.

“I’m sorry, love.”

Elias shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ll survive.”

That’s not to say Elias’s body will just quit the yearning — it becomes quite self-evident when Peter pulls away and Elias is half-tempted to chase his lips.

But then one of the kids calls him and he needs to go. It's like that the whole day.

Elias only gets some blessed alone time with his husband before bed. Peter pulls him into a hug and they kiss until they have to stop before it gets too hot to ignore. Elias grabs Peter’s hand when it slides between them, because one thing will certainly lead to another.

“Pretty please?” Peter pouts. It looks outrageous on him and Elias barks out a laugh.

Peter smiles, but it fades into something else — something charged. They are kissing again before they know it, and it’s insane how well Peter fits between his legs. The weight of his larger body on top of him, pressing down where it feels so good, has Elias wrapping both legs around his waist and using them for leverage. Peter hums in approval.

At least, Elias is not alone in his lust. Peter is usually quieter about his wants and needs, but once he’s into it, he’s ready to go all the way. Perhaps Elias should’ve been more careful, because now he has to live with the knowledge that Peter is right there and that he wants it just as bad as Elias.

They are humping through their clothes and Elias is ready to make a mess of his pants just like that when there’s a yell from down the hall. Elias’s head snaps up and he all but tosses Peter off of him to leap up and grab his robes.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Is it Martin again,” Peter rubs his eyes tiredly, pulling a pillow over his clothed erection.

“Coming! Daddy is coming!” Elias yells back.

Afterwards, they cuddle in shared frustration until they fall asleep. When Elias wakes up the next morning, Peter’s boner is poking his arse, so he gives it a wistful little press. Peter groans and holds Elias there with an arm around his waist. Peter grinds up and Elias huffs into the pillow.

“Wanna finish what we started?”

“Be late for work,” Elias points out. Peter swears, but lets him go.

They’re out an hour later; Elias drops the kids off and heads to work. Heavy clouds of sleep deprivation and sexual frustration hang ominously above his head.

Thankfully, work is something he can lose himself in. He’s good at what he does and there’s something soothing about all those Excel sheets. Coupled with the steady hum of the AC, they almost make Elias forget his troubles.

But then he sees the flyer for this new jazz café that had opened a few months ago, where he had intended to take Peter on a date but never managed to make time, and his face falls. Damn, he misses his husband’s presence, his silly jokes and ridiculous sailor stories.

Lunch hour comes in a blink; Elias is poking a fork into his salad with an utter lack of enthusiasm when his phone chirps with an incoming message. He wipes his mouth and sees that it’s from Peter.

It’s a picture of Peter standing in front of a tall restroom mirror. He’s wearing the big old ratty coat he’d left with this morning, but it’s pulled halfway to the side to reveal Peter’s hand clutching the sizable girth of him through his grey slacks.

Elias chokes on lettuce.

What’s the meaning of this???

Been thinking of you. A lot. — is Peter’s swift reply.

Well, Elias has too, but not to this extent. Can I call you?

Peter calls him instead. “Hey.”

“Are you mad!? I’m in the middle of work!”

Peter laughs. “You talk as if you don’t have a cushy office all to yourself to play as you wish.”

“Yes, at least I can say that. You on the other hand, you’ve got a bloody crew swarming you every day.”

“I’m not on the ship right now. And there are stalls here.”

“You’re hiding in the loo?!”

“Had to. Wouldn’t stop thinking of you. Now, do you want to play?”

“You can’t be doing what I think you’re doing. What if someone comes in?”

There’s something hot and heavy about Peter's chuckle that makes Elias shudder. “A while ago, you’d be the first to say fuck it.”

“Well, apparently one of us has grown past that.”

“I bet you wouldn’t refuse if you could see how hard I am right now.”

It’s a bait. Elias knows it’s a cheap bait and that he’s gonna fall straight for it if he isn't careful. When he reaches down, he notices that he’s hard too. Shit.

“I’m not gonna do this. Bloody hell, not in the middle of work. Fucking Rosie could walk in. Did you know I have a reputation to maintain?” Elias pinches the bridge of his nose. “This can wait until we’re home.”

“We won’t have time then,” Peter replies. “And I miss you too, you know.”

Elias makes a pained little noise. “You have no idea how much I want you right now. But this will wait. We’ll figure it out.”

“How much? Show me.”

"Peter," Elias warns.

Peter gives it up with a breathy laugh. "Okay," he whispers. “See you at home. Love you.”

“You too.”

Apparently, Elias’ ability to stick to reason is intact even with his horny-addled brain. He lets out a deep exhale after the call is over.

The next ten minutes are spent willing his boner to go down by and focusing on work. It’s uncomfortable, but he manages. It gives him a headache for the rest of the day and much to think about — and even more to look forward to.

Unfortunately for both, Peter shoots him a message later on telling Elias that he will be home late and not to wait for him. The boys are disappointed, because it was film night and Peter had promised to watch Return of the King with them. Elias is sad, too; Peter had come back from three months at sea not a week ago, but again they have to be apart.

Elias helps the kids with homework and gets on a work call that drags on for an hour, which only serves to worsen his headache.

During dinner, Elias is taken aback by how observant his youngest is. Martin’s Daddy must be wearing his sourest look, for it prompts the boy to pat Elias’ hand (exactly how Peter does when someone’s upset) and tell him:

“Don’t be sad, Daddy. Dad will be home soon and then you can complain to him about work.”

Elias nearly chokes on food the second time that day. Tim chimes in.

“Yeah, dad. Don’t worry about it. The old man knows what he’s doing.” And without missing a beat, with those big brown eyes of his. “Can I play before bed?”

“Definitely not. You’ll wake up cranky tomorrow.” Tim pouts, tries again, but Elias’s word is final (even if he feels soft after their comforting words). “Thank you, boys. I know how much you look forward to movie night. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

Tim shrugs, digging into his pasta. Martin is quick to come up with a solution.

“Can you read for us, daddy?”

That catches Tim’s attention. Elias crosses both hands over the table.

“Oh? What would you like me to read?”

Martin leaps out of the chair and thrusts a tomato-sauce covered spoon up in the air. “The adventures of the incredible Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End!” he roars.

Tim rolls his eyes.

It doesn’t take them long to sleep with Elias reading The Hobbit. Well, it doesn’t take Tim long to sleep (he’s heard this story countless times before and it's a favourite, even if now he says it's for babies) — Martin is paying close attention and interrupting Elias every now and again to ask questions. When the youngest finally drifts off, Elias tucks him in and puts the book back on the shelf.

Tim is almost as tall as Elias now, but Elias can still pick him up from Martin’s bed and carry him to his own bedroom. For someone who wanted to play video games and rolled his eyes at their book choice, his oldest fell asleep very swiftly.

Elias clears the dinner table, does the dishes and puts the rest of the food away. It’s a little past 10PM now and Peter is still not home. Elias only hopes nothing bad has happened (especially after today’s surprise).

Elias finally has a chance to shower and spends five minutes just letting the hot water spray massage his back. He considers touching himself — the awareness that he could use an orgasm and that now is the perfect time to achieve it is very present within him — but before he comes to a decision, he’s already stepped out of the bathroom.

Peter’s sleep t-shirt seems to eye him from the bed as Elias pats himself dry. Should he? After all, why not? He misses the old fool.

Elias pulls the t-shirt on and has to suppress a laugh at how silly he looks, greying brown curls plastered to his forehead and lean body looking too small in that tee — Peter is many sizes larger than him, so the item reaches halfway down his thighs. Elias pulls on some underwear and crawls into bed with a book. The t-shirt is so large that he has to keep adjusting it lest it falls below his shoulder.

For the first hour, Elias tries to read. He really, really does. But perhaps wearing Peter’s clothes hadn’t been his brightest idea. The item is soaked in Peter’s scent, which is positively distracting. Elias catches himself reading the same line three times and lets out a frustrated groan.

“Okay, fine! Fine, I’ll do it!”

Elias shoves the book onto the bedside table and ducks beneath the duvets, lying on his side. He’ll make this as quick as he can and then he’ll go the fuck to sleep.

He runs a hand down his chest, but it feels more perfunctory than pleasant. When it's Peter doing it, it has Elias shivering in no time. Elias closes his eyes and tries to relax, tries to think of how it feels when Peter rubs a rough palm over his nipples and kisses his belly until he squirms.

Elias has left the door open and his ears peeled to any sounds of little steps in the hallway, so it takes a while to concentrate on the ways his body is reacting.

Eventually though, it becomes easier — there have been no steps, no sounds but the soft little puffs of air that he’s letting out. One of his hands is rubbing a nipple through the t-shirt and the other is cupping his cock. Pleasure finally takes over when he presses that hand down his pelvis and a shiver runs up his body, arching his back.

Elias slips a hand under the waistband of his underwear and wraps it around his cock to pull back the skin. It’s getting hot and damp under the duvets, but Elias doesn’t plan to make this long. Just a bit more and he’ll come.

A twist of his wrist has him shuddering and letting out a breathy curse. Elias pulls the too-large shirt up to his nose and takes a big inhale. His mind is filled with Peter and he darts a tongue out for a taste, but gets none.

Still, he has had Peter in his mouth times enough to remember his taste. It makes Elias wet at the tip. He’s so close, so fucking close — but he’s also tempted to keep edging himself; keep thinking of all the things he wishes Peter would do to him. It’s been too fucking long, and he knows that if he doesn’t give his body what it wants every once in a while, it will just keep coming back to bother him.

But then again, the mess… And he’s so close, so, so close. Just a bit more, just drown out everything else.

Elias is so lost in his chase that doesn’t hear it when the front door clicks open; nor when a heavy coat is hung on the hallway pegs; doesn’t notice some of the lights being turned on and off, and is completely oblivious to the figure standing on the threshold and the socked steps that carry the man inside.

Elias only notices that Peter has arrived home when the duvet is gently pulled back and Peter’s smiling face pokes into his line of view — but by the time Peter has let out a soft “hey darling, what are you doing” Elias has already let out a blood-curdling scream and punched him in the face.

Peter falls flat on his bum with an expletive. “Jesus! What the fuck, Elias!”

Elias clutches his chest, breathing hard. “Oh- Oh Lord Jesus. My heart, my poor heart.” He turns to Peter with murder in his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking sneaking in like that?!”

Peter gets up, rubbing his sore bum. “I didn’t exactly try to sneak in, maybe you just didn’t hear me. I wasn’t particularly trying to be quiet. What the hell are you doing still up anyway?”

Elias ignores him. He snaps his head to the hallway. “Do you think the kids heard it?”

Peter shrugs, still sore.

“Get on!”

Peter grudgingly goes to check on the kids, but comes back shaking his head. Elias falls back into bed with a relieved sigh. Peter takes up a spot near the edge.

