#Sebastien le Livre x Reader

[fangirlings-things]

Being a member of the Guard and having a love/hate relationship with Booker would include headcanons

anon said: hey! Can I please have some hc about being a member of the old guard and having a love and hate relationship with Booker? Something like you wrote in your other imagine. hope this is okay, thank you!

A/N: hii, love! of course it's okay! I love Booker, so it's always a pleasure to write for him! hope you like this 💖

TAG LIST IS OPEN

The thing about Booker, is that he has a talent to annoy you

Ever since you two first met, the french man showed you that temper that would just drive you crazy, unstoppably

It is as if he takes pleasure in contradicting you, and that of course, makes you want to kill him

Which you actually did, more than once

Everytime the team gets together for a job, he presents you that convinced smile of his and with irony, says how much he has missed you

You absolutely cannot work in plans together, since you always end up at each other's throats, more arguing than anything else

You do work fine together in the field, but you strongly believe that is because killing people do not require for you both to actually communicate

If you had a huge fight, you would give each other threatening looks later while sharing a meal with the others

Andy is annoyed by your bickering at each other. She is the boss and when she says so, you both stop fighting at the very same instant and do whatever she tells you to

Nicky and Nile mostly just roll their eyes at all the swearing and argument you have with each other, from time to time muttering to themselves how you both are such childs when it comes to one another

Joe finds it funny. He can't stop laughing whenever you both start screaming, shouting your lungs out because of something probably stupid, like who would get to go in first at the job

When Nicky asks him about it, he just says the fun is in the fact that you both don't see what's right in your faces

Occasionally, after a harsh job or just a bad day for both, you would allow yourselves to share a drink together in silence, just hoping for the alcohol to kick in soon

Whenever Booker spoke about his sons and all the grief he still felt after so much time, you wouldn't be able to deny to yourself how bad you felt for him and you would hug him, comfort him, even though you would later pretend that never happened

And he would pretend it either, even though that meant a lot to him. The fact that you cared

For some time, you would give yourselves a break from each other. But then, all of the sudden, the fighting and screaming would come back and in Nile's words, "everything would go back to normal"

And Joe woud laugh again at that and when it happened, Andy would be the one to ask why he was laughing, how he could find that funny. And for that, looking at his boss, he would say

"Me and Nicky were exactly like that in the beginning. Don't you remember it, boss?"

[evansboyfriend]

the old guard + john mulaney quotes [extended edition]

[romancingromanoff]

Secrets & Sketches

Andromache the Scythian x f!reader

I decided to create a series of loosely related one shots for Andromache (my beloved). Here’s part 1 and part 2

Summary: You were always staring at her, not knowing she was staring back.

TW: None?

Word count: +5,100

Author's Note: Hi y'all. Here's some slightly domestic fluff before the action happens and the stakes skyrocket through the roof.

Despite never having lived with four strangers before, it turned out that your new situation offered you far more privacy than you had ever experienced while living with your mother.

The woman had a compulsive need to control every aspect of your life, from what you wore to what you ate. You were barely even safe in the bathroom. The years had taught you to lie with your words and carefully crafted smiles. Knowing what she wanted to hear from you and how you could appease her temper was like mastering a second language. Your skills in the craft became more and more refined throughout the years and your confidence ultimately grew. But you underestimated your mother and made the greatest mistake of them all.

“I know you’re lying to me! What are you trying to hide from me, you ungrateful whore?”

A picture frame nearly collided with your head, chipping the door frame instead of scratching your face. The glass shattered on the floor and your body jumped twice, once at the sound and another time when your eyes settled on the damage and found that your favorite childhood photo with your grandmother was destroyed. 

“Whatever you did, I will find out! You cannot lie to me, I am your mother!”

It was one afternoon you had wanted all to yourself to go see the movie Roman Holiday after school. The charismatic Audrey Hepburn, riding on a Vespa with the largest smile you had ever seen, caused strange feelings to stir in your stomach when you had first watched the trailer. She was a princess masquerading as a commoner in order to freely experience the wonders of the Eternal City. Oh, how you envied her character. Your mother, however, could only focus on how short her hair was. The shortest your hair had ever been was when you were a fresh newborn. Once it grew past your upper back, you were never allowed to cut it, despite all the other girls you knew being able to short styles. 

“How disappointing.” She scoffed when a clip of her getting her haircut played. “Such a beautiful young woman and she wants to make herself look like a man? I really don’t understand your generation, you’re all confused.”

When you arrived home late that evening, she refused to believe the lie you had produced about giving some tutoring lessons after school. It was only two days later that she found the proof she wanted. While snooping through your journal she came across the movie ticket you had pasted next to your latest entry. She burned the entire thing as only one portion of your punishment.

How your mother could predict your actions, anticipate your every move, and see through every single one of your lies you did not know. It was like she knew you and how your mind functioned but could never truly understand how suffocated you felt by the twisted ways she expressed her “love” for you. She was your mother, the closest kin you had left after your grandmother’s passing and the woman that had known you for your entire existence. The fact that she birthed you was one she’d never let you forget, yet you knew she would spend your entire life trying to mold you into something you weren’t if she could. If she could never accept you then how could anybody else?

Then you met Andy, who always seemed to be in tune with whatever you were thinking. Hell, she could practically guess your thoughts word for word without even really trying, yet not once did it ever feel like she was violating your mind as your mother had. You were almost completely certain that she was fully aware of the times when you were drawing her. It was impossible not to see the art in her movements. She’d be doing something mundane yet slightly active such as washing the dishes and you’d pull your sketchbook out. The moment you put pencil to paper she would slow down ever-so-slightly. A plate that needed maybe two wipes suddenly took four or more to clean. She must have known what she was doing to you, softly smirking as she folded laundry 

But did she know what it was doing to you? How intensely you felt about her and as more than just an art subject, more than someone you merely admired. Pages full of sketches, varying in detail and design, became dedicated to capturing the alluring domestic side of the ancient warrior. Every angle, every shadow was carefully reconstructed (to the best of your ability anyway) as if to preserve each moment and time so that your eyes may never forget what she looked like chopping onions on a rainy Tuesday evening. A brief moment that might be incredibly insignificant for a being that has walked the earth for thousands of years, but one that was still so precious to you. The time you spent together, even the moments everyone else might consider to be dull, were filled with color all because of her.

Why she allowed you to draw her so frequently was something you couldn’t quite figure out. This rather untraditional dance the two of you engaged in was never spoken about in words. There was no doubt that Andy would have said something much earlier had she been uncomfortable being drawn by you. A part of you enjoyed entertaining the idea that, perhaps in some small way, Andy might actually return your feelings. But at the same time, you didn’t want to be wrong and come off as an artistic creep trying to invade her privacy.

The good thing was you never had to worry about any of the others looking through your sketchbook. The one time Joe had asked if he could take a peek it hadn’t even crossed your mind that you could have said ‘no’ to him. But the smallest bit of hesitance that he had seen in your eyes as you prepared to hand over your most personal and sacred treasure immediately stopped him.

“Y/N, you don’t actually have to show me anything if you don’t want to. I was merely curious but no part of me would be offended if you want to keep your art to yourself. I will always respect your privacy first.”

