rusty_kink | Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

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jon and martin figure out that while nothing martin can do will wake jon up while he's sleeping, he can make the experience a little (a lot) easier. jon's able to feel what's happening in his physical body, and if the sensations are distracting enough, it blocks out what's happening around him.

they try martin cuddling him, but it's not enough. they try martin massaging him, and it's closer, but still not enough. eventually, they try martin fucking him- bingo. it's utterly overwhelming, just what jon needs.

it becomes a nightly ritual. martin kisses jon goodnight, waits a few minutes, and then plays with jon's compliant (but still very responsive) body.

bonuses:
+if jon tries hard enough, he can see what's being done to him. maybe through martin's eyes?
+martin is very, very into making anxious, high-strung jon putty in his hands- especially when he's too lost in the pleasure to worry or gripe. what i'm saying is martin has a somno kink.
+jon's let people fuck him while he was sleeping before.

dnws:
none

fuck that’s hot, and also very sweet

aaaaaaaand were done, its massive and only like 50% of the prompt,enjoy https://archiveofourown.org/works/23594695

ooops prev post should have said fill, im a dumb

OP, would you be okay with Elias/Jon mindfuckery as a framing device (Elias making Jon re-experience the trauma in the context of badtouch)?

(OP) I am CRYINGGGGG AAAAAAA!!!! This is already so much more and better than I expected!!!!!!! I thought if anything, I’d get a 600 word drabble, but this is 11K words of Martin getting aggressively loved and body worshipped by Elias like I wanted thank you I owe you my life

I am craving og team found family feels except also Sexy

Tim, Sasha and Martin all have a pretty huge crush on Jon, and decide to team up to slowly seduce him; turns out Jon really likes sometimes when people take choices away from him, and they all slowly build a nice dynamics where Jon is their boss, but also, sometimes, their lovely pet/sub

(also they move in together at some point? Feel free to mostly discard canon. I'd just love a scenario where the assistants are all protective and defensive of their boss, and then sometimes gets to lovingly wrecked their boss until he's all relaxed and sweet for them)

Bonus points for Sasha being in charge as soon as Jon is not in the Archives, helped with Martin who discovers some pretty nice dommy tendencies
Martin reads Jon's needs best, and Sasha is pretty good at giving orders

Bonus bonus bonus point if Jon ends up with a lovely collar at home with a bell and the tag "boss"

DNW: dubcon or noncon here; jon might be oblivious to the seducing at first/the assistants being REALLY into him, but he is pretty much ready to be with them when they get very flirty/dommy
and er, that's pretty much it? Go wild.

OP would be fine with this!

Hey anon, I wrote a tiny thing today that could.. sort of fit your prompt (was definitely inspired by it) and it's not much but I wonder if you'd like to read it? It's got Jon in a skirt and tim and martin being very into it (but also Sasha?)

it gets vaguely into them doing a bit of seducing/some fantasy talk so if you're not up to it it's fine!

Not OP but that sounds incredible as a framing device, best of luck writing/[excited eye emoji]

SA Just to clarify, I'm the OP. I'm fine with this. :D

(filler person) ur very welcome! yea it... it got away from me. and there will probably - but not definitely i cannot promise anything - be a sequel from elias' pov, and it will be a bit more faithful to ur prompt i think. We Shall See

I would love to see it!

yessssss this is so so good, absolutely seconded

To be quite honest, Jon doesn't think hard about it. He's worn skirts around the Archives already -- yes, it's not quite his first choice, not quite as professional as he'd like now that he's head archivist, but nobody has ever said a word about it so he doesn't take the time to worry when he realizes that the only clean clothes he's got left are a few skirts and blouses. One glance outside promises him a hot summer day, so he grabs the tame, beige, flowery one that ends at his knees, picks a nice white blouse, and goes for the matching underwear, because he's nothing if not thorough.

He spares a thought for the looks he may get in the tube, and then shrugs it off. As for the office, well; it's Friday. Casual clothing surely won't raise any eyebrows. Tim, he's sure, will be wearing something much more extravagant than anything that's in Jon's wardrobe, anyway.

It is seven am. He's already late. He rushes through the door, and promptly forgets his choice of clothes for the day.

"Rosie?"

"Oh, Sasha," Rosie says on the phone, sounding flustered. "Jon's coming down."

"Er," Sasha says, amused. "That's good? Does he look pissed or something? I guess it is later than usual."

"No, no," says Rosie, "it's only, that, well, I thought I ought to warn you, he's, well, he's, dear, Timothy had said, before, but I had never realized --"

"Rosie," Sasha says more firmly. "What's this about, really?"