“What are you doing up? It’s way past midnight.”

Elias then remembers that his (now very much limp) dick is still out under the duvets. “Nothing much, I was just reading.”

“You were reading under the covers in the dark.”

Elias nods.

Peter isn’t convinced, but that gives way to a confused frown. “Hold on, is that my t-shirt?”

Elias looks down as if he hadn’t realised he had been wearing it. “Huh. I guess.”

Peter’s frown deepens. He touches the duvet. Elias clutches it and holds it down on reflex. Peter’s mouth opens in an accusing “oh!”

Peter can be very stubborn when he sets his mind upon something. This time, said something happens to be getting the covers out of the way.

Elias curls in on himself and burrows deeper into the duvet, but Peter (the cheap bastard that he is) resorts to tickling. Elias muffles an ugly laugh into the pillow. Peter is laughing too.

“Stop! Fuck, I’ll show you, stop!” Elias wheezes. Peter’s laughter dies off. He combs Elias’s damp hair backwards and kisses his cheek.

Elias sits up and pulls the duvet aside, feeling completely undignified. His cock is poking out above the underwear, but at least the t-shirt is covering it.

It’s enough for Peter to put two and two together.

“Were you masturbating?”

“No. Like I said, I was reading.”

Peter reaches for the hem of the shirt. Elias grabs his hand. “I said I was reading.”

Peter drops it, lets his hand fall to Elias’s thigh. A moment later, he gives it a squeeze. “Want some help?”

Elias narrows his eyes at him, then glances at the clock. Way, way past midnight.

The squeeze is back, travelling upwards. In spite of his better judgement, Elias’s legs fall open to give it more access and he sighs in defeat. So much for a steely resolve.

Peter slides a palm under the shirt but doesn’t get the item out of the way. Rather, he caresses Elias’s stomach and lower pelvis. Elias shivers deliciously; he’d been dreaming of this all day.

“You’ve been holding back a lot today,” Peter points out after Elias gets hard with just some light teasing. Peter hasn’t even touched his cock.

Elias wiggles to get Peter to touch him, slides down the bed. The invitation is clear enough, but Peter seems to be waiting for a verbal one. “I was being a sensible adult.”

Peter smiles. “Thought you’d like a bit of sexting. You used to love it back in uni.”

Elias had always been weak to Peter’s eyes, especially when they’re looking at him as if he’s something to be slowly savoured and then swallowed. Elias rolls his hips, staring at Peter’s hand on his inner thigh. The movement almost makes it touch his cock, but misses it for a few inches. Elias huffs in frustration.

“Thought you said you were going to help.”

“I can only help if you tell me what you want.”

Elias rolls his eyes at him. Peter waits happily.

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

“My cock.” Elias wants to punch him when Peter merely raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Touch my cock, please?”

If that doesn’t do it, Elias is getting a divorce. To his delight, it awakens something in Peter that makes his eyes go dark with lust.

“Fuck, yes. But it’s too dry- Where’s the-” Elias passes him the lube before Peter finishes the sentence. “Love you.”

Peter squirts some lube onto his palms and rubs them together. They’re cool when they touch Elias’s inner thighs and drag down, massaging the region and getting it all wet.

Elias sighs, eyes fluttering momentarily. He can’t help but roll his hips to ease some of the tension. He’s so hard and Peter is taking so long — but when he finally does it, Elias hisses through clenched teeth.

“Feels good, love?”

Elias bites his lower lip, chin tucked to his chest as he watches that big fist pumping wetly around his cock. Only the glistening head is visible, hot red and ready to shoot. Peter rubs a thumb under his frenulum and Elias sees stars.

“Ah, shit,” he sobs, grabbing fistfuls of the too large t-shirt and fucking into Peter’s fist, because the squeeze is so damn good.

Will Peter mind if Elias sniffs his shirt? Fuck it. Elias balls up some fabric and pulls it to his nose. The action doesn’t escape Peter; in fact, he seems entertained by it.

Elias notices his husband’s amusement only through half-lidded eyes, because every single part of his body feels like molasses right now.

“Look at you, ’s like you’re drunk in it.” Peter licks a finger and presses it up Elias’s perineum.

The pressure sends a thick dollop of pre-cum leaking down Elias’s cock. Elias’s eyes roll back into their sockets. Peter taunts him further.

“Want me to put my mouth on you or do you want something better to sniff on?”

“Fuck you and your dirty mouth.”

Peter laughs. “You can, baby. Always loved the way you shiver when you come down my throat.”

Elias points a weak finger towards the door. “Close that first.”

Peter goes and Elias hears the unmistakable sound of a lock falling into place. Peter sheds his shirt and trousers on the way back. Elias can see the outline of his cock against his underwear and makes grabby hands at it.

Peter chuckles and stands next to the headboard. “Can’t decide?”

Elias forgoes the shirt in favour of leaning over the edge and burying a face into Peter’s groin. He takes a deep inhale and mouths at it, dragging his tongue all the way up.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’ve missed this.”

Peter moans above him and cradles his nape, pulling at the fine hairs there to make Elias shiver. Elias gives his own cock a few lazy pumps while his mouth is busy getting Peter’s underwear all damp.

Elias steals a glance at the digital clock again and whines. Peter asks him what’s wrong.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now, but look at the time.”

“I am looking. It’s working fine.”

Elias swats at him. “I’m serious!”

Peter lets go of Elias’s nape to cradle his face, guiding him upwards. Elias follows it, standing on his knees.

“I’ve bought Red Bull,” Peter confides, and that’s the most beautiful thing to ever come out of his mouth. Elias melts a little just then.

Peter grabs his arse and pulls him to himself. The feel of his underwear is rough against Elias’s cock, but Elias ruts into it. The hand on Elias’s face has now slid to wrap loosely around his neck. Elias pulls Peter’s underwear down and Peter wiggles out of them.

Peter’s cock hangs heavy where it’s nestled amid the thick silver hair on his groin. Elias’s mouth waters at the sight of it, but he eagerly presses them together. The hairs on Peter’s chest and lower abdomen feel coarse against his skin, but Elias loves every second of it. It will leave him tender and pink tomorrow, but he doesn’t care.

Peter pulls him into a kiss that is everything Elias has been craving all day — it doesn’t stop at his mouth, but drags down his jaw and neck, making him pliant. Peter moves his face from one side to the other to nip under his ear and suck bruises onto his collarbones.

“Got rubber?” Elias asks. Peter growls affirmatively.

It’s been a while, but they know how the other likes it. Elias is dripping wet with lube while Peter preps him. Elias would usually prefer his own fingers (much slimmer than Peter’s) at first, but right now he’s turned on enough that the slight burn of the stretch feels perfect. Elias lies on the pillows and lets Peter work his magic.

Peter kneels between his legs and fingers him as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, curling up his fingers to milk Elias’s cock. Elias arches his back and watches dollop after dollop of pre-cum leak from his tip.

“Peter, I swear- to God… If you make me come like this-”

Whatever Elias had thought of saying is completely wiped from his mind when Peter leans down and gives his cockhead a gentle suck, as easy as someone scooping some ice-cream with their tongue.

Elias swears at Peter, but he can’t do much else besides clench his hands and teeth and try to keep from coming. He was so close just now; only a brief touch of Peter’s tongue and his cock is now throbbing, legs shaking so hard he has to suck in his stomach to not orgasm right then and there.

“It would be a sight to behold. You are a sight to behold.”

“Cut the crap, please cut the crap and just fuck me. Fuck, I’m so hard it hurts, you bastard.”

“Then come, love.”

“I don’t wanna come without you inside me.”

Elias should be embarrassed to find that his eyes are glistening with moisture. These can’t be tears. He refuses to believe that he’s crying during sex.

Peter wipes the corner of his eye, boops Elias’s nose with his own and gives him a gentle peck.

“Okay,” Peter whispers.

Peter rolls condoms on himself and Elias, then arranges a pillow under Elias to prop him up and slides home. The size of him fills Elias up so good, so perfect — all the way down to those wiry silver curls. Sure, topping Peter also felt brilliant — but if he’s true to himself, Elias rather likes it up the arse.

They fall into a nice rhythm — whispering disconnected praises and curses. Elias keeps a hand on the headboard for leverage, rolling his hips to meet Peter’s own, re-learning where it feels good. He reminds himself that this is supposed to be quick, just a bit of rough friction before they can’t hold it anymore.

But feeling Peter’s hand clutching his waist, relishing in the delicious push and pull, seeing Peter’s fuzzy pecs flex with the easy effort of taking him — it all has Elias clenching around Peter’s cock and reaching out to trace the lines of his chest.

“Fuck, I should be telling you to go faster.”

“Do you want to go faster?”

“No… I want to keep taking your cock until sunrise.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to stop at some point for rest, but if you’re up to it, I’m all yours.”

Elias smiles, but his eyebrows twitch when Peter finds that spot and fucks into him, pressing right up against it.

“You see I want that, but when you do this… I want you to leave me all sore.”

“You’re a man of many wishes.”

Elias grins. “Think you can answer them?”

Peter pats his leg. “On your hands and knees, then.”

Arse up in the air, Elias stifles a laugh when Peter squirts more lube onto his hole and drags his cock over it.

Peter pushes back in with a smile. “What is it?”

“Just remembered something. When we first-” Elias hisses when Peter spreads his legs further and angles his thrusts just right. “Yeah, right there. Fuck… When we first had sex. I couldn’t believe you were just bringing people to your room and never doing this to them.”

Peter holds his hips like his hands belong there, finally giving it to him hard and fast. Elias has to clutch the sheets, but damn, that’s more like it. The t-shirt has balled up near his face and he keeps breathing in Peter’s scent.

“Uh- yeah. Hah, that was a long time ago. Is this OK, love?”

Elias nods. “Yeah. Bit rougher would be even nicer though.”

Peter grunts and his hands slide upwards. “Don’t want to hurt you, but if you say you can take it...”

Elias’s waist used to be so lean that Peter’s fingertips almost touched circling around it. Now that Elias is a bit better padded, they grab his flesh with a bit of loving violence while Peter ruts into him. Elias prays that this million pound house has thick enough walls that the noise of skin on skin won’t bleed out.

Elias wraps a loose hand around his cock, but that mere touch is enough to bring him closer to the edge. The fact that he feels so wonderfully used for Peter’s pleasure also does things to his head, because every grunt of Peter’s feels like a small victory.

Peter continues, fondly. “You used to be so fucking shameless. I’m still sad you had to remove the nip piercings.”

“It was easier- Oh, oh! Yes, just like that!” Elias presses his face into the bed, panting open-mouthed against the mattress. “It was easier- Easier,” he tries to continue, but Peter is fucking him so good that he can’t complete his line of thought.