His words were almost foreign to you, like ones you had only ever read on pages and later discovered were pronounced completely differently when you finally heard them spoken out loud. Still, you knew Joe meant everything he said. Though all of your new companions were certainly capable of it, none of them had ever once tried to deceive you or keep you hidden from the truth. Previously living with a pathological liar had taught you all the signs you needed to know and not once had you found a single one since joining the old guard.

It was a bit startling how safe you already felt with these few strangers you had only met a few short weeks ago. You could talk to all of them about (almost) anything, although you did worry that your endless amount of questions might annoy any one of the unnaturally older beings. Sometimes you nearly cringed at the thought of how ignorant and stupid you must have appeared in their eyes. It mostly motivated you to contribute where you could. Cooking and cleaning were not tasks you necessarily enjoyed, but it felt nice to make some type of contribution to the team. Still, you longed to prove yourself as something more, to help save lives and make Andy, Booker, Joe, and Nico proud. And maybe, just maybe, if you became worthy enough of someone like your rescuer, she might look at you differently.

┊ ┊┊ 

It was nearing morning hours and your endless thoughts hadn’t allowed you to sleep yet. There was a buzzing in your body, making it impossible to fully relax, even though you knew you had a busy day of training ahead of you and you needed the rest. You tried to conjure up the comforting sound of Andy’s steady heartbeat as you imagined her lying next to you, only to grow even more anxious when you began feeling guilty for indulging in such thoughts. 

Did she even like women the way you did? You certainly had your suspicions and noticed the way her heart seemed to break anytime there was a mention of Quynh. The necklace that never left her neck also appeared to hold a great amount of pain and significance to her. But even if you were right, Andy had never brought up any details regarding her love life and you were determined to respect that undiscussed boundary. The tossing and turning was just an unfortunate side effect that eventually had you cave in and get up to grab a drink from the kitchen. 

“Can’t sleep?” The voice of the very person you had been thinking of came from behind you as soon as you had turned on a small lamp. You let out a nervous laugh and kept a steady hand on your chest when you caught her smiling directly at you. It made you take some extra time while getting your glass of water so that your heartbeat had a chance to settle.

Andy sat at the bar sipping on a mug of coffee. Even with the light being so dim, you didn’t need it to tell her beverage was completely black. 

“I still don’t know how you’re able to drink that. Every time I try it it’s like trying to swallow hot liquid dirt.”

“Really?” The Scythian chuckled and you prayed the darkness would hide your melted expression. “That’s surprising considering how you drown yours in milk and sugar.”

“Hey, we can’t all be as tough as you.” 

“No one said you had to be. No one said you weren’t already.” You supposed you were tough in the context of being able to override death itself, but besides that, it wasn’t a character trait you ever considered yourself to have. Even the immortality thing was basically a fluke. 

The dark haired woman gestured for you to sit down and you awkwardly lowered yourself into the chair across from her. Your glass of water looked silly standing next to her more refined drink. “Yeah, that’s me. I got tough hands covered in paper cuts and callouses from drawing.”

“Art is tough for a lot of people. It’s tough for me. I could never quite get the emotional vulnerability part down and I feel like all the best art pulls from that. I would say you could probably teach me a thing or two about drawing but you have something more inborn than that. It can’t be taught.”

“But you’ve never seen my work?” Had she? You didn’t think she’d go through your things without your permission but there was definiteness in her tone that told you her words were true. 

“No,” she shrugged. Nothing in her seemed to waver. “I don’t need to. There’s this look you get in your eyes when you’re completely focused on drawing that seems to transport you to this different world. I always wonder where you go but don’t want to tear you away when you’re clearly inspired.”

You had been staring at her for so long believing that she was merely tolerating your strange behavior. You assumed she simply felt unbothered. The idea that she might have been secretly staring back never once crossed your mind. 

“You… You watch me?” A beat passed and your brain short circuited, unsure of what kind of answer you even hoped to hear. If she did then was it with the same unspoken desire you held in your heart that you could be worthy of her one day? No, it had to be something far from that. Your awkward, uncoordinated behavior could only be considered entertaining at best if Andy didn’t find you pitiable. You imagined it was like watching your neighbor’s beagle after they arrived home from a medical procedure at the vet. The poor thing was so loopy yet unaware that he couldn’t walk in a straight line. Every few steps he took he’d also crumble to the floor before eagerly trying to get back up and making another attempt with the same results. That’s what she must see whenever she saw you trip over your own feet. Or how silly you looked the other day when Booker tried to show you how to hold a pistol and you shook so hard that it fumbled out of your hands.

Even with all the time in the world, it was a struggle to see yourself ever truly earning your place among the rest of the guard one day. You not only lacked combat experience but had been thoroughly sheltered from the world by your mother. She hadn’t allowed you to participate in any sports, not even the more feminine ones like dance or golf. The result was barely being able to do a push-up and having the wind knocked out of your lungs after only a brief jog. 

The others had started you off with some basic self defense techniques, which caused you to wake up with sore muscles you hadn’t even known existed. Everyone was extremely patient with you, stressing the importance of slowly building up your strength and reminding you that there was no rush to suddenly reach their skill level when they’d been fighting for longer than some of the strongest empires had lasted. But then you’d watch them training together or listen to one of them recount several of the missions they completed while you were stuck waiting in the safe house. They were out there saving lives, as well as literally sacrificing their own, while you could only hope to one day do the same. 

In the back of your head you could hear your mother berating you for having such ridiculous dreams. If she could see you struggling to learn a pull up she would certainly laugh at your miserable attempts. But Andy didn’t look at you like you were “perfectly pathetic” as your mother often described. No, she seemed to stare at you softly, which made you feel like you were the only person she was thinking about. 

“I find you interesting. More specifically, it’s been a pleasure to watch you grow into yourself these past few weeks. You look much more relaxed.”

You were fairly relaxed, aside from the fact that your heart was currently threatening to jump out of your chest. Or if physicists could somehow harness its energy then it could power the entire world. She had just admitted to finding you interesting and you were supposed to answer back in words. You took a painfully slow drink.

“Well, it has been nice being able to make my own decisions and not have someone constantly looking over my shoulder.” You think back to an instance where you were recently baking a lemon glaze cake for the team and some icing stuck to your fingers. Immediately, you went to wash your hands as your mother would have insisted upon when it occurred to you that she no longer had control over you. Licking your fingers after that had never felt so satisfying. “Even the little choices I’m able to make now are kind of exciting. Is that strange to say?”

“Not at all.” Andy shook her head. “It’s a beautiful thing, seeing how far you’ve come in such a short amount of time. Not to mention how glad I am that you feel safe enough around us to be yourself.”

A pang of guilt ran through you. What must she think of you if you were keeping cryptic drawings of her a secret? “I really do, which is why I don’t want you to believe I’m trying to hide things from you! Not forever, at least. I trust you, and perhaps it’s more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else. But with my drawings… I suppose it’s rather complicated and I’ve never willingly shown them to anyone before. They’re nothing inappropriate, though! I would never do anything like that.”

Before you could completely melt into a puddle of despair, Andy reached for your forearm, anchoring the two of you together while helping to calm you down. Her hand was warmed from holding her hot mug.