"Oh, well --"

Rosie babblers on, but Sasha misses most of it; Jon has pushed through the door of the Archives and passed in front of her desk briskly, his short skirt flowing around his legs. He spares a glance for her and nods and offers a small, warm smile; lock of hair falling over his high cheek, and Sasha's heart misses several beats.

"Oh," she says weakly on the phone, as Jon disappears into his office.

"I tried to warn you," Rosie said. "I'll try to get to Martin and Tim --?"

"Yeah," Sasha says faintly. "Yeah, maybe do that."

God, she thinks. Thank god for Fridays.

"Is he as pretty as Rosie said?" Tim says excitedly when he arrives down in the Archives. "I swear to god, she was blushing . He's worn skirts before."

"He has," Sasha says, in a whisper, "but not -- they were long ones. The ones that made Martin blush over ankles or whatever."

Tim looks like Christmas has come early. "Wait," he says, "wait do you mean --"

"Tim?"

Tim and Sasha whip their heads around at the same time. Jon stands on the doorstep of his office, and Tim manages not to lose all his breath at once. Jon's tied up his hair in a loose ponytail now, blouse sleeves already rolled up from the natural heat of the archives, neck lightly warm up, but none of that compared to the skirt, brushing over naked knees, revealing beautiful dark shaved calves.

"Yes, boss?"

"We weren’t able to catch up yesterday," Jon says, seemingly oblivious. "Did you manage to get hold of Mrs Cliff?"

"Riight, yes. Well, no. It's complicated."

"I do love it when you've got proper answers for me," Jon says dryly, raising an eyebrow, and Tim itches to press him against the door and give him answers indeed, maybe put a hand under that skirt and --

Sasha hits his back. Tim blinks. "Yeah, give me five minutes, and I'll have something for you," he says.

Jon frowns. "...Right." he turns around, the skirt moving with him, and then turns back again. "You're okay?" he asks, a bit stiffly.

No, Tim thinks. Why do I want so badly to raise your skirt when you don't even have any ass to grab at? "Sure, Boss. Just the heat. Plus, morning. Not everybody here is you or Sasha."

"Pity," Jon snorts, but he nods again, and then he's gone.

"Fuck," Tim swears.

"Yup," Sasha says.

"Martin's screwed."

"Oh, don't even pretend," Sasha says. "We all are. If we're lucky, he'll just stay in his office all day."

"Oi, Sasha, no, come on. If we're lucky Jon is going to decide today is filing statements day."

"Five quid at least one of us has to leave early if it happens 'cause we won't be able to handle it," Sasha says after a beat.

Tim laughs. "Oh you're on."

Martin tries not to stare. He tries so hard not to stare.

"Martin," whispers Sasha. "You're staring again."

Martin flushes hard and hides his head back into the box he's supposed to be sorting through. He'd been fine before. Tim and Sasha and, god, Rosie had told him about the skirt, but he'd been fine because Jon was in his office all morning, and, yes, right, so, maybe he'd had one leg curled underneath him when Martin had brought him tea at ten, and it'd been a naked leg, and Jon had apparently forgotten that skirts rose up when you moved like that, and he could see his thigh but it was fine. There wasn't much there, and he'd managed to hold a one minute conversation without imagining too hard pulling Jon out of the chair and sitting him on the desk and ---

But then, then Tim had had the brilliant idea to suggest they went through the rest of the day sorting through the statements, since it was mostly a mindless, easy task for a hot Friday, and Jon had agreed, and Sasha, how could she do this Sasha had said it was hot, and that they should probably get the old fan out while they worked.

Jon's skirt was light and flew up. A lot.

He hasn't yet seemed to notice Sasha, Tim and Martin are not going very fast with their boxes at all.

"I hate you," he tells Tim.

"Nah you don't," Tim says, and winks. "Hey, boss? Need help with that box? It's high --"

Jon scowls, like every time any of his assistants imply he was too small to reach anything. "I'm fine Tim" he says and bends over to grab the footstool they always left near the shelves. He doesn't crouch. Martin spots a hint of white under the skirt, and makes a small, pitiful noise.

This is hell. This is what hell is like.

Next to him, Sasha sighs, eyes fluttering several times. Tim staples the table and not the file.

"Hey," says Sasha at lunch. "It's Friday. Let's go somewhere together to eat?"

Jon hesitates a second, but his assistants look so hopeful, and,well . He supposed they've worked well all morning, and it's -- well, it's nice, sometimes, not to eat alone. "Sure," he says. "Let me just grab my jacket."