“...that way?” Peter supplies.

Elias nods. He feels half out of it already. “I think- Gonna come. S-so good...”

Peter’s approving hum is followed by him dropping part of his weight onto Elias’s back, which forces Elias flat into the mattress. Elias gasps, loud and breathless and more in love with Peter than ever before. His husband knows that he’s a sucker for a bit of choking and is giving him exactly what he needs.

Peter thrusts harder, deeper, and it only takes a moment of Elias to come — the pressure and the friction too good to resist. Peter has to wrap a hand over his mouth to quieten his moaning. Elias shudders with the aftershocks, Peter’s still moving inside him almost too much to bear.

“God, you squeeze me so good every time,” Peter breathes into his nape. “I’ve missed this.”

Elias can’t breathe; tears gather freely on the corners of his eyes, but Peter doesn’t get off until he comes, too — it feels like orgasm drags on forever in an agonised bliss.

Elias shivers when Peter pulls out. It always gets a bit dry towards the end, but the burn and the stretch leave Elias tingly and sated — and now, completely boneless.

Peter eases him onto his side and removes the now damp t-shirt, chucking it aside; he then ties off both their condoms. The one that Elias has been wearing has almost slipped off; his flaccid cock now covered in spunk. Peter kneels between his legs and takes him into his mouth, causing Elias to seize with oversensitivity and nearly pull off chunks of Peter’s hair.

Peter pulls off of him with a wet pop, looking like the cat that got the cream. Elias sags and drapes an arm over his head, damp chest going up and down.

“Feeling better?” Peter asks. He caresses Elias’s thighs gently, barely even there. It makes pleasant goosebumps rise on Elias’s skin.

“God, you’ve ruined me…” Elias croaks. “You’ve fucked my brains out, Mr. Lukas.”

Peter chuckles. “Good.” He kisses Elias’s knee, his belly, his chest. Elias buries his fingers into his hair. “Gonna get something to clean you up.”

“Wait, just. Just stay like this for a bit.”

“Feeling like some post-coital cuddling, Mr. Bouchard?”

“Ugh,” Elias untangles his fingers from his perfect silver hair. “Now you’ve ruined it. Just go.”

Peter gives a rumbling chuckle that resounds through Elias’s chest. “No, thinking about it, I rather like it here. I get to see all your freckles.”

“Hm. Have you finally managed to count how many of them there are?”

“Nope,” Peter kisses his stomach, over the Eye tattoo. “But I’m still on it!”

Elias yawns. “Good- Good luck.”

“Gee, I really ought to get something to clean you up. At this rate you’ll end up sleeping.”

Elias snorts with his eyes closed. “Already am.”

Peter kisses his nose and leaves him be. When Elias wakes up the next day, he notices three things: one, Peter actually did give him a wipe down; two, he is very much aware of all the sleep he didn’t get last night; and three, he’s got an easy smile on for the rest of the day that he can’t deny.

#my fic #nanda's ramblings #lonelyeyes #lonelyeyes fic #lonelyeyes fanfiction #peter lukas #elias bouchard #martin blackwood #tim stoker #gertrude robinson #jurgen leitner #tma fic #tma fanfiction #do not archive #peterelias

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hyperionshipping · 3 years

Text

Backyard Garden

a/n: wowo! I did indeed write a whole fic instead of sleeping at a decent time. I had fun though!

---

It was a particular hot day, and though it wasn't out of the ordinary for Hannibal to spend a day home instead of being out, it was rare he wasn't doing something in his own home. The summer heat seemed to have other plans, and Hannibal was currently enjoying the cooling breeze of the A.C.

Despite this, just outside in the back, Elias was filling his watering can. He turned the spigot off, and picked up the water can, carefully hauling it towards his small garden. Hannibal had been happy to let him start a small garden, and Elias had been vigilant with watering and tending to the plants in it. Currently, he was watering the celery. Some were ready to be picked. He made sure the celery got extra water. Celery was something that could always use more water. He then moved to the cucumbers. The fencing he made for the cucumbers to climb was very DIY, and it showed. But, it worked.

He put the water can down to carefully weave the leaves and plant itself through the holes of the fence. "I think this should have been taller. You are growing so much!" Elias told the plant as he watered it. Halfway through, he had to refill the watering can. Next came the radishes. Elias didn't like radishes, but Hannibal had picked the seeds out when they were shopping earlier when Elias started to plan the garden out. He squatted down, "I think there are some here ready to be picked. Are you early?" he got back up and watered them.

The last plant that needed to be watered was the tomatoes. Elias with the help of Hannibal had planted four tomato plants. And they were growing wildly. Elias fanned himself as he stood by one plant. He needed a drink. Looking at the tomato plant, he pulled a few yellowing stems off, stuffing them in his pocket to throw away when he was done. He picked up the watering can once again, and finally finished watering the small garden.

After dropping the watering can back in its spot, he stepped into the cool house and immediately made a beeline to the fridge, moving around a few things to find the pitcher of juice he had. He poured himself a glass and chugged it. He placed the glass in the sink, making a note to clean it after.

He went searching for a pot, alerting Hannibal, who looked over. "Looking to cook, Elias? It's a bit hot for a large meal, don't you think?" Elias shook his head, pulling a pot out, and putting it to the side.

"No, not cooking right now." Elias pulled a smaller pot out, and then put it back. "Can I use this?"

"What for?"

"Just to hold something." Elias picked the pot up, showing to it Hannibal, who had walked closer to the kitchen. "This one."

"Yes, you may. I assume you're going to hold something food related?"

"Uh huh." Elias nodded, walking past him, arm wrapped around the pot. He opened a drawer, grabbing a knife. Hannibal just watched him, not saying anything.

***

Elias first came in with a few cut pieces of Celery. He placed them on the table. Then it was the cucumbers. "Hannibal! Look! Look, at these. 3 big ones." Hannibal smiled at how enthusiastic Elias was.

"They look good."

"Yeah! They're gonna be good. Have one!" Elias ran back out, and disappeared again for a little. While he was out, Hannibal took the cucumbers and moved them to the fridge.

Elias was quickly back in with a small handful of radishes. "I didn't know if these were ready or not, so they're kinda small." Hannibal watched Elias put them by the sink. "I'll clean my cup in a second. You don't see it there." Hannibal took a radish in his hand, and looked at it. It was a bit small, but Elias was happy.

"They look fine to me. Sometimes homegrown vegetables aren't as big or grand as the ones in the market. That is what makes them unique, though."

"Yeah! You have to eat all this radish, though. I'm not gonna. Or give it away. Anyway, I need to finish up." Elias was back out one last time to pick tomatoes.

There was a good amount of tomatoes to pick. Some were riper than others. The pot was filled quickly with a mix of regular tomatoes and cherry ones. Elias popped a cherry tomato in his mouth as he brought the pot inside. He made sure to throw away the part of the tomato plants he'd pulled off before going inside, however.

"Hannibal," Elias said, putting the pot on the counter. "Come look at this. This is crazy!" Hannibal made his way back to the kitchen, looking at the full pot. He laughed a little.

"Elias, did you pick every tomato?"

"No! These were just mostly ready ones. There's still tomatoes growing out there."

"Well, I guess we just have soil the tomatoes must love."

"I guess!" Elias grabbed a tomato and put it aside, turning his back to Hannibal as he searched for a cutting board. "What are we gonna do with all of them? I can't eat this many sandwiches." Hannibal thought for a moment.

"Well, we could can a few. Or I could make tomato soup to freeze for later." Elias nodded as Hannibal talked, grabbing a cutting board and placing it on the counter. He grabbed the tomato he put to the side, and started to wash it off.

"Can you teach me how to make a tomato sauce? You made pasta one time, and that's what I really remember." Elias turned the water off. "I mean, I know 'tomato sauce' kinda sounds easy, but your recipes are all so fancy."

"Well, it is a bit hot to cook a sauce right now, Elias. To make a good one, it needs to cook for a while." Elias looked at him for a moment. "I suppose, though, it wouldn't hurt to have some sauce on hand. Or to eat some pasta."

"Awesome!" Elias smiled at him, "can I eat first? I'm gonna make a tomato sandwich. Do you want one?"

"I'm fine," Hannibal grabbed the pot of tomatoes. "You eat. I'll wash the tomatoes we need, and then I'll teach you how to make a basic pasta sauce."

"Can I make the pasta? Please let me make the pasta."

"You can. But it'll be a few hours."

"Right, right yeah. Few hours got it. Whatever." Hannibal shook his head a little as Elias cut his tomato into slices for a sandwich. He knew Elias was more excited to just make the pasta than learn the best way to let a sauce simmer and what spices to add and when, but that was fine.

#tricks writing #cannibal dad #selfship #self ship #selfshipping #selfship community #yes Hannibal is my dad. No i dont call him.that directly a lot. He understands this it's ok #anyway!! cute little gardening fic ^_^. im gonna make egg pasta as Hannibal tells me in detail how to make the best sauce. And!! Hes gonna s #how me how to make good meatballs. It's all about simmering the sauce and forming good meatballs and letting that cook together or something #like that

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 11

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, mentions of violence, gun mentioning

A/N: i watched endings, begginings again solely because of the scene we get a close up of seb making out with shailene and that scene will forever make me want him in unholy ways. hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

- What? - Y/N stared at him, not because she hadn’t heard what he had said but because her brain seemed to have stopped mid synapse. She wondered if this was the hopeless romantic in her mixed with the lack of sleep that were making her hear things. But no. That confirmation came to her through his actions as he stepped close enough to her she could feel his breathe on her cheekbone. His hand cradled her face, looking at her with the uttermost adoration, almost like a scene straight off Springtime by Pierre-Auguste Cot.

- I’m here, nothing and no one can harm you. I don’t think you understand the things I would do for you. - he traced her bottom lip with his calloused thumb causing her small hairs to raise up as a shiver rolled down her spine.

- I ... You shouldn’t. - she was too immobile to even try and step back, but in all honesty, even if her nerves weren’t stopping her from moving, she herself would’ve stopped herself from moving. It felt nice. - You make me very nervous, Mr. Stan.

She took a step forward, hearing the shift of the gravel as her sock covered feet moved so her toes touched the point of his shoes. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do but there was an overwhelming need to be close to him. As so, she stretched her arms to him, wrapping them around his neck and burying her head in his pyjama shirt. It was a very baggy shirt with the logo of Regis High School. She guessed it had probably been his during his high school years and the little holes and slight thin patches of fabric spread across the tee contributed to that guess of hers. Sebastian sighed at this motion, his hand coming to rest upon the small of her back while his lips pressed against the crown of her head, slightly inhaling the faint scent of her lavender shampoo.