“Hey, it’s alright, I trust you too. You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I’m flattered about the drawings and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I can wait until you’re ready to show them to me when you feel comfortable doing so.”

It was completely vexatious how patient Andy could be with you, or how she always seemed to know the right thing to say to make you feel better. She possessed the ability to soothe the fears you understood intimately along with the others which you had tried to suppress and nearly forgotten about. You simply weren’t used to being treated in such a way. 

“How are you so patient with me all the time?” Your question came off more irritated than you intended, making you cringe inwardly. You weren’t even sure what you were really asking about.

In the few moments it took Andy to start processing the question, your thoughts finally began to come together and spill out all at once.

“I’m deeply appreciative of how understanding you’ve been, don’t get me wrong, but when I imagine myself in your position, it must be frustrating. You do so much for me, all four of you do, but you especially. I’m always needing your help with countless things even though I have nothing of use to offer in return. You’re all incredibly worldly people, capable of doing more than I ever have even before your first deaths. I’ve been kept sheltered my entire life and probably wouldn’t last a day on my own. Having me join the team probably feels a lot more like babysitting than anything else, yet you never complain about it.”

Even though you knew it wasn’t in her nature, sometimes you wished she would allow herself to be angry with you. Or if she even expressed the slightest bit of irritation then that might make you feel better somehow. You waited for Andy to tell you that you sounded ridiculous, or to make another comment about your tendency to overthink things. Nothing like that ever came.

In one swift, breathtaking movement, her hand carefully tilted your chin up towards her face so that you were caught in her stare. The skin of her thumb was rough and her green-blue eyes bore into your own, tender yet determined as they searched for something deep in your soul. Though her touch was completely innocent, it was also intensely intimate from your perspective at least. You wanted to bear your entire being to her, consciously preparing your mind and body to take in whatever words she was about to say.

“Y/N, listen to me. There is nothing you owe me. Relationships aren’t transactional and I enjoy being able to help you. You also didn’t choose this life and I can’t hold what you don’t know against you. I won’t lie and say patience comes to me easily. Truthfully, when you get to my age everything is frustrating. I’ve seen… far too much in my life aside from any type of explanation for it all and it has made me bitter. But you don’t deserve any of that and I don’t want to be that type of person anymore. I don’t ever want to turn my back on people I care about again.”

Her eyes glossed over with the hue of a haunting memory, something from her past clearly bothering her. She let go of you in the crest of the emotion and you nearly whimpered when you lost her touch, but found the rare opportunity to offer Andy the comfort she needed. 

“I may not know much in the grand scheme of things, but I know you’re not bitter. Truly bitter people try to tear down everyone around them because there’s nothing misery loves more than company. You’re nothing like my mother, she wanted to control me and keep me trapped in a life where I could never have my own happiness. You set me free. Anyway, it would be hard to live as long as you have, see the things that you’ve seen, and not become discouraged with all of the wickedness that has happened throughout history. What matters is that you’ve continued to fight for others that wouldn’t normally stand a chance on their own. If you were actually as bitter as you think, you could turn your back on everyone without a single care in the world. I see how much you care for others, Andy. Bitter people only care about themselves and I don’t see how you can believe you’re one of them.”

The fact that you were so young was partially why Andy felt the need to hold herself back and take things slow with you. Although your life would never be normal, she wanted to give you the chance to choose your own path and chase whatever dreams you fancied. Right now, it was crucial to prepare you for the world and to teach you how to keep your shared secret safe. But she knew you’d want to adventure out on your own at some point, and that you’d probably want to experiment with other partners closer to your age. Andy was aware of the baggage she carried, as well as the fact that the nature of your relationship meant she held a type of influence over you. She would never allow herself to take advantage of you like that.

But one thing she couldn’t let you do was downplay yourself, not when your words touched her in ways she hadn’t felt in thousands of years.

“Do you really believe you’re of no use at all and have nothing to offer? Y/N, I’ve traveled to every corner of the world and met the wisest individuals that still led directionless and unfulfilled lives. They thought of themselves too highly, pushed others away, and in the end their knowledge meant nothing when they were unable to make meaningful connections. You have all the time you need to perfect your knowledge and learn every skill that exists or will develop in the future.” 

Your head tilted in perplexity. 

“What? You think we had phones or electricity back when I was growing up? I didn’t learn how to drive a car until late last century. It was really like the blind leading the blind in those early days.”

Imagining a Victorian era Andy accidentally crashing a motorized carriage or angrily shaking her fist at experimental drivers from atop of her horse was certainly entertaining. You wondered if the two of you would ever share a similar experience together.

Temporarily distracted by your smile, Andy nearly forgot the importance of the message she was trying to convey to you. 

“Y/N, you’re right that you’ve never really been given the chance to grow before all of this. None of that was your fault. The wonderful thing now is that you’re on your way to becoming smarter, like anybody else can when given the right tools. What you already have, your emotional strength and intelligence, is far more rare and valuable in my eyes. You teach me to look at things from a different perspective even when I’ve felt stuck in my ways for hundreds of years. Don’t overlook how much of an impact you can make or how much we all appreciate you.”

“Andy… I… Thank you.” You try not to cry, though you know she wouldn’t judge you if you did. Viewing your emotions as a strength is something that you never considered before. They were always a weakness back when you experienced nothing but misery, and now everything couldn’t be more different. Your new life was full of evenings spent getting tipsy and laughing at the stories your friends told you of places and times that sounded unreal. It was wanting the taste of more, the promise of the adventures that lay before you and the people you would get to share them with. It was a life you could hardly believe was real and you got to spend every single day with a woman that made your heart race with a single smile. Even if she never felt the same way about you, there was no chance that you’d trade your time with Andy for anything or anyone else. “Thank you for everything. I’m glad I get to experience all of this with you.”

She almost let her resolve crumble upon hearing your words. The grip around her drink tightened, heating up her flesh to a tender sting but she persevered through it. She knew that if she touched you again then it would all be over. There would be no way she could let go.

“As exciting as everything can be, I can’t help but feel nervous for what’s to come. I worry that no matter how hard I train I won’t be prepared. No matter how much I learn, there is bound to be something I overlook.”

How right you were.

“One thing I can tell you is that there are some things you’re never ready for, even if you spend centuries preparing. People, history, and almost everything I’ve encountered follow some type of pattern maybe 99% of the time. But all it takes is that 1% chance of randomness to make life unpredictable. Even the most meticulous of plans can end up going sideways. At the end of the day, I always ask myself why I’m here or why certain things happen and I’ve never been very close to an answer. There are questions I’ve carried with me for even longer than I can remember.”

It would have been quite terrifying to hear those words from anyone else besides Andy. If she still struggled to figure things out then you were practically cursed to be clueless for the rest of your existence. Although strangely enough, it was actually comforting to hear that she shared a similar sense of existential questioning. Both of you were human even if your lifespans or biology no longer were. 

“Okay, but you must have a guess for when we’ll see flying cars at least. Or do you believe people will really be able to walk on Mars one day?”

A smooth attempt to cover up her broadening smile by lifting her coffee up to her mouth might have gone unnoticed if you hadn’t been so enamored by each one of Andy’s actions. She had a harder time hiding her eyes, which playfully rolled at your question. 