He smooths over his skirt idly, and notices Sasha's eyes following the movement of his fingers. For a second, he feels oddly self-conscious. He's aware he doesn't have the -- proper curves, perhaps, to properly look nice in a skirt like that. Not like Sasha, at the very least. But then Sasha smiles at him, and Tim coughs, and Martin says "Right" in that high voice of his, so Jon shakes it off and goes to his office to take what he needs.

When he comes back, the three of them are whispering among each other in high tones, and look like guilty children when he says, "Are we going?"

He eyes them suspiciously. "Are you trying to play a prank?" he asks.

"Of course not," Martin says, which does not reassure Jon one bit. He turns to Sasha, who's the only one he actually trusts to tell the truth.

"We're not," Sasha says. "We were just wondering where to go. Any preference?"

"Well, there's the Thai place two streets down --" he suggests uncertainly.

"Oh, yess, " Tim immediately exclaims cheerfully. "Yes, perfect."

In the hall, Rosie glances up at Jon and flushes, waving lightly. Jon waves back. They cross paths with David, from research, who seems to strangle himself with his sandwich.

Tim snickers, and puts a casual arm around Jon's waist.

"Tim, that is highly inappropriate," Jon says.

Sasha squeezes his hand. "Oh come on, it's lunch break, we're just your friends right now."

"That isn't -- we're still --"

There is a hand on his skirt. Jon makes a highly embarrassing noise.

"Sorry sorry sorry," Martin says fast and red all over. "It's just your skirt was mmh-- it was riding up a bit and I thought you might not --'

"Let's go eat," Jon says, voice strained.

Sasha would like to think she's a little bit more subtle than Tim and Martin. Everybody would be more subtle than Tim and Martin, right now. Tim has clearly decided that the skirt was too much; he sat next to Jon in the booth, and threw his arm back around Jon's chair, casually charming about it. Jon scowled, but Jon always scowls -- it makes him unbearably adorable, and makes Sasha want to grab his proper little collar and kiss the frown away. Martin's sitting in front of Tim, but he keeps staring at Jon and flushing and hiding in his food.

Sasha really hopes she's more subtle than this, but also when she feels her foot meet Jon's ankle under the table, she can't help but spit a little bit of water out of her glass. Jon looks a little bit embarrassed, legs retracting fast under the table and, damn it. Unfair.

Tim shouldn't be the only one trying to play at seducing their pretty, pretty boss.

She leans her foot again, and brushes her ankle against Jon's; he's so soft. It's ridiculous. How is he softer than her? She imagine shaking her shoe off, and dragging her foot against Jon's leg; Tim could hold him there nice in his chair, and she could see how he reacted if she brushed it against whatever he had under that skirt of his --

"You're okay there, Sasha?" Tim grins widely. "Looking a little flushed."

"It's hot , Tim," she spits, and Tim laughs.

"Guess it is, huh? It's very very hot. Isn't it Martin?"

"I - uh- ugh," Martin stares hard at his pad Thai, stabbing it angrily.

Jon looks baffled by all of them. God. Sasha wants to wreck the innocence out of him so bad. She takes another glass of water, and gently slides her foot up. Jon's eyes widen, like caught in an odd trap, and they, too, are so insanely pretty but he reaches for his glass of water, and says nothing either.

Sasha bites her tongue, and lets her foot linger for the rest of the meal.

Sasha raises her eyebrows at Tim when they get up to pay, and he knows exactly what it means. Oh well, game on. He likes her so much. Jon tries to frown at him again when he lets his hand rest over his hip again, but he doesn't protest as much as he could, so Tim's arm stays right there; he goes even as far as playing a bit with Jon's blouse, keeping Jon very close to him.

"Mmh, doesn't feel like we should go back to work, huh?" he tries out, leaning down to breath the suggestion against Jon's ear.

"You're not getting out of the three hours we've got left, Tim," Jon says dryly, but there's a low flush creeping down his neck, and Tim has to fight every instinct to lick it up.

Jon's way too delicious, it's patently unfair. If someone had told him one day he'd been wanting to devour serious, stuffy Jonathan Sims from Research, he might have snorted at the thought, but these days --

"Oh, come on Boss," he keeps going, light and easy, "I've got so many more productive, pleasant ideas of what we could do --"

"Tim," says Jon, slowly. "Are you flirting with me?"

Next to them, Martin stumbles over nothing and yelps, barely keeping his balance. Behind them, Sasha coughs up something that might be a laugh or an exclamation of surprise. Tim beams at Jon, delighted.

" Yes," he says. "Yes, yes I am!"

"Well, you're not doing a very good job at it," Jon says, raising his eyebrows. "And you're officially on the clock, anyway."