They remained in that same position as the bird slowly awaked as the very first sun rays broke through the night sky, the sounds of nature making them both forget they had just escaped a crossfire. They continued in that embrace until his phone loudly rang from the backseat where he had thrown it before.

With much regret, he broke the embrace, hand taking slightly longer to her waist as he grabbed his phone, angrily answering it. Y/N just stood there, hand hoovering over his like someone who really wanted to hold his hand but was too shy to do so. Of course she was to shy to do so, this was her friend’s future husband. The same future husband who she would have to kiss and some day give a child to and here she was fully considering the idea of entering some sort of Anna/Vronsky relationship minus the opium and suicide.

- I’ll be there in a few. - his words as the phone beeped off took her off her thought pattern.

- Is everything alright? - she questioned, worry laced into her sleepy sounding voice. It was 4 AM after all, Y/N guessed that all in all, she’d probably gotten about an hour or two of sleep.

- Yeah. - he sighed, rubbing the side of his neck out of tiredness. - We need to go.

- Where are we going? - what was she doing? she asked herself as she noticed she was already sat in the shotgun seat without getting an answer. Was she that enamoured that she would get in the car without any response? Maybe, yet he did let this particular sight of safety.

- Airport.

She watched as his eyes were kept on the brightening road. Y/N didn’t know exactly what to say, all she knew exactly was that he made her feel warm and nervous but not in the way that being next to a mob boss. You should fear contact with one not crave one.

Things were rather silent until the crash of noise from the airport made her look at something rather than the side of his face, watching as various airplanes landed a bit closer than she’d ever seen them land. He just drove as if a plane couldn’t misdirect or mislead and hit them, he drove with that sort of confidence that made you want to throw your arms in the air in great Taylor Swift music video fashion. He drove with the confidence she wished she had.

The car slowly yet surely came to halt and as she turned her face to the window she could see the airplane from a few days before. She guessed they were going home for safety and despite her love for Paris, right now she wanted to go somewhere familiar.

- Gwen’s already inside. - he put his hand on the glove compartment, picking the music box and handing it to her. - Make sure you don’t lose this one too.

- Are you not coming? - she noticed his hand was still very much gripping the wheel of the car.

- After this, I think I have some matters that need resolving.

- Why won’t you come with us? Surely it is Mr. Williams’ job to look over the Paris affairs.

- He’s very useless, angel. If I leave him to do anything, I’ll have to fly back and fix it. Besides, I’m sending him to New York for a bit after his disastrous deal.

- Oh ... - she cradled the music box closer to her chest. - Are you gonna be alright?

- Are you worried about me, angel? - he smirked at her, immediately causing her cheeks to heat up. - I will be just fine, you need only worry about Gwen.

- That’s not what I meant. - Y/N faintly smiled at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek which took Sebastian off guard. It was so sweet and so young that half the rage he had accumulated towards whoever shot at his hotel. She just stared at her lap, lightly tracing the golden details of the box. - I don’t exactly want to go to your funeral.

- I think I’ll be fine, angel.

He is a mob boss, he will be fine. One does not become notorious by being easy to wound or easy to kill. Nevertheless, so had been the man who raised her and Gwen and he had still gotten a pretty bad wound shot every once in a while. No one is invisible. Achilles had his heel and Odysseus, Perseus, Theseus all had a lot more and they were all heroes who were eventually defeated. Dynasties fall and Y/N had seen it plenty of times.

She opened the door of the car, her sock covered feet reminding her that she was about to walk into a private jet in her pyjamas and socks. Gwen surely had thrown her into some wild situations yet none seemed to quite match up to this one.

Closing the door behind her, she walked to the stairs that led to the door of the plane, turning around to briefly wave at Sebastian before he took off. Maybe it was best they were separated for a bit, maybe it was just a little crush that would vanish with a bit of time. What she wasn’t expecting was to walk into Gwen having her neck peppered and sucked by one of the bodyguards, Christian.

- Morning, Y/N. - she pushed the man away, giving her an enthusiastic smile as Y/N sat in the leathered seat in front of her. - Where have you been? Elias said Sebastian took you during the crossfire.

- Yeah, are you okay? Sebastian said you were, I’m really sorry I didn’t come to find you.

- You two are sure buddying up. - she opened one of the magazines that were on the stand as the plane prepared to take off.

- Oh, it’s not that. - she bite her lip looking at her feet.

- Of course it is. You better not tell him about any of the boys or Christian, the last thing I need is to have someone dead because my fiancée is jealous.

- I’ve told you I’ll never tell on you besides he’s not jealous, he’s just worried about you.

- Well ... - she smirked, lowering the magazine. - He does employ some very fine men, specially at the art of bedding.

- See, this is why your dad didn’t want you to watch Sex and the City when you were younger. - Y/N laughed, remembering when a teenage Gwen would sneak in at night along with her to watch Sex and the City reruns on the TV which would constantly annoy Mr. Forrest.

- You can’t be such a prude, you must have someone on your radar. Seriously, has there never been a guy who made you want to take a cold shower just from looking at him?

- Guys don’t tend to look at me Gwen, they look at you.

- Bullshit. I could just bet you have someone and you’re just not telling me.

Y/N just laughed it off, leaning against her pillows and the sleep finally won her over, throwing her for a nice slumber. She was awoken by the faint sound of rain hitting glass and as she slowly opened her eyes, she came to see the airport of what she called home for now.

Rather quickly and wearing one of the bodyguards jacket in order to not look like a public threat to society in her pyjamas and socks, both her and Gwen were hushed into the limo which drove them back to their penthouse. The building looked darker and the weather was even darker. She prepared to go inside the bed and sleep more, despite having slept for 9 hours on the plane from Paris to NY.

- You look terrible. - Y/N heard a familiar voice as the lift doors opened. A big smile stretched on her face as she saw Dan standing there. - Are you even wearing any shoes?

- You’re here! - she jumped into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck before stepping away for a bit. - I wasn’t expecting you to be here this soon.

- After the crossfire, I decided to spend some time with you and Gwen at least until Mr. Stan returns

- Oh great. - Gwen rolled her eyes. - Another babysitter.

- It’s good to see you too, Gwen. - he turned his gaze back to Y/N. - You look unharmed. Survived your first crossfire

- Yeah, it’s been a crazy few days. Enough about me, did you bring Sophie?

- No, she’s staying at her mum’s for a while but we can go and visit I’m sure she’ll love to see you.

- Just set the date.

- So ... - Daniel took a seat on the living room’s coach while Gwen returned to her room, Christian in her foot. Y/N guessed she would be better sat by Dan’s side than in her room where she would possibly hear sounds of things she didn’t really feel like hearing right now. - I heard from Gwen that Sebastian was the one who took you during the crossfire.

- Yeah, his room was closer to mine ... - it wasn’t, it was as further from hers as it was from Gwen’s but she didn’t exactly felt like telling Dan that she had kissed his sister’s fiancé. - He’s not as bad as you think, Dan.

- You always try and see the good in people, Y/N. It is remarkable but please be careful. Seriously, there are things in this whole world that you are not used to.

- I’m not exactly clueless, Dan. He hasn’t been rude to me, he’s treated me as well as he treats Gwen. Besides until he mistreats any of us, I refuse to have such a deep dislike for him.

- Y/N, c’mon. I know you don’t get to see it but his kill count? It’s high even when compared to my dad and grandfather’s count all together. You step out of the line, you get erased.

- That’s not true. Mr. Williams stepped out the line in France and he’s still not dead.

- Mr. Williams? When have you even met Thompson Williams?

- At Gwen’s engagement party. What I mean is, I’m safe here, Dan. I would love if you stopped treating me like I’m the most clueless thing ever.

- But you are clueless, Y/N. We’ve sheltered you and Gwen for most of it, you don’t ...

- Oh ... - Y/N interrupted, getting up. - Since I’m that clueless, I think our conversation is over.

- Y/N, don’t take it personally.

- I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, Daniel.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @sarge-barnes-sir

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan xyou #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan drabble #mob boss!sebastian stan #mobster!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan

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aflyingcontradiction · 3 years

Text

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 117 - Testament

But Tim isn’t going to sit home and wait, and Elias seems pretty insistent I go along. Part of me thinks it’s just so he can see if whatever this “preparation” he’s been trying to do on me works. - Jon

I guess, yeah, that's part of it and the other part is that he wants to make absolutely sure Jon gets touched by as many powers as he possibly can and sending him right into the lion's den is a good way of doing that, I suppose.

I don’t quite get those two. I suppose what they’ve done, seeing what they’ve seen… it’s a hell of a bond. The sort of thing I’ve mostly done alone.

Ouch. That is a painful realisation right there! (The usual disclaimer of "I'm obviously not talking about the scale of cosmic horror here because duh or for that matter even the scale of massive trauma" but I actually think that realisation is on some level relatable because of the realisation I had multiple times in my life of "I don't really know what a close bond feels like because I've never actually been anywhere close to the best friend of the people I've considered my best friends." Fortunately my luck has shifted somewhat in the "close emotional bonds" department, or at least I hope I'm not kidding myself about that, but the realisation that some people have these fire-forged, ride-or-die relationships and you're just kinda doing your own thing, dipping a finger shallowly into human connection every once in a while and then watching it flow away, is a bit of a twinge.)

And… aside from some, uh, uh, office gossip which I, I’m not sure is necessary or, uh, conducive to a workplace that… hey, it, it, it’s natural it’s, it’s normal.

I love how Jon just goes from deep emotional turmoil to being a bit upset that people are gossipping about whatever may be going on in his love life. Talk about emotional roller coasters!

Oh, yeah, I found something on the other body the circus stole, this “George Icarus.” (...) Jurgen Leitner. I just can’t be rid of him.

Ah, okay, this is where we learn who George Icarus was. Also, the pseudonym is very fitting, I mean, Leitner did, in fact, fly too close to the goddamn sun and subsequently crash and burn when he decided to create a library of fear books, didn't he?

He always said, if you don’t like something, you accept it and you adapt, or you fight and you change it. Whining doesn’t help. I always tried to live like that. But I think sometimes you feel like you’re adapting, but it’s just denial. - Basira

This is definitely something I've experienced myself but it's also definitely something I've seen in some people who like to go on like Basira's dad about stiff-upper-lip-don't-whine-adapt-and-overcome to other people and shame others for expressing their emotional pain. When the cracks finally do start showing up (usually under the influence of alcohol), it's not so much a crack as a full-on explosion.

But at least Daisy’s coming. I mean, I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But, she’s solid. She’s a… a fixed point, and if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing, relative to her.

It's tragic but also on some level a little bit heartwarming that Basira never actually stops doing things relative to Daisy, even when it takes everything out of her, even when Daisy starts destroying herself.