“Sure, I suppose it’s possible. Hey, maybe you’ll be the first one and you can tell us all about it.”

“While the prospect of accomplishing something you’ve never done is intriguing, I wouldn’t want to do it without you.”

The words left your mouth, leaving only your pair of eyes holding hers throughout a deep silence. It wasn’t often that Andy looked like she was at a loss for words but this was definitely one of those times.

Quickly, you tried to cover up your confession with a stupid excuse. “I mean if there really are man-eating martians up there they’ll want to eat you first. You have way more muscle.”

“Right,” Andy laughed in agreement. “I guess that’s all I’m good for besides being a model for your artwork. Are you fast enough to draw me up there in time before I get turned into alien food?”

“Maybe.” You blushed and tried to go for Andy’s move to cover your face with your cup, only to realize that it was practically useless when it was made of glass. 

“I, uh, really wanted to get some sleep tonight before waking up for early training but I guess I’m not doing a very good job at that.”

“Sleep in, you deserve the break. You’ve been pushing yourself really hard and should get to sleep in for once. There’s no need to overexert yourself.”

“Wait, aren’t you leaving for your mission around sunrise?” Andy was planning to look for some intel in the city and you knew she might be gone for up to a few days. “Wake me up before you go so I can say goodbye.”

For a moment, all the Scythian can do is try to memorize the look on your face, wishing that she could permanently sketch the vision on paper like you could. You gazed up at her with such innocence and devotion in your eyes, as if she was simply running to get milk from the grocery store the next morning. The team had actually glossed over the more important details about Andy’s assignment and what it would entail. It wasn’t that you were unaware of Andy’s brutal past and countless killings, but you still had yet to witness such violence. She couldn’t help but worry that witnessing that side of her would not only change how you saw her, but also influence your own self perception when the time came to take another life yourself. It was painful to imagine the countless amount of years you might spend plagued by inner turmoil, hating the person you would become even if it was inevitable. She’d die in a million more excruciating ways if it would shield you from such a curse.

“Andy, are you alright?” Your voice of concern brought her back to the present. There was a slight look of worry between your furrowed eyebrows that she wished to smooth out herself, but she practiced self restraint. 

“Sorry, I guess I’m a little tired too. If you want me to wake you before I leave then I will.”

With a satisfied smile on your face, you nodded and rose from your seat. The urge to ask Andy if she might join you tugged at your heart. You always slept more soundly when it was in her arms. Your nightmares were much more infrequent by now and it had been some time since you had been able to fall asleep while breathing in her scent, snuggling deep into her chest. The temptation to voice your request was almost impossible to resist, save for the fear of jeopardizing your friendship and making her uncomfortable by revealing your feelings. 

Eventually, you found yourself back in bed alone and replaying your conversation. One specific realization you couldn’t get over was that Andy had undoubtedly expressed some type of interest in the art you made of her. Sure, it’s possible that it might have been in a completely platonic sense, but you held onto the fantasy of it meaning something more and decided you’d keep it to yourself, for now.

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

Booker (TOG) and Nightmare on Elm Street.

UGHAHAHAHAHAH I'm laughing and crying at the same time cause it's here. I'm rusty it might not be the best, but I tried, and something happened. Something more than a single sentence. I hope you like it 💓

Feel You In Your Dreams Tonight

Pairing: Booker (TOG) x Reader

Warnings/notes: claustrophobia; vomit; blood; violence; sharp objects; depression themes; suicide by Fred Krueger?; suicide mention; I was really planning on this being more comedic than it was, I'm just glad it's here; I also actually got super stressed writing for Booker, I love the idiot so much

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 802

It's dark when you open your eyes. You never sleep well in other people's beds. There's a strangeness you can't quite put your finger on, and it takes a long moment of staring up at the ceiling to realize just how quiet everything is. You should be hearing the city: the passing of cars, distant music, at least the faint buzz of electricity. 

You should hear the breathing of the man in bed next to you, but he's gone.

Not unusual: Booker doesn't sleep well anywhere. 

You get up to go to the bathroom, but when you pass through the door the room on the other side is glaringly white. It makes you wince and you try to blink away the brightness. Your skin itches under the rough fabric of a hospital gown and before you can ask why, a nurse is leading you to a large, round piece of machinery in the middle of the room with a board sticking out of it like a big tongue. 

An MRI machine. You'd been in one of these before. Piece of cake. It was the after that had been the problem. Whatever they'd given you to help them look at your stomach had made you throw up. 

The nurse is kind, and you let them lead you to the table. You let them strap you down. 

You don't remember that part. 

Maybe they just want to make sure you lay absolutely still. 

The table moves in slowly, and you're reminded of the narrow bridges in funhouses that are designed to disorient you, the walls turning around you as you pass through, making you want to hurry up and slow down at the same time. 

You'd forgotten how tight it is. That's okay. There's a hole at the top and a hole at the bottom and it'll be over before you know it. The person running the scan asks if you'd like some music. "Dreamlover" by Mariah Carey starts to play before you can answer and it sounds odd, distorted somehow, but you try to relax and close your eyes.

The same person snaps at you to keep them open. He's not nice, not like the nurse. 

The machine starts to rotate, but it's turning too fast. There are skinless faces, gruesome, gorey images in the wall, becoming clearer and more awful the faster it spins. Saw blades with large and rusty teeth sprout from the smooth surface, growing bigger and closer, scraping each other. The sound stabs your ears and sparks bite your face. You clench your eyes shut and the voice barks at you to keep them open. You don't listen, flattening yourself as much as you can against the board because there's nowhere to go, the deadly blades getting closer and closer. Your wrists and ankles are sore and bloodied from their impossible work against the leather restraints. The light is gone at both ends of the tunnel. You scream. 

A scream rips Booker from sleep, and he tumbles out of the bed as glass shatters around him. A full-length mirror that stood by the wall only has its frame now. Several bottles of alcohol and two tumblers are nothing more than shards. The glass is everywhere, scattered across the floor, the bed, even sprinkled in Booker's hair. He shakes the fragments loose, watching them fall. A thick shard from a wine bottle is on the floor near him, and something about it makes him hold very still. 

There's a man in the glass. The man from Booker's nightmares. He doesn't remember when the burnt man with the knives for fingers started showing up and he doesn't much care. As far as Booker is concerned, the man is his own demon and Booker takes his torment as punishment. The man has killed him so many ways, so many times that Booker's lost count. 

Booker watches as the man gives him a slow, one-knife-at-a-time wave before writing something in blood. He stares straight back at Booker as he does, a nasty, twisted grin on his scarred face. The writing is slanted, and the letters haphazard, one dripping into the next, but the words are clear enough:

SAVE THEM DADDY

It doesn't make sense to Booker immediately, but when he turns his head to look at you, you're nowhere to be found, and the door to the bathroom is standing wide open to a bright white abyss. 

"It was only supposed to be me," he whispers. "It was only ever supposed to be me!" He slams his fists against the broken shards, against the image of the scarred man, over and over again, until his hands are ribbons. 