And then he's slipping off Tim's arms and climbing up the stairs of the Institute, and Sasha's properly laughing, and the breeze makes Jon's skirt hitch up high again, showing beautiful thighs Tim wants to push his cock between.

"Harsh," Sasha says, patting his shoulders. "Poor Tim."

"Are you kidding me?" Tim says. "He said it was office hours. Means as soon as we're clocked out, I've got the right to try again."

"What?" Martin protests. "That is not what he said --"

"That's what I heard," Tim sings, and moves towards Jon.

"Are you, um, are you okay?" Martin asks Jon as soon as he can, Tim and Sasha laughing at Sasha's desk after Jon sent them away "in time out, until they learnt how to behave what has made you both act like children today?"

"If my employees could do their work diligently, I'm sure I'd be even better," Jon says dryly. "Can't say it would come to the day I'd rely on you for good behaviour."

"Ouch," Martin says, and Jon winces. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't -- that wasn't very kind."

"Nah, it wasn't," Martin says. "Especially when I'm your last standing employee and all," he adds, and Jon grins, eyes softing.

"Guess you are. Come on. I could use your arms for moving the boxes there --"

"Sure," Martin says bravely, and sends a triumphant look at Sasha and Tim; Sasha winks and Tim raises his thumbs. Martin flushes and turns back to Jon, and promptly forgets all the confidence that had filled him thirty seconds ago, as Jon is bent down again. His heart races in his chest. God, he thinks, it's unfair. If he could just -- grab Jon's hips, raise the skirts, maybe, maybe rut his cock a little against those white panties he can see the shape of underneath, have Jon wrapped in his arms, pulling him against the shelves....

"Martin? Martin," Jon snaps. "Are you helping or not?"

"I -- right," Martin says, wide eyed and flushed. "Yeah I just -- let me --"

He has no idea how it happens. He never knows how it happens. One instant he's trying to take the box off Jon's arms, the next he's tripping over, and they're both falling --

Jon falls into the boxes with a yelp; Martin falls on his knees next to him, his hand landing on Jon's thigh, Jon's -- fuck, Jon's naked thigh, because the skirt is up now, it's really up, and Martin's nose is right there and--

He scrambles up fast, breathing fast and hard. Jon is flushed as well, tugging his skirt down with his mouth slightly parted.

"I need -- I should -- I'm gonna go," Martin says weakly, and promptly hits a shelf.

"You owe me five," says Sasha, as she watches Martin babble that he'll just go home early, probably for the best, while Jon snaps at him to stay still as he holds cold ice over Martin's forehead.

"Martin's not gone yet," Tim says. "D'you think we can convince Jon he just needs a healing kiss?"

"Yeah, I'm sure Jon believes in the power of the healing kiss," she snorts. She eyes them both, and leans against Tim. "Hey," she whispers. "I know Martin's not into girls and all. But do you think he'd mind much that I really want him to grab Jon right now and get him to straddle his lap properly?"

"Sasha " Tim says in a mock offended whisper. "That is highly inappropriate office talk."

"Uh-huh," she says, and brushes her hand over Tim's thigh. "So, I shouldn't talk with you about how nice it'd be, once he's got Jon on his lap, if you went there and took that blouse off him, maybe not entirely, just so we could get Martin's mouth on Jon's tits --"

"Oh, you're wicked," Tim says, but he's staring at Jon and Martin too, now, eyes darker. Sasha smiles, pleased.

"Might be a bit of a hassle," she says, "but I bet we could hitch up that skirt, maybe ask Jon to keep it up for us. You'd be able to push the panties away, so you can finger him a little, prepare him for me --"

"You?" Tim cuts off, offended.

"C'mon, Timothy, we know who's in charge here, and it's my fantasy. I'd have my strap ready for him." She hesitates, glances at Jon and Martin, still babbling at each other, and rocks ever so slightly against her chair, hand landing over Tim's crotch. "If you're really good," she adds with her best tempting voice, "you could eat him out once I'm done having fun."

"Of fuck off," Tim breathes. "Boss? I need to get home. Feeling a bit sick."

Jon turns around, surprised; the ice pack falls over Martin's cheek, and Martin waves his hand around, brushing it against Jon's skirt. Sasha kisses Tim’s cheek.

"You owe me five," she repeats, laughter in her voice. and, louder. "He is hot, Jon."

(op) oh my gosh!!!!!!!!!!!! that was wonderful, i loved it so much!!!!!

I write out of order and have cursed myself with literally ten separate scenes, so tentative plan is updating in small bites here and larger now-with-spellcheck ones on ao3.