Still stuck, still miserable, still angry. New traumas, but they hurt just like the old ones. Elias thinks he’s got this ingenious way to hurt people, but it’s just the same old and a creepy new package. Arsehole. God, I just want to rip his – When did I start to lose the parts of me that weren’t just anger? - Melanie

I always have a soft spot for the angry ones, the ones who have to forcibly stop themselves from punching people in the teeth, who have to put every last shred of willpower into keeping a lid on the boiling, hissing, steaming pot that is their inner life. The ones whose willpower sometimes fails them and then they do end up hurting people or themselves because of their anger. And not to go all REPRESENTATION here, but I'm actually glad to see that in TMA that character archetype is basically all women, because the people exploding in violent anger or having to try so fucking hard to keep it in and occasionally failing are usually guys.

They did manifest, but they weren’t what I thought they’d be. They were fused, somehow, all mixed together, a huge angry mass of dead flesh and guns.

I'm kind of glad this isn't a fully-fledged statement because I feel like that sentence, that image, is really all I need and anything further would actually weaken rather than strengthen the horror.

Good luck, Jon. I do hope you win. But I also hope it hurts.

Damn, this episode is so good at summarising characters in a line or two, isn't it?

I, I’m scared, I guess. – no, wait. No, no, I mean, ah, I don’t want that to be my last message, the thing that defines me. “Martin Blackwood, he was always scared, then he died. The end.” I don’t want that. - Martin

I'm a very anxious person and this is INSANELY relatable, this fear that all that's going to be left of you is the things you didn't do because you were terrified. ... Martin, stop making me tear up by being too damn relatable!

I need them to be safe, I need him to be okay.

Aw, Martin!

I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be safe, like my plan’s not dangerous, but it’s, it’s mine. This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web.

a) This thought process makes perfect sense. Sometimes you just need to express your goddamn agency, even if it's dangerous and even if it's bound to hurt and b) I know the podcast immediately lampshades the "web" thing, but WEB!MARTIN THOUGH! I MEAN! THINK ABOUT IT! That would've been such an amazing plot point and they had it all set up. I mean, he's got a lot of good Lonely-related shit going on later, too, but ... why not both? I do enjoy it when the powers squabble over a character!

I used to blame my brother for going off his own and poking around where he wasn’t wanted. I used to blame myself for not helping him. But now… now it doesn’t matter. I’ve read through enough of these things to know that this doesn’t matter. The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck. Talk to the wrong person, take the wrong train, open the wrong door, and that’s it! - Tim

I think Tim's view of this is actually very close to the way that TMA handles this. The Entities don't eat you because you deserve it. They just happen to happen to someone. And that makes the horror work so much better than if that wasn't the case. (It also feels closer to how LIFE actually works a lot of the time.) So I find it somewhat odd to see when people do read desert into it, I feel like that weakens the storytelling.

Honestly, I hope that Jon learned something from her because, because I don’t expect I’m going to be coming back from this. I don’t know if I want to. And if he needs to pull the trigger, to use me to stop it… well, he’d better have the guts to do it.

Well. Fuck!

Gerard’s page… Gerry. I-I know there’s more he could tell me – he he, wouldn’t of, of course, I, I know that but he, he… he would still be there, th-that, that knowledge, i-it would, it would still exist…(...) …y-you owe me one, Gerry. Rest in … Just rest. - Jon

Damn, seeing Jon struggle against the instinct to keep knowledge available to himself, seeing how much it literally hurts him and seeing him WIN is sure something. Also ... "Rest in ... just rest." ... make me cry, why don't you?

My impression of this episode

This is not so much horror as it is concentrated emotion and I adore it. I nearly teared up a few times on my relisten (I think I wasn't in quite the right headspace during my first time). The gut punch quotes come thick in this one. This may actually be my favourite plot development episode (as opposed to favourite statements that don't relate directly to the overall plot). The writing is just. so. good.

#tma relisten #the magnus archives

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 46: Martin

Having Melanie definitely helps, in ways Martin hasn’t been expecting.

In the first place, having someone new in the Archives who needs to learn the ropes—never mind that they’re still basically making it up as they go in a lot of ways—gives him a new project to focus on, and one that he doesn’t have to stress about hiding from Elias. He suspects Melanie catches on a lot quicker than she lets on, and really there’s not that much to pick up on, but she plays it a bit stupid and asks a lot of questions. On Thursday, when Elias is distracted by his weekly meeting with the library staff (which goes on longer now that Diana is gone, especially since he doesn’t seem to be telling them oh, yeah, she’s been dead for at least a year and got replaced by a monster and I let it happen to torture the Archivist), she points out that if he thinks they’re spending time trying to get her up to speed, he’ll leave them alone a bit longer. Martin isn’t sure about that, but he lets it go.

Besides that, while he doesn’t want to admit it aloud, Martin likes having someone around who’s more on his level. Melanie might have a degree, but it’s what a lot of the people up in the Library would have disparagingly called a “fluff” degree, one where she didn’t have to do the same level of intense research or the same types of papers. It means that, like Martin, she doesn’t have the same precision and academic style that Sasha and Tim do to their research and notes. At the same time, she’s been running her own thing for so long that, unlike Martin (or at least unlike Martin when he started), she isn’t afraid of operating on a hunch and a load of guesswork.

She fits in well. She’s got a bit of a bite to her, but her sense of humor is close to Martin’s, and they have similar enough tastes that they can have decent discussions but differing enough tastes that they can have spirited but ultimately friendly debates. They’ve also discovered an ability to riff off of one another. Melanie even installed a little widget on her computer that keeps track of how long she and Martin can toss jokes back and forth with a straight face before one of the others begs them to stop or laughs so hard they can’t breathe. So far their record is forty-seven minutes, but it’s only been a few days.

It’s enough to keep him distracted while he’s at work, at least. Same with Tim, or so he says. And when they’re actually focusing on the research and filing and recording of statements, it’s hard to focus on anything else. The problem is that they really can’t let themselves get too deep into it and risk falling deeper into the Eye’s thrall, so they have to pace themselves. Martin’s pretty sure it’s harder for him than it is for Tim, at least at first, but when he sees Tim’s hands shaking as he tries to resist picking up a statement, he reevaluates that a bit.

Weirdly, it’s harder to resist without Sasha there—she takes Jon Prime’s suggestion and skips out for the rest of the week—which tells Martin she’s absorbing a lot of the Beholder’s power. He ends up enlisting Melanie to make sure he and Tim don’t take work home on Friday. She practically frog-marches them down the block, then hugs them both and tells them to take care before peeling off to do whatever it is she’s planning to do for the weekend.

The weekend is the hardest part. Martin and Tim try to distract themselves, and each other, but so much of what they do reminds them that Jon isn’t there and they haven’t heard from him, except occasional texts. In sheer desperation, they collect Charlie—who misses Jon almost as much as they do—and take him to the London Zoo on Saturday. It takes a little bit for all of them to relax, but soon they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and eagerly talking about the animals and exploring the exhibits. Martin’s phone isn’t going to have enough space for all the pictures he’s taking, but he decides it’s worth it.

“You have a lovely family,” a zoo worker tells Martin with a grin as he’s snapping a photo of Tim lifting Charlie up so he can high-five a monkey through the glass of the enclosure, and Martin thanks him for the compliment without thinking twice about it. It’s not until they’re halfway home, Charlie worn out from excitement and exertion and sound asleep against Tim’s shoulder, that it catches up to him and he realizes that people they encounter out in public lump them together as a family—that people weren’t seeing him and Tim as babysitters or even uncles, but as a couple and Charlie’s fathers.

What surprises him is that he doesn’t start panicking over it. He just thinks well, that’s a thing and moves on.

Sunday they take Charlie to the St. Patrick’s Day parade; none of them have any interest in it, it’s just something to do to keep their minds occupied. Tim gets into a chat with a woman whose son is a little bit older than Charlie and seems thoughtful afterward, but won’t say anything. He’s a lot clingier that night, though, not that Martin minds.

Sasha’s back on Monday, seeming none the worse for the wear, and they settle into the usual business of things. Tim and Sasha do their usual weekly lunch; when they get back, Melanie offers to buy Martin lunch and they end up talking about the weekend. It turns out she was at the parade herself, with Georgie, and they have a decent laugh about not having run into each other. She’s curious about Charlie, though, and Martin ends up showing her the pictures he took over the weekend.

“So when are you going to adopt this kid?” Melanie asks as they head back to the Institute. It’s the first day of spring, but you wouldn’t know it from the grey and gloomy weather. It’s also started raining—shocker—and they’re huddled into their jackets with the hoods pulled up because both of them are too stubborn to carry umbrellas unless it’s pouring buckets. “I mean, you said he’s an orphan, and his grandmother doesn’t seem to care much about him. And it’s obvious he adores you all. Could do worse than having the three of you as dads.”

Martin nearly misses his step, but manages to recover. “It’s not really something we’ve talked about. But…hypothetically, if we were going to try and convince Mrs. Calloway to let us take him off her hands, we’d probably want to wait until after we’re sure it’s safe, you know? He’s a little kid. He doesn’t need to be mixed up in…all of this.”

“Fair. Meanwhile, you can just keep spoiling the hell out of him and rescuing him when you can.”

“That’s the plan.” Martin holds the Archives door open for her.

Elias is unusually present all afternoon, which puts all of them on edge. It’s not until they’re home and making dinner that Tim says quietly to Martin, “I think something’s wrong with Jon.”

Fear lances through Martin’s chest. “What makes you think that?”

Tim shrugs and hands him the lettuce. “We haven’t really heard from him since he left, except in texts. Sasha says he got in touch with her over the weekend and asked her to look into something for him—apparently Gertrude got arrested while she was in America—and she said he sounded kind of off. And now Elias is lurking about? I don’t doubt for a minute that something’s gone wrong and Elias is trying to either make things worse or find out if we know.”

“Surprised he didn’t say anything,” Martin mutters. He bites his lower lip hard enough that he feels it split and forces himself to stop. “U-unless, unless he was trying to see whether or not we could See across the ocean or whatever.”

“I’d like to think we would. Know if he was in danger, I mean. But…God. We didn’t know he’d been kidnapped or threatened or any of it. Anything could be happening and we’re not there to help.” Tim’s voice breaks on the last words.

“He’ll be okay,” Martin says, less because he actually believes it and more because he needs to believe it. “He promised.”

“Yeah.” Tim leans into Martin for a minute, then goes back to cooking.

Somehow they make it through dinner, and a couple games of backgammon after, but Martin can tell they’re both still tense and he’s already resigning himself to a restless night for both of them as they start to settle in. Melanie’s going to give them hell in the morning, he can feel it…

As the thought passes through his mind, his phone rings. A phone call this late at night is never good news, and Martin’s anxiety goes into overdrive. Something’s happened to Jon, or to Charlie, or to Sasha or Melanie…or else it’s the home calling about his mum.