A bitter cold gusts into the room, pulling snowflakes along the hardwood floor. Booker steps out into the deep drifts, his lips set in a grim line, his eyes stormy, fury carving its way through his indifference like lava. The creep wants a fight-he'll get one. 

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Masterlist - The Old Guard (Movie(s))

Booker / Sebastien Le Livre Falling Series - Romantic/Angst/Reader with a sibling/Mentions of illness and deaths of loved ones/Smut in the last part - Booker x F!Reader Prologue Part I Part II Part III

[fireinmoonshot]

DECEMBER DRABBLES – DAY TWENTY-TWO: Christmas by the fireplace with Booker from The Old Guard.

Even after hundreds of years, there was still something so comforting to Booker about fireplaces. He could sit in front of one for hours and stare into the flames and never get bored. The quiet crackling could lull him into a calm sleep, relax him and take away all of his worries from his very long life in an instant.

There was only one thing that could calm him more: you.

You had walked into his life one day several years ago and become the one thing that could relax him like fireplaces could. That could warm his heart without even needing to be warm yourself. He wasn’t sure what he’d done in his life to deserve someone like that.

It meant that the holidays were always so much more relaxing when you were around. He didn’t have to worry about which number Christmas this was for him, how many New Years he’d celebrated. He’d learnt to live in the moment again because of you.

This year, he was doing that again. You were both sat on the floor in the living room, you in front of him in-between his legs, the fireplace crackling away a few feet in front of you. You’d leant back up against Booker’s chest a while ago, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close to him. It was comforting. It was warm and calm.

The others were all sat around the room alongside you.

Nicky and Joe were on the couch opposite you, arms around each other, laughing at something Andy had said, who was very comfortably sat on the couch behind you, legs kicked up over the side.

“What?” She laughed. “Am I a comedian now or something?”

“You could be,” Nicky offered with a laugh, “in another life.”

Andy snorted. “Oh, so tomorrow?”

The laughter probably had something to do with the alcohol that had been consumed since the night had begun. You’d all gotten together to spend Christmas Eve together, and when you put five immortals in a room with alcohol… things were bound to go a little crazy.

You and Booker were the most sober in the room, though, just happy to sit in silence, occasionally adding a thought, and observe the conversations of the others. It had been a while since you’d done something so mundane as spend an evening together like this. It didn’t hurt to change things up after so long.

Stifling a yawn, you tried your best to keep your eyes closed. It was late and you were getting tired, but you weren’t going to be the one to spoil the fun and make everyone have to get up and say their goodbyes. You also didn’t want to pull Booker away when he seemed so happy and content here, his arms around you.

Booker noticed your yawn, though. He leant into your ear. “Do you wanna head home?”

“No,” you shook your head and looked around at him. “I’m gonna fight it.”

He smiled a little. You always were a fighter. It was something he loved the most about you. “Then just go to sleep in my arms,” he muttered. “I’ve got you, and if the others judge you I’ll give ‘em hell for it. Get some rest, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips to your temple.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep in his arms after that, the tiredness finally overtaking you. Booker didn’t dare to move an inch as you slept, the others continuing their conversation a little quieter when they noticed that you’d drifted off. If this was how every Christmas Eve could be, Booker thought, then living so long might not be so bad.

[cinebration]

Written in DNA (Booker x Reader) [Epilogue]

You tie up loose ends.

Ahhhh! This epilogue is, like, twice the size of other chapters. I should’ve broken it into two, but I figured you all wanted to get to the end!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue

Tagged: @lucy-sky​, @city-of-weird​, @all-the-right-regrets, @alannister-always-pays-her-debts​, @fleetwoodsmacabitch​

Warnings: violence

Gif Source: captaindelafere

General Howzer looked too thin to be a military man at his age, but what people mistook for smallness was all lean muscle, as tough as a coffin nail. His hair had gone gray despite his age, but it gave him a steeled look that he didn’t mind. It added to the ferocity of his blue eyes.

With Specimen 049 back in the compound, he let himself breathe easy for a moment. Her absence had been a source of great distress for him—a fact his jaw still attested to, aching from all the grinding he had inflicted on it.

But there was still the trouble of how Specimen 049 had escaped.

It kept him up at night. How had she contacted the outside? How had she arranged the help? They had scoured her quarters after the breakout, searching for anything that indicated how she had reached beyond her concrete room. Having found nothing, Howzer had to admit it hadn’t had anything to do with Specimen 049. Someone else had come for her on their own initiative.

Howzer considered shutting down the program. Specimen 049 had been one of a few successful experiments—perhaps the best, because she had never resisted, had never fled.

Until that one day.

She may not have orchestrated the escape, but she had flown the coop all the same when the opportunity arrived. She had obliterated his best team when he sent them after her.

Perhaps the experiments were ultimately a failure. Everything had worked but for the ability to suppress or remove the flight instinct, the need to escape prison. If even Specimen 049, his model subject, had shucked her chains, then there was no hope.

Chaos erupted outside the compound, alarms blaring, but Howzer didn’t question it, too consumed by his problem. Whoever was assaulting the base had no hope of success, besides.

The doorknob of his office turned. He glanced at it in irritation. “Private, I ordered you—”

He froze as you stepped into the room, followed by the man he recognized as your liberator from the week before.

“Specimen oh-four-nine.”

“General Howzer,” you said, your voice crisp, without inflection. “I’m glad you decided to work late tonight.”

You moved forward, crossing the room in three quick strides. Howzer reached for the gun in his desk drawer. Your hand clamped down on his wrist, snapped it. Pain exploded up his arm. The gun clattered to the floor as he hissed, cradling his wrist.

You gestured to the other man. Nodding, he handed you his pistol and circled around the desk, pulling the keyboard of Howzer’s computer toward him.

“What are you doing?” Howzer growled.

He watched in mounting horror as the man located the program files. He went into Specimen 049’s folder, deleted it, and then backed out. He hesitated, then deleted everything related to the program before purging them from the hard drive.

“You can’t just erase everything,” Howzer sneered. “We’ll just recreate it all.”

You shook your head, yanked him to his feet. “We’ll see.” Turning to the other man, you ordered, “Finish here.”

You paused, pulled open another drawer of Howzer’s desk. A bottle of scotch lay at the bottom, a quarter of it gone. Taking it, you pushed Howzer toward the door.

“What happened? You were my best results.”

You remained quiet, shoving him through the door and down the hallway. The chaos of the explosion had drawn everyone to the front of the compound. You led Howzer away to the back, then through a steel door.

The cold night air hit Howzer like knives. He shivered despite himself, the pain in his wrist flaring. Fear pushed at him, but he shoved it down. He was General Benjamin Howzer, and damned would he be if he let some young upstart intimidate him.

“Your car,” you demanded.

He pointed to a brown sedan nestled beside an SUV. Fishing in his pocket for keys, you clicked the button. The car’s lights flashed.

“I expected you to lie.”

“Good. That’s what we trained you to do.”

Howzer was already planning his escape. The car was home turf for him. He knew the way the wheel jerked to the right when he hit pot holes and how quick it would take to slam the seat back against you. He knew the passenger seatbelt was loose and fraying, unreliable.

He would walk away.

You shoved him into the driver’s seat, got into the passenger seat. Howzer settled in behind the wheel, trying to anticipate your moves.