Also, if you prefer your updates with tags suggestive of what comes next, it's on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343955

The second happens before he can bring himself to face Martin again. Jon doesn’t rightly know if the episode lasts a bit longer or if he just knows what to expect already, the ability to ignore how it builds stolen from him by that lack of confusion. He's oddly comfortable at first, too exhausted to mind much of anything and more physically forgiving just by dint of that post-orgasmic lassitude, the loss of his characteristic tension leaving him almost melting into the floor. Maybe it'll begin to bother him soon that, instead of the way more mundane sexual frustration used to give up and dissipate entirely, he still feels conscious of it, the awareness of his body disproportionately including a focus on still feeling warm and wet and sensitized between his legs that doesn't even slightly manage to be disgust.

He's too wrung out for that now, though, for much of anything other than trying to calm down and reorientate himself enough for that to matter without it meaning thinking outside himself enough to (not) help, which would be a tall order at significantly better times than… this, and right now consists of being aware of how little he can dissociate at all and not much else.

Almost seductive pressure, though, from the air itself, a subtle enough sensory experience at first that it's a tiny active battle to realize he can't hear as in muffled but not fully suppressed by the windows, that's just his mind trying to make this level of baseline awareness make sense and then keep it under his radar for long enough for Jon to let it in. He tries to only be an almost-human body instead. He does. But that just means more knowing when that almost-too-good-to-be-true Knowing gets the better of him after all, removing his willful ignorance as an option.

And the-- outside perspective really does seem to be inextricable from the now-unmistakable pleasure rippling through him again, quickly overwhelming him between breaths. It's both a full-body thing -- nothing of him being exempt, from the prickling sensitivity of his lips to warmth that lances down to his fingertips to the way his thighs tense and, even lying down, his knees feel so weak -- and uniquely, unmistakably focused on his cunt, the rest of his body subordinated into echoes and refraction. Is that where and why he feels insatiably, overwhelmingly full? Is there any way he doesn't, when that's part of what feels this good, the hollowness he exists around in every way instead stretched and filled and somehow, he knows, simultaneously already overwhelmed and always ready to take more?

(Was it like this the first time?)

Every wave is close to being an orgasm in and of itself, and any concept of resistance is almost instantly unreachable. Even awareness of his body as a separate experience is somewhat tenuous when sight and climax feel inextricable if not just synonymous.

It's flashes he's worse at getting anything more than generalities out of, this time; something about napalm -- about family -- about the circulatory system hardening into calcified wood and then the drag when that catches-- but the sense of upheaval in progress to contrast with what he's just Known, and throughout it all, always, the fear, fear that makes his mouth open and his toes curl and lifts his hips from the floor. Fear new to him, such that it's almost incomprehensible to feel that it might also be enough if only he took more of it but at the same time there's so much he barely even understands as there to take--

Maybe he's paying attention the whole time after not deluding himself about what the thrumming feeling behind his eyes and the rapid curl of heat and awareness from spine to hip. Maybe it feels like he's shuddering interminably when his body does lock up tight and desperate (though hardly the same genre of desperation as, say, someone who is staring down at the hands they just barely know to be their own as the palms split and the flesh begins to slough away from the bone and--) because he expects it to end and simultaneously is too overwhelmed to think past the current split second. Maybe he does only feel like that was more because he's thinking of it as something to come back from despite his breath still ragged and uneven and his clit palpably twitching with the odd mundanely physical aftershock, perspective warped by impatience. Maybe. Probably that's a more reasonable outcome than it being longer, harder, more already.

He tries not to think about not knowing when it'll happen again, about giving up on if, about the hazy allure of speculation as far as what it would mean if it does build on itself. Tries to remember to hate it. In time to face Martin, if nothing else, for God's sake.

Tim dies and comes back as an avatar of the desolation. Sasha, ever the resourceful one, knows just the way to keep him under her thumb. This includes any combination of restraints, punishments, and praise for being such a good boy for his Archivist. Stuff like Sasha punishing him for losing control by whipping him then using his cock to get herself off without letting him cum or teaching him a lesson in self restraint by tying him up and teasing him.

I envision Archivist Sasha as having Gertrude’s practical and ruthless nature combined with Jon’s more caring tendencies and avatar abilities since I feel like that would make for a fun dynamic for this, but I’m open to other interpretations. I also like the idea of their relationship being just a bit sappy. They do genuinely adore and care for each other cuz you know, monsters in love and all that.