He grabs for the phone and answers without looking at the display. “Hello?”

“Martin?”

Just his name, but the soft draw of the first syllable is as familiar to Martin as his own heartbeat, and he sits up straighter. “Jon? Jon, are—h-hang on.” He makes eye contact with Tim, whose head jerked up as Martin said Jon’s name, and fumbles with the phone for a minute before activating the speaker button and holding it out in front of him. “Can you still hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you just fine.” Jon’s voice is a little tinny but perfectly clear.

Tim gives a near-silent sigh and sinks down onto the side of the bed next to Martin. “Jon, thank God. We were starting to worry about you.”

“Tim?” Jon’s sigh is far more audible. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—i-it’s been a rough week. How—is everything all right with you?”

“We’re fine. No problems.” Martin puts the arm not occupied with his phone around Tim’s shoulders, and Tim slides an arm around his waist. “Are you—how’s the—did you find anything?”

“I—I don’t know. The address Gertrude gave Zhang Xiaoling to forward anything to didn’t really pan out; it’s a short-term rental place, there must have been a dozen people through there since she and Gerard Keay stayed. The owner said he heard calliope music from West Pullman park a few nights when they were staying here, but nothing more than that.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’m in Pittsburgh now. The records you found—that’s where Gerard Keay died, so I just…wanted to check up on that. The hospital—I could only find one nurse who remembered him being admitted. His cancer was pretty far advanced…he’d had a seizure, and they did their best, but he had another one and they couldn’t save him. The nurse was the one who told me Gertrude had been arrested—did Sasha tell you about that?”

“She did,” Tim says. “She also said you sounded…off.”

Jon’s silent for a moment. “I—was. I wasn’t feeling well. It took me far too long to realize, but—th-there was a statement I read while I was at Pu Songling, I thought I’d be okay, but a-apparently things have…progressed faster than I expected. I was—hungry, I suppose. I hadn’t thought to bring a statement. I was dizzy and weak and close to passing out, and—I opened the front pocket of my bag and found a statement in there. Was that—was it one of you?”

“Martin thought of it,” Tim says. “Right before you left, while you were showering, he asked if you’d brought a statement with you.”

“Tim’s the one who put it in your bag, though,” Martin adds.

“I should have thought of it. I should have—I really didn’t expect to be gone this long.” Jon sighs heavily. “Thank you both. Seriously. I—I might have been in actual danger if you hadn’t. But I’m okay now. I promise. I read the statement and…well, I’ve been asleep most of the day, honestly. I think I needed it.”

“Jesus,” Martin mutters. He has to close his eyes for a moment, and he feels Tim press closer to him. “The—did you, um, did you find out anything else about Gertrude?”

“Oh. Yes. She was arrested for trespassing—they found her in the morgue stood over Gerard Keay’s body, reading from a large, strangely-shaped book. Apparently his body was…mutilated, though they didn’t know if she did it, and she managed to talk them out of pressing charges somehow. The officer I spoke to doesn’t remember how. I—I may not have been able to draw as much power, being as drained as I was, but it’s also possible, even probable, that he really doesn’t remember.”

Martin looks at Tim, whose eyes reflect the worry Martin’s feeling himself. “So now what?”

Jon is silent again, but before Martin can repeat the question, he says, quietly but firmly, “I think it’s just another dead end, and I’ve decided it’s the last one. I’ve booked a ticket on a Greyhound to Washington, DC tomorrow. I’m going to stop in at the Usher Foundation, just in case they have anything that might be helpful, and then I’m coming home.”

Martin relaxes, and he feels a lot of the tension bleed out of Tim as well. “So you should be back…”

“Well, the bus doesn’t get into Washington until…hold on.” There’s the sound of fumbling and clicking. “I’d be there around five o’clock in the evening, so I likely won’t be able to even stop by the Usher Foundation until Wednesday morning. My intention is to be there as soon as they open. I don’t anticipate them having anything useful, honestly, so…if I’m fortunate, I’ll be home by Wednesday night. Worst-case scenario, early Thursday morning.”

“Call us when you know,” Tim says. “We’ll pick you up.”

“If it’s too early in the morning—”

“We’ll know enough in advance that we can set alarms. Come on, Jon, we’re not making you take the Underground home—or worse, a taxi. You’ve been away long enough. We’ll come and get you.”

“Okay. Okay,” Jon says softly. He clears his throat and adds, “How are you doing? How are—is Elias leaving you all alone?”

“For the most part. He was hovering today,” Martin answers. “We think he’s been watching you a bit, and…maybe just leaving us be to see what happens. He, um—we’ve got a new Archival Assistant.”

“We do? Who? Oh, God, did he transfer someone in?”

“Nope.” Tim pops the P hard. “He intercepted Melanie when she came by on Tuesday to read the Ivy Meadows file. Suggested she might want the job.”

“And she accepted?” Jon sounds horrified. “We warned her!”

“I know, but she’s good at this,” Martin tells him. “The researching and all. And…well, at least she knew what she was getting into. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, Jon.”

Jon sighs. “I trust your judgment. Other than that…outside of work. Are you two okay? You’re not…overloading yourselves or—or overworking or anything, right?”

“No. We’re taking it easy,” Tim promises. “Checking each other. Sasha did a bit much, got a bit close, but she took a long weekend and she’s fine. And Melanie stopped us from bringing anything home over the weekend. We actually spent it with Charlie. Took him to the zoo, the parade, that sort of thing.”

“The p—right, right, it’s St. Patrick’s Day weekend. How was it?”

They take turns telling Jon about the weekend. Martin’s already transferred the photos off his phone and onto his laptop to save space, but he promises to show Jon when he gets home. Jon laughs in all the right places.

“It sounds like you had fun,” he says, and there’s a definite wistful note to his voice. “It sounds like Charlie did, too.”

“He did,” Martin says. “He kept saying how much he wished you were there, though. He misses you. A lot.”

“I miss him, too.” Jon sighs. “And I miss both of you. Badly. I-it’s not…this hasn’t been an easy trip. Not just the, the usual issues of travel. Airport food and customs and layovers. Mechanical issues and weather delays and people who don’t seem to have grasped the concept of deodorant. Hotels and taxis and…all of that is bad enough. Open-ended travel is bad. But…then there’s the issue of just being me. Of being the Archivist.” He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s a lot harder to resist using these abilities when I’m alone. When I don’t have you two there to—counterbalance me, I suppose. It’s like I’m constantly balancing on a tightrope, and I know I have to keep walking the line, I know it’s what I’m supposed to do, but…”

“But?” Tim prompts when Jon trails off and doesn’t continue.

“The rope is only a few inches off the ground,” Jon says in a low voice. “Or that’s what it looks like. When I, when I look to one side or the other…it doesn’t look like I have so far to fall. I could so easily step off and be on the ground, and it wouldn’t hurt at all. I don’t have to balance so carefully. There’s a voice just over my shoulder, whispering for me to step off, to save my feet, that there’s more to life than this narrow back and forth…”

A chill runs up Martin’s spine. He recognizes the description, actually. What they’re doing, the way they’re all trying to avoid overusing their abilities…it does feel a bit like walking a high wire. Martin keeps telling himself not to look down, to take it slow, to put one foot in front of the other, because he knows if he loses his concentration for even a second, he’ll fall. In his mind, there’s a platform at either end of the wire, and Tim stands at one end and Jon stands at the other, so no matter which way he turns, one of them is there, reaching for him, waiting for him when he’s done. He’s safe as long as he focuses on them.

Somehow, he doesn’t think that metaphor will help Jon.

“Are you sure, though?” he asks. “A-about…the rope not being so high.”

“No,” Jon whispers. “If I look at my feet…if I look straight down, I know how deep the chasm goes, so deep I can’t see the bottom. It’s just—it’s so tempting, Martin. I d-don’t want to put the burden of my humanity on the two of you. I need to be able to do it on my own. But it’s hard. It’s so much harder when I’m alone. And the worst of it is that there’s a part of me, a tiny voice, telling me that it’s just me, that I’m alone, that no one will ever know if I give in to temptation, just for a moment. Just to try.”

Tim huffs. “That tiny voice sounds an awful lot like Elias to me, boss.”

“I know. A-and I know I’d…I don’t want to let you down.”

Martin can’t really explain what those words mean to him, but from the way Tim leans into him, he feels the same way. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and tries to sound practical. “We’ll talk about it when you’re home. But it’s okay, Jon. I promise it’s okay. You’re—you’re stronger than Elias wants you to be.”

“It’s so much easier to believe these things when you say them.” Jon laughs softly, but there’s a genuine lightness to it—like some of the dark dread has lifted from his mind. “It’s—God, what time is it? Five o’clock? You’re not still at work, are you?”

“Time difference,” Tim reminds him. “It’s ten here.”

“For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me? You both need sleep,” Jon scolds. “You have work in the morning.”

“Fine, but only if you promise to go get food,” Martin retorts. “Actual food. You’ve been asleep all day, you probably need it. Get some food and take it easy.”

“All right. All right. I think there’s a restaurant attached to the hotel.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’ll call you when I’m on the bus.”

“You do that,” Tim says.

“Please be careful, Jon,” Martin says softly. “We can’t lose you.”

“I promise,” Jon says, his voice solemn. “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you both.”

He ends the call before Martin can respond, or actually process what Jon’s just said. The stunned look on Tim’s face indicates he feels the same. For just a second, Martin lets himself hope…but no, that can’t be. And even if it is, it’s a conversation all three of them need to have, not just him and Tim. They can’t make decisions like that without getting Jon’s input.

“Come on,” he says instead, reaching for the charging cable to plug his phone in. “Jon’s right, we need sleep.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, sounding a bit dazed. “Sounds good.”

They crawl under the blankets and turn off the light. Tim rests his head on Martin’s shoulder, and Martin runs a hand through Tim’s hair without conscious thought. For a long time, there’s no sound but their breathing. Martin assumes Tim has fallen asleep, but as relieved as he is to have heard from Jon, his mind is buzzing too hard to actually let him rest.

Suddenly, Tim murmurs, “She’d seen us before.”

“Who?” Martin is instantly on the alert, wondering who he needs to be worried about, who might be set to hurt them.

“The woman at the parade. She’d seen us before, when we took Charlie to the fireworks. She was asking where Jon was.” Tim’s head shifts restlessly. “She thought Jon was Charlie’s bio-dad and…”

Martin nods slowly. “One of the zookeepers complimented me on my ‘lovely family.’ I—I think a lot of people just…assume we are one.”

“I’m not upset by that.” Tim’s voice is drowsy. It’s like this is the last thing he had to get out to keep him from sleeping.

“No,” Martin agrees. There’s another lump in his throat and he has to swallow around it before finishing. “Me, neither.”