You handed him the liquor bottle. “Drink.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me make you.”

He stared you down. “Make me.”

Starbursts exploded in his vision as you seized his face, jamming the bottle against his lips. He felt a tooth crack, blood mingling with the burning scotch. He choked, unable to swallow so much so fast, but you were forcing the bottle further past his lips, down into the back of his throat.

Then it was gone. He gasped, lungs and throat burning, lips pouring blood. “You fucking bitch!”

“I am what you made me. Now drive.”

Fear tried again, more successful this time in making him afraid. “Where?”

You gestured to the street leading to the highway.

There was still an opportunity to escape. Howzer tried to formulate it in his mind as he started the sedan and worked his way to the freeway. He slowly put on his seatbelt.

You didn’t do the same.

Even better, he thought.

Howzer’s foot pressed down on the gas, pushing the speedometer past eighty, then ninety. You watched dispassionately.

Fear wrapped around his guts.

“When this is over, I’m going to get your boyfriend, too,” he snarled. “You’ve damned him in all of this.”

He eyed the crop of woods looming up ahead alongside the highway.

“You won’t get the chance.”

Howzer’s seatbelt suddenly went slack. He glanced down, saw your hand retreat from the release button.

He had planned to swerve into a tree, but seeing the seatbelt made him hesitate. He shot a glance at you.

“Nice try,” you whispered, and yanked the steering wheel beneath his hands.

~~

Booker drove the car down the long stretch of road, searching for you. He found the wreckage of Howzer’s sedan, the crumpled body of Howzer himself wrapped around the tree.

No sign of you.

Trying not to worry—had someone else grabbed you first?—Booker drove further down, searching the woods.

At last, he glimpsed something gray in the distance. As he drew near, it resolved into you, wandering slowly down the asphalt. He pulled to a stop beside you.

You slipped into the passenger seat. A dark bruise was forming on your arms and forehead. Booker gestured to them. You frowned in confusion. He reached over and gently brushed the back of a finger across your arm. It sent a prickle up his hand.

“Dashboard,” you murmured, watching his finger.

Pulling away slowly, Booker refocused on the road. An SUV was approaching from the opposite direction. The headlights flashed.

“They came to help?”

The surprise in your voice matched Booker’s own. “Yes.”

“See? Family comes through.”

Chest constricting, Booker rolled to a stop beside the SUV. Andy stuck her head out of the driver’s window. “Everything good?”

Booker gave her a thumbs up. He could see the others crowding at the windows, peering at him and at you through the windshield.

“There’s a place not far from here,” Andy continued. “To crash for the night.”

Booker shifted uncomfortably and glanced at you. “Whatever you want,” you told him.

“Okay,” he answered Andy.

He followed the immortals to the safe house. The car ride passed in silence, you staring out the window. He wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything. He felt uncomfortable, hyperaware of your presence—the way you were breathing, your reflection in the window.

At last, he asked, “Why did Howzer call you Specimen oh-four-nine?”

“That was my number.”

He recalled you telling him to call you “Spec” if he wanted a name back when he first met. Clearing his throat, he said, “My real name is Sebastien.”

He felt your eyes on him before you quietly gave him yours. He repeated it over and over in his mind, guarding it like some precious piece of you.

Pulling up to the safe house, Booker was surprised to discover it was actually a two-storey house. There were enough rooms for everyone to sleep on their own.

You trudged up the stairs and into the bathroom, the shower turning on moments later. Booker and the others stayed downstairs, infected by your silence.

Andy offered Booker a bottle. He reached for it, hesitated, shook his head. Arching an eyebrow, she pulled from it herself.

Booker kept an ear toward the shower, listening to the shower splash differently as you moved. The others watched him, exchanging glances with each other.

Nile broke the silence. “Will she be okay?”

Booker frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t have a mission. Isn’t that what she was trained to do? Always follow a mission? I mean, she was doing that when she brought you to Quynh, wasn’t she?”

The shower turned off. Booker heard you cross softly across the floor.

“She’s free,” he murmured, “and she’s strong.”

“What about you?”

The question shook him. What about him? He hadn’t thought about it since he returned to the States to break you out.

Overhead, he heard a door shut quietly, a mattress squeak.

“I’m going to help her, if she’ll have me,” he answered.

~~

Despite his exhaustion, Booker didn’t sleep that night. He rose early and made breakfast for everyone, including himself, after venturing into town to buy groceries.

You were the first to descend the stairs. Sunlight had yet to dispel the early morning darkness. Booker snapped to attention as you approached him. You looked rested, perhaps more so than he had ever seen you. Something about the softness of lingering sleep on your face made Booker’s heart trip.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you answered. Sitting at the table, you dug gratefully into the plate of food: eggs, oatmeal, bacon, toast. Booker had given you a triple portion, remembering the last time you had scarfed food down.

“I was thinking,” you began, then hesitated. Jabbing at the bacon with your fork, you asked, “Did you do the other thing I asked you to?”

Booker nodded and fished the flash drive out of his pocket. He had palmed it into a USB port on Howzer’s computer, pretending to delete the files when instead he had transferred them over. You took it from him with a delicate touch, as though afraid to break it.

“Do you think there are any left?”

Booker’s chest ached at the sound of your voice cracking. “I saw a lot of names.”

“But are they alive? No, don’t tell me. I’ll find out.” You pocketed the flash drive and resumed eating. “So, what’s the deal with you and the others?”

“I still have ninety-nine years.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry. What will you do?”

He sat down across from you, not quite meeting your gaze. “I was hoping…you wouldn’t mind having me around.”

The fork paused halfway to your mouth. You gaped at him, jaw slack. He would have laughed if not for his anxiety over your answer.

Lowering the fork, you cleared your throat. “No…”

Booker felt like bricks had hit him over the head. He glanced away, stared down at his hands. What had he expected? That you might think of him as more than anything than the guy who had been part of a mission?

“I wouldn’t mind.”

He jerked his head back up. You met his gaze levelly, a tentative smile on your lips. Relief coursed through him, better than anything he could think of. Raking a hand over the back of his neck, he struggled to fight the grin pulling at his mouth.

“If I catch you drinking, I will shank you with the bottle,” you told him.

“I believe you.”

“Good. Now, where do you think we should start?”

“Here,” he answered, and he leaned forward to kiss you.

[wildlittlefoxsworld]

I couldn't live without you | The Old Guard | Booker x Reader

I couldn't any other pictures of Booker. If someone has some, feel free to send them ne, please ;)

Summary: A routine job, you got hurt by a knife and died from the injury. But it took you too long to wake up and Booker got scared that you wouldn't come back to life. When you finally did Booker is a crying mess and you gonna comfort him. You end up confessing your feelings...

Warnings: angst, reader's death (but comes back to life), fluff, confession of feelings

Author's note: My first story with my sweetheart Booker, my second story in this fandom. Thank you for the likes there ;) I hope you have fun!

The Promise (Nicky and Joe)

***

It was a routine job, nothing special, there was a bank robbery and they were kepting hostages, the bank stuff and a few clients, including three children. Problem was the local police were overstrained and the criminals already killed two of the people. Nicky insisted to take the job, because they would doing the right thing and he has a soft spot for kids.