YOURE RIGHT AND YOU SHOULD S A Y I T

This is my first time making a post on this website so I apologize if I get the formatting wrong.
2
but yeah! essentially i've had this idea kicking around where post-office party (of some sort) what if elias spiked jon's drink and non-cons him in elias's office, but also what if the assistants saw them leave together and were also a little tipsy and decided it would be funny to follow and see where they ended up

bonus if they are mortified about the whole ordeal but what to help in some way but can't figure out how or elias knows they are out there and forces the image into jon's mind

+if jon begs elias to stop but can't quite get the words out
+trans jon!
+im a big fan of peter and elias just being absolutely insufferable throughout the whole ordeal
+if there is some comfort from the assistants near the end

-scat

heck op that's brilliant

He hadn't meant to do that.

Jon can tell that almost as soon as the sound returns to his ringing ears, as soon as the eyes he'd automatically closed open themselves again. He doesn't turn his head back to face Elias, but neither does Elias drop his hand from where it's still suspended in the air. Neither of them move.

Elias has done many terrible things in his time. But he has never struck his Archivist. Never struck Jon, not even when he's had due cause to do so. No matter how they've argued over the centuries, Elias - Jonah - has never cast harm upon him directly.

Except now that's no longer true. And maybe it's the final straw, or maybe the final straw was the argument itself, but Jon finds he no longer wants to be in the Archives. In the Institute. Around Elias. He can't exactly quit, but he can run to the farthest corner of the Earth and stay there until Elias pulls his head out of his ass and apologizes.

"Jon."

Elias finally speaks. He looks... shaken. Jon takes a step back, turns.

"Jon?"

He moves towards the door, closing the numerous eyes along his back and shoulders as he goes. Closing all his extra senses down, locking himself out of reach of Elias, even as he can feel the man frantically scrambling after the connection like a drowning man chasing after the last bit of land before the water seizes him. "Jon, wait--"

Jon doesn't wait. He doesn't stop, and he doesn't let Elias get another word in. He throws the door open, and slams it shut behind him, and strides off into the night.

By the time Elias runs outside, he's gone.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He stays away for three months.

In the grand scheme of things, it's not that long of a time. The world turns, the Entities feed, the things that were once human beings continue to scream and cry and thrash and suffer as the universe reshapes itself to fit everything. Jon drifts from one place to the next, never staying long, never interfering in the natural order of whatever Entity has seized onto the populace. He keeps his mind shut, keeps his eyes quiet, and even if he can feel Elias pounding at the mental door between them, scratching and begging through action to be allowed inside again, he keeps it shut.

Let his Heart suffer for the pain he has caused. For the trust that has survived all of this, a trust that shouldn't have survived. A trust Martin tells him he's foolish to have, and he knows is foolish to have, but he can't stop himself having it.

Elias has broken faith with him. So Jon lets him scrabble and scream and wallow in the silence between them, as he drifts and feeds and lets himself turn the argument over in his mind.

Sometimes he drifts back into the Eye's territory, or skirts it. Never long enough for Elias to lock his location, to Call him to his side. By the second month, there's a terrible sense of anger brewing behind the door, but that only lasts until he drifts close to the Eye again, and then the anger gives way to a rush of relief and panic so sharp it steals his breath from his lungs. He's gone again soon enough, and the relief and panic gives way to a horrible ache of dread, so raw and open it would make him weep if he hadn't hardened his heart early on this.

It's so strange, to think of the Elias that looks at Jon like he is the world as the same Elias who once murdered a man with a pipe and then called it an overreaction. That the Elias in his head, having entire swings of emotion about the disappearance of his Archivist, is the same man who once shot Gertrude Robinson, another of his Archivists, dead. The same man who regularly goes from calling Jon darling and dearest to getting into nose-to-nose snarling fights with him, where they look into one another and Know until one of them backs down. Fights that have never escalated beyond that.

He doesn't know what to do, now that it has. He's always... relied on Elias to be that one cornerstone that didn't try to lash out at him in this new world while he got his footing.

By the third month, he thinks he has an idea of what to do. He can't ignore the Archives, and he can't truly even really ignore Elias - the Eye tends to get upset if its key players are not all on the same page, and things are already tricky enough as is. But he can make Elias work to earn his trust again.

So when he drifts back to the Archives, and Elias makes an immediate beeline for him, stark relief and terror and anger all balling up behind his gaze as he practically yells Jon's name, Jon turns on his heel and heads for his office, knowing Elias will follow. The door shuts behind him, and then Elias is gripping his shoulders, turning him about, and demanding, "Where did you go?!" while wrapping himself around Jon like he's the Flesh and not the Eye. Jon would normally return the grip, press their cheeks together, inhale Elias' scent. But this time he keeps his head turned away and his hands down at his sides, and doesn't open the door between their minds.

Elias pulls back. "Jon?"