And maybe that is what’s blocking him from sleeping, because the next thing he knows the alarm is going off and sunlight is poking through the gap in the curtains and Tim is still warm and safe in his arms, and they’re one day closer to having Jon home.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartim

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theskywaslookingback · 4 years

Note

I've seen you taking prompts and if it's not a bother, Jontim with angy Tim letting all his anger go after Elias or someone equally nasty hurts Jon real bad?

you have the patience of a saint. here you go.

litany (in which certain things are crossed out)

"Every morning the maple leaves. Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts from one foot to the other. Every morning the same big and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out You will be alone always and then you will die. So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog of non-definitive acts, something other than the desperation. Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party. Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your party and seduced you and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing. You want a better story. Who wouldn’t?" - Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out, Richard Siken

When the tape clicks on, Tim can’t even find it in himself to be surprised. He’s been viciously marking over statements for at least an hour, highlighting anything that mentions a circus, skin, or a dance. There’s less of it than he thinks there should be, and every minute his eyes skim over written word after written word makes his blood boil higher and higher. He throws the marker to the floor, the bump and skid of the nub marking a trail of yellow from the desk to the floor where it rolls under Melanie’s desk.

“What do you want?” He asks flatly, his shoulders tucked up to his ears.

The recorder whirrs, cassette winding in its casing, a low hum of static emitting from it as the previously locked trap door to the tunnels swings open. Jon comes tumbling out, breathing hard. He looks...God, he looks like a wreck. Hair cropped haphazardly short, like chunks had been cut out with a bread knife, clothes hanging off him like rags. The door closes with an ominous creak, and is that--? Vaguely he makes out the shape of a hand, though that’s not right because no hand looks like that , waving right before the trap door shuts. But no, that’s…

“Well then, where have you been?”

Jon looks up, startled. There are deep bags under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. His eyes dart off of Tim to the desk where the tape recorder sits. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I was...gone.” He says awkwardly. He keeps rubbing at his wrist and hand like they ache, and the skin does look rubbed red and raw.

“I know that. It’s not like you’re ever really here .”

The last time Tim really saw Jon must have been at least six weeks ago, shortly after their boss outed himself as a murderer . Tim tries not to think about that overmuch. The way Jon’s hand had gone for the recorder almost absently as he tried to apologize, to explain. Tim had yelled, he remembers that, said if Jon wanted to talk they would have to do it without the recorders and then Jon had left . And, well, that was the end of it, really.

Now, Jon flinches. His eyes resolutely trained on the floor at Tim’s feet and Tim can’t remember the last time that Jon looked him in the eye. Like everything else at the moment it just makes him angry.

“I-- I have to talk to Elias.” Jon says. He pulls himself up to standing and shuffles past Tim like it hurts to move.

“Jon.”

Jon stops. “Get this thing off my desk.” Tim can’t bear to look at him.

“Oh.” Christ , why does he sound so sad? “Yes, of course.”

The hand that comes down is so small, dark skin pocked over with holes that mirror the ones in Tim’s own hand. He remembers when they were both smooth, unmarked. The weight of that hand in his own, the feel of that palm under his lips. That seems so long ago now, before the stale air of the Archives turned them both sour and rotten. Jon’s hand closes around the smooth dark tape recorder, fingers folded around it both careless and reverential. His wrist and forearm are covered in abrasions, the skin peeling back in spots leaving half scarred, raw red skin. Before he can stop himself Tim closes his hand over Jon’s.

Jon jerks, in either fear or surprise Tim can’t say. “Tim, I--”

“What did this?”

“Tim it’s-- it’s fine I just...I need to talk to Elias.” Jon tries to pull away again and Tim squeezes hard enough to feel those delicate bones under him shift. “Ah! Ah! Tim--”

“ Jon .”

“Ah, the Circus, it was-- one of them kidnapped me and ah, they had me tied to a chair.” Jon chokes a little on his own words. “They-they we’re going to uh, wear me. I-I-I think it had something to do with a ritual. A dance. They called it the Unknowing .”

Tim lets go and Jon takes a step back, cradling his hand and tape recorder next to his heart. Tim can barely hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears. He flexes his fists, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his chest.

“So what they just...let you go?”

“Not exactly,” Jon huffs, “it’s-- it’s complicated.” He glances over his shoulder to the Archives entrance, like calculating his chance at getting out the door before Tim can-- do what? Stop him? Is that what he wants to do? He looks so tired, his shoulders hunched and arms scabbed over with half healed rope burns.

“They hurt you.”

Jon huffs out a breath, preparing for...something. Some kind of denial most likely, or maybe even an apology. Whatever it is Tim can’t hear it right now. He stands, the scrape of his chair on the floor making Jon’s jaw snap shut.

He swallows. “Well, yes and no. I mean, my skin is in better condition than it’s been in years.” Jon smiles for the briefest moment before it falters into a grimace, “Is that weird? That’s...kind of all they talked about.”

“Of course that’s weird ,” Tim bites, “everything about you is weird .” He takes a full step toward the door before Jon grabs his arm. Tim shakes him off, more violently than he needs to or even intends.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to have a word with Elias.”

“Why?” Jon asks. It sounds startled out of him, like the abrupt firing of a gun. The tape crackles in Jon’s hand, growling like an aching, hungry stomach. “I mean, why do you care?” He doesn’t sound accusatory or angry, just curious.

‘I don’t,’ is what Tim wants to say. It’s what he means to say. But instead his stomach swoops and the words tumble from his mouth, unwanted and unbidden but true, “You’re all I have left.”

Jon’s mouth does something funny, trembling into an ‘o’. He fumbles for words, though nothing comes out but vague stammering noises. Tim snarls and grabs him by the shirt, twisting his hand in the fabric and pulling hard until Jon meets him chest to chest.

“Do not do that to me ever again.”

“I-I didn’t mean to--”

“Don’t.”

Jon goes quiet. His hand twitches like he wants to grab Tim’s but lets it hover indecisively to the side until Tim lets him go. Jon stumbles backward, bumping into Martin’s desk. “Okay,” he says hoarsely, “okay, I-- okay.” Then, even softer with his eyes on the floor he says, “I’m sorry.”

The inside of his chest explodes white hot, a mix of anger and guilt and shame, and Tim slams his hand on his desk. The cheap wood rattles, pens bouncing off onto the floor and rolling away. His poor desk plant tips to the side and crashes hard against the wood floor and spills ceramic and potting soil across the ground. Martin comes thundering down the stairs a moment later, his eyes wide and startled.

“Tim, what’s--” He starts before his eyes land on Jon and his mouth drops into a soft ‘o’. “Jon?”

“Martin,” Jon breathes, and it comes out sounding overwhelmingly relieved.

Martin crosses the room to fuss, his hands reaching out like he wants to touch but knows he’s not allowed. He reaches out and takes the tape recorder from Jon’s hand, overly gentle. Tim can’t...he turns and strides up the stairs with furious purpose. Martin can do whatever he’d like. If he wants to work himself up into knots trying to care for someone with no sense of self preservation or common sense he’s certainly welcome to do so. Tim’s already burned that bridge.

It’s just...when Tim had nothing else at least he had Jon. And there is a very small part of himself that misses Jon terribly. The easy laughter drawn out by late nights with bad takeout, bent over research reports and books on the occult they couldn’t possibly hope to understand. The curve of his mouth, small and shy, after a kiss. The feel of his hand on Tim’s back, or holding his own. His body, small and lithe, curled into Tim’s side while they walked to the tube after work.

He misses his friend more than any of that. He misses the trust.

Tim is at Elias’ office before he can even think about it, riding a wave of rage so strong it almost knocks the air out of him. He throws the door open, letting it slam against the wall as he storms through.

Elias sits back in his chair and doesn’t even pretend at surprise. “Hello Tim.” He says cordially, smiling for all the world like nothing could ever go wrong for him. “Jon’s back then, is he?”

“You knew,” Tim starts, voice simmering with fury, “this whole time you knew where he was, didn’t you.”

Elias blows out a slow breath. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

“Tim--”

“Elias.”

“I knew Jon had been taken, yes,” Elias says, splaying his hands out in front of him as though in supplication, though the look on his face is amused, “but I did not know where. I was working on it, though it seems Jon did not need my help in the end.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Tim snarls, slamming his hands down on Elias’ desk and leaning in toward him. “Why didn’t you say anything ? Why did you let us think--” He cuts himself off, biting into the inside of his own cheek.

Elias tilts his head and narrows his eyes, there’s something vaguely predator-like about that gaze that almost makes Tim uneasy. “And what good would that have done, Tim? Hm? Would you have gone to him? Saved him?” Elias leans in and his eyes are so bright Tim has to lean back. “No. Don’t lie to yourself. You would have watched too, just to see him suffer because you thought he deserved it.”

Tim clenches his jaw, teeth clacking together hard enough it sends a jolt of pain up the muscle. “You--” He starts, but there are no words to convey the wrath making itself at home in his ribcage. A rage turned inward because Elias is right and Tim doesn’t know what to do with that.

Elias just stares at him, patiently, eyes bright and lips turned up in amusement. When nothing else comes he finally leans back into his chair. “Right,” He closes his eyes for half a heart beat and then looks up at the door, “That will do for now, I think. Jon is on his way up here right now so no need to close the door on your way out.”

Tim turns on his heel and leaves, his throat tight. He does slam the door shut behind himself as he leaves, an attempt to soothe the complicated torrent working its way around his chest, making it hard to breathe. He sees Jon down the hall, striding purposefully toward Elias’ office. He’s barehanded, no tape recorder in sight, and somehow that gives Tim enough pause to gasp in a breath.

Jon hesitates when he sees Tim, rocking back on his heel like he doesn’t know where to go, and then Tim takes two steps forward and pulls him into his arms. It’s not quite a hug, Tim’s arms are too tight and Jon has no way to move either forward or back, but Tim presses his face into Jon’s hair anyway just for a moment. When he lets go Jon stares up at him, bewildered.

“Tim?"

“No.” Tim says sharply, “Don’t start, just--”

“Right,” Jon says, confused, “right, okay--”

“Just--” Tim huffs out a breath, “Stay safe.” He says and leaves Jon standing there in the middle of the hall.

Tim has lost so much in his life. He’d lost Danny, and he’d lost Sasha. Now he’d almost lost Jon and didn’t even realize it. It wouldn’t happen again, Tim thought fiercely, not ever again.

#prompts #anonymous #fic #my fic #jontim #jonathan sims #tim stoker #elias bouchard #litany (in which certain things are crossed out)

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tomtenadia · 3 years

Text

Island Dreams - Chapter 4

Double feature tonight! Here's chapter 4 as well. Last night I was inspired and I did managed to write a few chapters.