Andy and her team infiltrated the bank without noticed by the criminals. Booker took the first man with a precise shot down and aimed for another one, when he realized that they were more men than expected. One of them freaked out and fired uncontrolled around him. You were right behind Booker and a man came from your left. You shot three times in his abdomen and he fall to the ground.

Andy and Nile took the freaked out madman down and Nicky and Joe helped the hostages to exit the building without being harmed.

You heard Nile screamed “Clear” from behind you, which meant they catched all evil men. You went with Booker to search for more possible targets.

“Be careful,” Booker whispered and you didn't mind his words. You were always careful and he was always worried. You knew he hated you getting hurt, but it was part of your work.

“Watch out!” you shouted and Booker turned around. He fired his gun, but the man had still enough strenght to throw a knife. It didn't go in Booker's direction, but in yours and a second later the knife stuck out of your chest. It went right in your heart.

“No,” you heard Booker scream agonizingly and you felt two strong arms that catched you before you hit the ground, but then everything went black.

“No, no, no,” he repeated quietly and breathless.

You were dead, of course, your eyes wasn't focus on anything and you stopped breathing at all. Booker grabbed the sheft of the knife and pulled it out with a squishing noise. He searched in pathetic hope for a pulse on your throat, but he couldn't find one.

“What happenend?” Andy shouted when she ran towards Booker and you. She looked at your dead body and groaned. “No one is harmed, but her. Fuck.”

Booker stroked a hair strain out of your face and waited impatiently for you to wake up. Usually it didn't take you long, even if you were the second youngest of the group of immortals.

“Come on, little one, wake up,” Booker begged with a broken voice, but you just stared back with cold eyes.

“We need to leave. Come on,” Andy hustled everyone and Booker scooped you up in his arms.

Nile, Nicky and Joe waited on the back door and Joe frowned when he saw that Booker carried your body.

“What happened?”

“A man throw a knife and killed her,” Andy explained flatly and left the building at first.

“She hasn't healed yet?” Nicky asked confused with a worried expression. But Booker didn't respond and followed Andy outside where two cars waited for them. He went for the car with Andy sitting behind the steering wheel.

Andy watched him laying your body on the back side and he sat down next to you. He bedded your head in his lab and caressed your cheek.

Booker didn't understand why you were still lifeless, it had been minutes since he removed the knife. Carefully he took the collar of your shirt between his fingers and raised the material, the wound was still open. Maybe you were healing from the inside and there was more damage than he could see.

“Nothing?” Andy inquired and Booker shook his head with tears collecting in his eyes.

“She can't be dead, right?” Booker insisted weary.

“No, she is too young,” Andy assured him.

The car ride to the safehouse took half an hour and after seven minutes your chest started rising slightly and a few seconds later you came with a deep inhale back to life.

Your hands searched for something and Booker grabbed your right. “It's okay, Y/N. You're alright, you're safe,” he laughed relieved and tears streamed down his face.

You took a few breaths and inspected your surroundings. “Sebastien,” you whispered and laid your hand on his cheek to wipe the tears with your thumb away. “Don't cry, I'm here.”

“I know… it's just…,” he tried to say, but couldn't find words. You frowned meditatively. You never saw Booker crying and you were shocked that you were the cause for his condition.

“You really thought I was dead?” you asked him softly and both of your eyes were locked. “You thought I wouldn't wake up?”

Booker closed his eyes and nodded slowly, a few tears found their way down his cheeks again and he exhaled shakily.

“I can't stand when someone hurt you…,” he whispered only for your ears to hear.

“Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere,” you tried to soothe him and he nestled his cheek against your hand. Booker looked again in your eyes and to your surprise you saw something like deep adoration or fondness in his.

“Come here,” he mumbled and pulled you in a sitting position on his lap and burried his face in the crook of your neck, you felt him taking a deep breath and snuggle you closer.

You were a little bit thrown of your guard, because you weren't used to this kind of affection from Booker, but you wrapped your arms around his trembling shoulders. He was usually reserved and you never got more than a short hugging. But this situation was new to you and you were sure that it was new to him, too.

Andy parked the car in front of your currently safehouse, well, it was an old church in Goussainville. But you hoped that it wouldn't for too long, you didn't like the lack of privacy, even if all of them felt like family to you.

Andy turned around and watched the two of you curiously and still a little worried. “Are you alright?”

“We're fine,” you answered with a slight smile and Andy nodded relieved.

“Do you come inside? Or…,” she asked uncertain and opened the car door.

“Give us a moment.”

She didn't respond and got out of the vehicle. The others waited for you and all of them with a worried expression. Andy told them to gave Booker and you some alone time. You watched them enter the church and sighed heavily.

You began to stroke through Booker's hair and you were glad that he calmed down.

“Are you still with me?” you giggled and tried to lighten the mood.

“Yeah,” he just said and didn't move an inch. You felt comfortable with him in your arms, you had to admit. He was warm and you savoured the feeling for a moment longer. But you knew that the two of you needed to talk.

“Do you want to tell me what… okay, that's stupid, you know… you didn't seem to me like you were a cuddler.”

“I'm sorry, I can let you go if you're uncomfortable. I think I got carried away at some point…,” he apologized and started to move away from you.

“I kinda like it,” you confessed and shoved a hand in his neck to stop him from pulling away. Booker frowned, but nodded slowly in understanding. His hand caressed your back and leaned his forehead against your temple.

“I like it, too.” You felt his warm breath in your face and closed your eyes again.

“Can we do this again sometime?” you asked carefully with hope in your voice. You wished for a long time that the two of you would share moments like this. Since you joined the group a year before you met Nile, you felt attracted to the handsome blonde man. But Booker never showed anything else towards you, he always acted like a friend to you. You were sure he didn't notice your crush on him, but others did, Nicky at first. Nicky tried to encourage you to tell Booker about your feelings, but you were scared that it could destroy your friendship and the dynamic of the group.

“You doesn’t know what you do to me, do you?” Booker observed and you inclined your head.

“What do you mean?”

He surprised you so many times with his actions and words today that you made so confused, you weren't sure if you should believe him or he was simply kidding you.

Booker sighed and looked at you. Your beautiful eyes studied him for an answer. He knew he had to tell you the truth about his feelings. Little did he know that you were feeling the same way.

“I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You are so important to me, you are such a big part of my life, that I just…I can’t imagine you aren't here.”

Now you were speechless and starred at him in a dither. “That was very specific,” you determined. You weren't aware that you meant so much to him.

Booker took your face in both hands and you touched his wrist with one hand.

“I don't want lose you. I was so scared… I need and want you by my side, every day, I didn't realize it until now,” he explained and you heard the desperation in his voice. “Is there any chance you feel the same as I do?”

You smiled happily. “I like you for a while now and I'm happy about your words.”

Booker chuckled and stroked your cheeks. “Back in the 19th century I would ask you to marry me, but for now it's enough… well, do you want to be my girlfriend?”

You loved his homour and laughed along with him.

“Yes, I want to be your girlfriend,” you declared.

Booker grinned happily like a little boy who got the biggest lollipop ever.