Jon doesn't meet his gaze. And when Elias tries, Jon just turns his head again. "Is there something you want, Mr. Magnus?" he asks, evenly, and tries not to feel the satisfaction when Elias twitches like he's been slapped his own self.

"...I see. I suppose I deserve that, after what I... I'm sorry, Jon. I had no right, and I never meant to-- but that doesn't matter, does it? I'm sorry. I won't do it again, please believe that, if nothing else." He steps back, letting Jon go, and its a fight for Jon to keep his resolve as the sense of presence behind the door between them gradually backs away, until Jon can barely feel Elias, even as the man stands in the literal door to his office, and smiles at him.

"Thank you," Elias says softly, and there's that gentle worship in his eyes again, a sad understanding that makes Jon ache. "For coming back. I'll see you later Jon."

And then the door shuts, and Jon breathes out, knowing his message and terms have been received loud and clear. But still it hurts. It hurts and it'll keep hurting until Jon trusts him again. Maybe the distance will be good. Maybe it'll put some of that foolish trust to rest at last, and the paranoia and anger will come back.

Far more likely it won't, and Jon will go on trusting the man who made the world like it is, even as everyone outside burns and dies and suffers and the Entities drink the fear down and grow ever-stronger.

But that's the price you pay when you refuse to become a monster, he supposes.

It's so cold, colder than its ever been. Jon can't stop shivering. Logically he knows why. He knows he's dying, deep down, remembers ages ago when Jude Perry had looked him in the eye with a curled grin and told him,"Feed your God, or your God will feed off of you," and he'd thought it so simple. He'd thought he could ignore all of this, and it would go away. That if he just stayed out of it, didn't directly interact, everything would be fine.

Fine no longer exists for Jonathan Sims, and it hasn't for a long time. Now there is just the aching, gnawing, sick hunger in the pit of him, and the terrible knowledge that if he tries to do anything about it other than eat what Basira is willing to let him have (his Archives, his city, his Institute, his food, his prey, how dare she presume--) than she will kill him. She will put him down like the rabid dog she claims he is.

(He is a starving man standing before a buffet, and being reprimanded for trying to eat. How dare he be hungry, other people aren't hungry, other people don't need to eat, so how dare he? But he isn't other people, he wants to tell her. Has tried to tell her. He is a monster now, and monsters need to eat.)

Thinking about her too long anymore makes Jon see red. It's why he can't look at her, avoids her, her and Melanie both. They make him see red, make something inside him, deep, deep down, want to Look at them, and whisper such... such dark things until at last, they realize just who they're dealing with. The Archives were never for them.

But he's too weak to do that now. Too tired, too hungry, too cold. He misses Elias. Misses him like he's missing the ribs he gave up to get Daisy back, like the clear, unblemished skin he used to have, like the hair that wasn't streaked with white from the sheer stress of everything. But Elias won't see him, won't even-- won't even explain. Just sends things occasionally, but mostly leaves him to flounder.

He's drowning, and Elias doesn't even do him the courtesy of being the one to hold his head under as he struggles. At least if it were Elias, Jon could accept it. He's a monster, and monsters kill other monsters. If Elias kills him, its because he's failed in some way that is unacceptable. And at least with Elias, he wouldn't die of starvation.

It's been two days since he's lifted himself off the cot he's stashed in the Archives. He doesn't have the energy to move, to even call one of the nearby statements to him. So he closes his eyes, lets himself drift back off to sleep. Maybe this time he won't wake up. Wouldn't that be something?

He drifts, for a time. No dreams, but muted sensations. The cold, the hunger, the desperate need for Elias to be here, be home. Why isn't he here? He reaches out into the black, tries to recall what he looks like. Thinks of him in the cell, and--

Elias looks up. There's no cot, but a bed, and he stares at Jon like he's seeing a ghost. There's anger in those eyes, a terrible fury that Jon has never seen before. Oddly enough, that makes Jon feel better, because he knows that anger is not directed at him.

"What have they done to you?" Elias is off the bed and by him in two steps, cupping his lean face with a hand, stroking his cheek with a thumb. "My Archivist, my Jon, what have they done?"

Hungry, Jon mouths against Elias' palm. Starving.

"You need to hunt, Jonathan." There's no give in those eyes. "Statements won't keep you forever, not when you're beyond them. Come, on your feet." But he can't get up, is too weak to stand, and Elias makes a frustrated noise when that becomes apparent.

"Damn it Jon, get up. You need to eat."

Can't, Jon sends back. Basira.

He feels the static crackle along his mind, as Elias sweeps in and takes what he needs to see. His hands on Jon remain gentle even as his nose wrinkles, and a sneer twists his mouth.