As usual... some Gaelic for you:

A bheil Gàidhlig agad - Do you speak Gaelic? mo charaid - my friend

Some of Elias' words seem funny, but he speaks Scots as well. And he is so damn sexy while doing it.

All the locations I mentioned they are real. Rowan's bookstore it's the only fictional place.

Happy reading!

------

Aelin woke up quite late the next morning. After her fight with Rowan she had spent the day at the marina and wondered around the town. She had felt empty and could not bring herself to do anything. She finally managed to speak with Lysandra and cried. She cried her heart out and her friend had listened. Like she always did. She had gotten home later in the afternoon and felt exhausted. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the living room reading her books. That brought her joy at least, although dreaded going back to shop to collect the last book. She could not face him. Not yet. But that morning she had woken with a renewed motivation. She had prepared breakfast for herself and admitted she missed Maeve’s apple turnovers but could not risk going back there at the moment. She had to put some distance. So she ate her own breakfast, prepared a couple of sandwiches and got her backpack ready for the next adventure. Today she was driving south toward Harris. She had learned that Lewis and Harris were one big islands but Lewis was the Northern part, full of moors and peat land. Harris, was the Southern part, much rockier and with some stunning beaches and a famous road called the Golden road. Ten minutes later she was in the car and ready to go. She set her sat nav and she left. Over an hour later the sat nav announced one last turn to her final destination: Luskentyre beach. She had a look at some photos online and she could not believe such a gorgeous place existed.

She parked the car and opened the door and got out. No internet image had prepared her for the view in front of her. The beach was massive, the stretch of sand never ending and the sand was so white that it almost hurt the eyes. And the sea. It was the purest green mixed with blue that she had ever seen in her life. She was speechless. For ten solid minutes she leaned against the open door of her car and observed the stretch of paradise in front of her, incapable of doing anything else. Trying to burn in her memories the colours. She would take pictures but doubted they would ever do any justice. Finally she moved and grabbed her backpack, locked the car and walked to the beach. Once she reached the sand she removed the shoes. No way she was going to walk on that sand with her shoes on. The sun was up and the sand was warm at the touch and she let the feeling sooth her. Around her there were a few people walking dogs and couples walking hand in hand. A pang of sadness hit her, and absentmindedly she touched the spot where her wedding band should have been hating herself straight after, for missing Chaol. He made his choice. She had given him his freedom. Tears threatened to appear once again but she fought them back and resumed her walk along the beach. She followed the beach and walked in the water ignoring that it was cold. She walked for hours then she decided to sit and eat her lunch. Her sandwich was gross compared to Maeve’s and in her packed there definitely was no chocolate cake. She sighed. A young man was walking his dog and she noticed the animal coming her way. The man called him a few times, but a moment later the dog was at her feet, his tongue lolling from his mouth and was staring at her sandwich. Aelin laughed and gave him a bit and he ate eagerly. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you. You might never get rid of him.” The man was now in front of her and was scratching the dog ears. “It’s fine I was done eating anyway.” And she gave the rest of her lunch to the dog. She lifted her eyes and stared at the man. He was wearing shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. His hair was black as the night and his eyes a light blue edging on grey. Her breath caught and she felt herself blushing. “You are not a local.” He said as a matter of fact. “That obvious?” “Your accent. Definitely not from here.” His smile left her breathless. He had dimples. On both sides. He was quite cute. “Where do you bide?” Aelin looked at the man puzzled “Bide?” “Aye, where do you stay?” Understanding dawned on her. The word must have a different meaning in Scots “I am staying in Stornoway.” “Bonnie place. I live in Callanish. Ye, ken?” Aelin was stuck again. Was he even speaking English? So far all the other people had done their best to speak English with her. “Sorry, bad habit. I didn’t mean to be rude. I meant if you know Callanish.” The man sat beside her on the sand while the dog was running free on the beach. “Yes I was there a couple of days ago. I went to the standing stones. Such a fascinating place.” “I have one of the smaller circles just outside ma hoose.” He confessed turning his head to her “There are actually few more different sites scattered around the area. The main one at the visit centre is Callanish I.” He explained, then he extended his hand “I am Elias by the way. I have been yapping non stop and forgot to introduce myself.” “Aelin,” she said taking his hand. “Aelin…” her name on his tongue sounded perfection “In Gaelic means bright or shining one.” “So, are you a tourist? Visiting friends? Family? Boyfriend?” Aelin giggled “Status uncertain at the moment.” She said, then looked at Elias and explained a bit further “Tourist at the moment, but things might change.” “So, where are ye fae?” She guessed his question and she hoped she got it right “London.” She replied. “Been there for work a few times. I am an engineer and I have been down there for a few conventions.” Aelin was too busy listening at his sexy accent to pay attention to what he was saying and she felt embarrassed when she had to ask to repeat his answer. “Nae worries. I said I am an engineer and I was in London a few times for work.” “Cool what type?” The guy was fascinating and seemed much more willing to chat that a certain grumpy one back in town. “Environmental. I am working with Calmac at the moment. That’s the company that runs the ferry you used to get here if you travelled by sea.” He explained while the dog came back and licked his fingers quite happily. “I am a doctor. I was…. Still am… it’s complicated.” She cut short and noticed the confusion in his face. “Long boring story.” “What type?” “Cardio thoracic surgeon.” He whistled “bad ass woman. Love it.” His grin reached his eyes and she felt heat spread inside her. Definitely more than cute. And those dimples… She was having a good time but she had to keep going, she still had a few things to do. “I am enjoying the conversation but I still have quite a lot to cover.” She stood and turned to him. The main smiled “Of course. Care for some suggestions?” Aelin nodded. “If you are driving south, right after Borve there is another lovely beach. Stop there as well. Not as famous as Luskentyre but amazing as well. Then continue all the way down to Rodel. It’s the village at the end of the road. There is a lovely church called St. Clements. Worth visiting. Once you are past Rodel make your way back via the Golden road. It’s a very narrow road but it’s a pleasure to drive if you want an Hebridean adventure. Once you are almost at the top before Tarbert, make sure you stop in Drinisiader. There is a fascinating wee museum about Harris Tweed. But just hide your purse. They have some amazing stuff and you might want to buy the entire shop. Then you are in Tarbert and from there it’s an easy drive back to Stornoway.” “Tapadh Leat.” She said and Elias gave her a huge grin in response. “A bheil Gàidhlig agad?” He asked and she realised she had to stop trying to use Gaelic. “I just know thank you and good morning.” She explained almost embarrassed. “That’s okay, lass. I am not a native speaker either. I learnt it later on in life. My parents don’t actively speak it, but my gran did. It was the only way I had to communicate with her. My parents were parts of the generation that grew being taught that speaking Gaelic was not proper, so they never did. My mum understands it because of course her mother was a speaker. But she used her dad to translate. It’s a very long complicated story.” He stopped and looked at her. “Looks like we both have a complicated story to tell each other.” Aelin’s stomach fluttered in excitement. He grabbed his wallet and removed a business card from it. “Sorry for being so direct, but you seem quite an interesting person. Call me or message me if you need a guide.” He held the card to her and Aelin debated for a moment whether to take it or not. Lysandra had told her to go to Scotland, enjoy herself and get a Scottish man in the process and forget her ex husband. She took the card “I’ll call you.” “Do it, mo charaid.” She smiled warmly, grabbed her backpack “It was nice meeting you, Elias.”

She was driving along the Golden road and she had to admit that the road was a real adventure. Large enough for a small car to pass, she had to constantly focus on the road to avoid ending in a ditch or in a loch beside the road. But no matter the stress, she was loving it. Until the sheep arrived. One moment she was alone on the road. The next moment she was surrounded by sheep. A massive flock stretched for some length along the road. She got off the car, she took a picture and sent it to Lysandra with the caption traffic jam in the Hebrides. A moment later the phone rang. “Are you kidding me?” “No Lys, I swear I am surrounded by sheep. They are everywhere and I can’t go anywhere. Guess someone will come and collect them soon.” She heard Lysandra laugh “Sounds like you are having a great time.” “I am.” she confessed not entirely convinced. The memory of the fight with Rowan still stung and she was wracking her brain to find a way to fix things with him. She was… intrigued by him. He was brooding, infuriating and handsome at the same time. Plus he was the owner of a bookstore which was not bad. She wanted to be his friend but it looked like he was not interested. He had made that abundantly clear. Nothing I want to give you. Tears threatened to appear once again but she fought, not willing to let sadness spoil such a lovely day. So she had decided to put some distance. She would go to get her book when it arrived and then limit her visits to his shop, for as much as it pained her. He didn’t want to have anything to do with her. Well, she was granting him his wish. “How is going with Aedion?” She changed the subject. “Well, we have only been on a date but he’s great.” “Already planning your wedding?” Aelin joked and Lysandra laughed in reply. “Nah, just imagining having sex with him for now.” “Eew. I didn’t need to know that” “Seriously… the man has amazing hands and I spent the evening thinking what he can do with them. And if all the other parts are just as big as the rest of the body…” “Eewww. Ewwww and eeeeew.” “Since when you are such a prude?” Aelin laughed she wasn’t but she had no interest in listening her best friend talk about her boyfriend’s body parts. “Get a move on finding a man of your own and then you can fantasise about his body parts.” For a brief moment Aelin’s mind thought about Rowan’s hands and… No, stop. She could not go there. That was dangerous territory. “We’ll see.” Was all that she added. “I need you to come back to me happy.” “What if…” she paused for a second “what if I am not coming back?” “What do you mean?” In the distance Aelin noticed a tractor and the sheep began moving again. “Sheep are moving. Gotta go back home.” “Ok. Keep me posted.” She say bye to Lys and she was positive she felt a note of sadness in her friend’s voice.

The sheep finally moved and she spent the journey home mulling over what she had said to Lys. She could not see herself going back to London. Something had broken inside her. Maybe it was her that was broken. With her skills and experience she could easily find another job in another hospital. So why the rejection from one place hurt so much? And Chaol… London was a very big place, the chances of her bumping into him on the streets were minimal. However, they had loads of friends in common. She would have to give up her friends to avoid him. Give up her gym, her favourite bookstore and cafe, because he was a regular in those places too. She would have to give up her life to avoid him and the pain that seeing again would bring. She had felt relieved after the divorce. She still had no regrets. But forgetting almost a decade together was proving more difficult than she expected. She pushed on the breaks quite hard, forced the door open and run to the field near the road. And then she collapsed on her knees and screamed, letting out all the frustration festering in her. Her hands began shaking and she felt the symptoms of a panic attack starting to manifest. Breathing was getting harder. So Aelin stayed in the filed, and cried and shook. Until she had no more tears left in her.

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #aedion x lysandra #lysandra #fluff #angst #throne of glass series #fanfic

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