"Trust those cowards to take advantage," he murmurs. "No matter. We just need you fed enough to get started. After that, well. It's a simple matter to resolve, no matter what they may want." He cups Jon's head, leaning it back so their foreheads touch. "Open up, my dear Archivist."

Elias drops his own barriers, and for the first time since all of this started, Jon feeds from a live source.

He is not gentle, and Elias does not expect him to be, and he does not flinch back as Jon rips into his mind with fervor, tearing the memories from their roots and seeing them through his own eyes.

Jonah Magnus, as a child, hated spiders.

He rips, and he eats, and then abruptly Elias shoves him back, and Jon snarls, and--

Elias laughs, low and cruel. "Go on then, my dear." In the low lights of the prison, the shadows look like eyes across his face. "Go and feed."

And Jon wakes up.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

His first unlucky victim is a girl of sixteen. She has encountered the Vast, and her statement is full of tears and silent pleas because she can't stop talking to this strange man that has cornered her in an alleyway and asked her for the story of her terror.

Her mind is chock-full of falling imagery, live and pumping with the delicious fear that Jon drinks like water, and he watches and watches and feels his hunger being filled as she sobs out one word after the next, and in the end she is left crying silently, glassy-eyed in the alleyway, praying to a god she doesn't believe in to save her. Her mind is already shaking in the leftover tremors of the Archivist's mangling of her mental state, the wide, gaping holes in her memory filling in with stark, bleeding nightmares that will linger for months. She will never be the same, and if she is weak enough, she may even take her own life from the trauma.

He leaves her there, and keeps hunting.

His second and third victims are moments apart, and his fourth not five minutes after that. Gluttonous and savage, he rips into each of their minds with pinpoint precision, drinking up the delicious fear, and making sure to unearth every last detail of their statements. He is proud of himself, on some level, for offering up such choice morsels to the Eye, and he knows Elias would be proud too, if he were here. It's thanks to Elias he's here, that he's living instead of wasting away like a human might.

He is no longer human, and it's time to stop fighting his nature. Daisy needs the Hunt, he needs the Eye, and so he moves on, leaving behind shell-shocked bodies as he goes. One of them, he's almost positive he drives to his death - not five minutes after leaving the man, he hears what sounds like a gunshot from the location behind him, and the skittering sensation of Terminus crawls across his mind like a cold bead of sweat. He shrugs and moves on, uncaring.

All told, there must be some twenty-five people he goes through before at last his hunger is sated. He feels fulfilled in a way that he wasn't before - but this time, there is no guilt.

He is a monster, and monsters must feed.

Oh, this is so good! I love how everyone in the Institute is getting very excited about Jon in short skirts.
Elias is probably Watching the entire show from his office.

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Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

prompt: jon/martin, consensual somnophilia

Re: prompt: jon/martin, consensual somnophilia

Re: Prompt: Elias/Martin (praise kink); where Elias is infatuated with Martin

Re: Fill: Elias/Martin (praise kink); where Elias is infatuated with Martin

Re: Prompt: Jon/school bullies, underage gangbang

Re: Prompt: Elias/Martin (praise kink); where Elias is infatuated with Martin

OG Team Polycule + seducing

Re: Prompt: Jon/school bullies, underage gangbang

Re: Prompt: Jon/martin and/or jon/tim, jon in skirts

Re: Prompt: Jon/school bullies, underage gangbang

Re: Prompt: Jon/school bullies, underage gangbang

Re: Prompt: Elias/Martin (praise kink); where Elias is infatuated with Martin

Re: Prompt: Jon/martin and/or jon/tim, jon in skirts

Re: OG Team Polycule + seducing

re: Prompt: Jon/martin and/or jon/tim, jon in skirts / Inspired filled 1/2

Re: Prompt: Jon/martin and/or jon/tim, jon in skirts / Inspired filled 2/2

Re: Prompt: Jon/martin and/or jon/tim, jon in skirts / Inspired filled 2/2

Fill: S5 Jon, Spontaneous Orgasms, Getting Off On The Apocalypse (2/?)

Prompt: Archivist!Sasha/desolation!Tim, D/s

Re: Jon/Martin pre 162 ‘honeymoon

Prompt: Jon/Elias(/Peter?), Non-Con, Drugged Sex, Assistants Overhear

Re: Prompt: Jon/Elias(/Peter?), Non-Con, Drugged Sex, Assistants Overhear

Re: Prompt: Elias/Jon, face slap

Re: Any/Jon or Gen, feral!Jon

Re: Prompt: Jon/martin and/or jon/tim, jon in skirts / Inspired filled 2/2