You needn't more words for explanation. The fear and sadness from the past hour were forgotten, you pressed your foreheads together and lingered in peaceful and quietly atmosphere. This moment was owned by the both of you and it marked the beginning of your future as a couple and the growing of a love that will be stronger than everything you expierenced before.

“Is it okay if I'm gonna kiss my girlfriend now?” Booker asked gently and his right hand wandered in your neck. Your eyes flickered to his lips and you were curious if they were as soft as they looked.

You nodded one time, it was enough as an answer for him. Slowly he pulled you towards him, again you felt his warm breath on your skin and then was his mouth pressed softly on yours. He started with placing little kisses from time to time to your lips, but you wanted more.

Your body shivered when your mouths found a pleasant rhythym and you shifted yourself that you stradled his lap.

Your upper body were so pressed to close together that not even a paper would fit between you.

You imagined many time what it would feel like to kiss him, it was marvelous. When his tongue traced your lower lip and asked for entrance you opened your mouth a little. With a grin he licked past your lips and you moaned when he began a playful battle for dominance.

“I could get used to that,” Booker mumbled against your lips and kissed you again with all of his passion for you.

***

What do you think?

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

3/50 Wordless Ways to Say I Love You

“Traveling long distances just to see them”

Booker/Sebastien La Livre x reader

Word Count: 709

The downside of living forever, you’d learned, was the cabin fever that took hold whenever you tried to stay in one place for too long. Well, that was the biggest downside for you, anyway. You were a child of the American Old West in that way. Too many nights sleeping next to your horse under the stars on the way to your next adventure, you supposed.

Unfortunately, that meant that you just weren’t built to linger anywhere. Your fellow immortals seemed to understand your wandering habits, though, and paired those habits nicely with their own. You all came together and drifted apart as often as the tides changed. The only two that stayed together were Joe and Nicky because they simply couldn’t bear the thought of being separated. Ever since the death(?) of her friend--lover, everyone knew, even if she never confirmed it) Andy refused to be pinned down, choosing to wander from place to place rather than getting attached to anyone.

Booker, though, was a bit of a different story. He obviously would have preferred to stay by your side, but he understood your need for space at times.

~

Hilariously, it’d been him, Sebastien Le Livre, that’d been the one to kill you that first time. A shootout gone awry down in New Orleans the first time you’d ever ventured that far away from your usual stomping grounds of the open plains as an outlaw. Needless to say, he’d been just as gobsmacked as you when one moment, he was holding your corpse and apologizing profusely for his carelessness getting (what he thought) was an innocent killed, and the next you were gasping for air in the horrible transition from mortal to immortal. 

Oddly, you’d bonded quite quickly after that.

Both of you hesitated to say it, but you’d even fallen into something akin to love. You’d spent countless long nights next to a campfire outside of whatever town was nearest just talking while waiting for the other immortals--his friends--to arrive to meet you. It wasn’t every day someone simply refused to die, after all.

For a while after that, the two of you were almost as inseparable as Nicky and Joe.

Then one night you mentioned that you felt suffocated, sleeping in the same city every night. You wanted to explore with just a horse and what you could carry again. Cause some mischief for local law enforcement and have some fun.

He said he’d felt it coming. Something about the way you’d kept staring longingly at the stars, he claimed.

Your response was a teasing jab about him being a romantic because he was French.

Booker only rolled his eyes and grabbed a wrapped parcel from under his side of the bed. A gift, he claimed, so you wouldn’t forget about him.

Over a hundred years later, you still had that handsome leather bag strapped to your back as you climbed the steps of the hotel that’d been there since your first death. The same steps you’d died on that first time. The building had been remodeled to the point of being unrecognizable, but it was still there all the same. Just like you.

“Reservation for Le Livre,” you told the clerk at the front desk.

“Sorry, Miss, that room has already been checked out,” a familiarly-accented voice saide beside you.

Grinning, you turned to look at the man that you still loved dearly despite your time apart. “Sebastien!”

In a moment, you were scooped up into a tight hug. “I have missed you, mon cher,” he breathed next to your ear.

When you leaned back, you were still smiling at him. “Well, I didn’t come all this way just to hug in the lobby. I believe you owe me dinner, Frenchy.”

“Why do I have to pay?” he asked in mock-offense. “It’s the twenty-first century; the man doesn’t have to pay every time.”

“It’s your turn, because I paid back in ‘64. Remember? Paris?”

“We’ve been together since then! And I paid then, too!”

“Shh,” you pressed a finger to his lips. “You’re too cute to worry about that sort of thing.”

“What?!” He was laughing in that way that lit up his entire face. 

“Don’t worry about it! Just get us some food, mister!”

[bonesofapoet]

Funeral for a Ghost

[booker x you]

author’s note: let’s be real, we all saw this coming. i’ve abandoned this one so many times the last few months, but it think its finally ready for Outside Attention?? anyway, hope yall dont hate it and i write for the old guard now!! blood mention, implied death

word count:  1111

ao3: ladyofstardvst (apparently tumblr doesnt like links anymore rip)

You never wanted to be immortal.

And you weren’t, not really. Some days it would feel as if you’ve lived thousands of lives, an eternity’s worth of memories living inside your head. Locked away where no one could see them, where no one would hear them. They would never see the light of day, not from you, because they were not your stories to tell.

It happened after the accident, of course, because there’s always an accident.

He convinced himself this was the right thing, the safest thing – this newfound distance he insisted upon. There were protocols in place for this exact reason, but it had already been a handful of years since the beginning of his exile. Did he really want to spend the rest of it truly alone? Booker knew the answer to that, knew why he rarely let anyone know him, in the ways that mattered, the ways that were sure to steal his heart some day down the line -

Except.

Except.

You. . . you already had his heart. Every last cell belonged to you, something he didn’t even know until you were gone, until all he had left were empty bottles in an empty apartment that missed your laugh, missed your smile just as much as he.

He could never stop the flashes that haunted him when he closed his eyes. He could never be rid of the memories that made his chest tighten with regret every time he thought of you. Illuminated by starlight. Eyes glued to the pages of his favorite novels. With a smile so wide as you found cover from a rainstorm, already soaked to the bone with eyes alight like you were the lucky one. When you looked at him like he was Helios incarnate all golden and celestial and true.

It was becoming too much, he thought, this history repeating itself.

There was a knock on the door late one afternoon, when the sun began it’s dramatic descent in the west. Deep golden light gilded the world outside his small apartment, ricocheting off glass and steel to blind wandering eyes with that fine line of beauty and pain. It was deepening from blue to violet, smears of burnt orange and vermilion painted against the contrast with vibrant brush strokes that could stop hearts.

Booker froze, gun in hand, until he knew it was you standing in the hallway. He didn’t open the door.

“If I have to wait on these stairs until you break down and leave for more booze, you know I’ll do it.” The shifting shadows under the door gave him away. You heard curses, metal discarded on a table. The door opened, and Booker stood on the other side.

A beat of silence, a moment of eyes staring anywhere other than meeting. Your heart in your throat, his own threatening to stop beating all together. Then, “Can I come in?”

He stepped aside, not trusting words to be anything other than kind, anything other than what he longed to say after the day you watched wounds heal faster than they should have. After you asked questions – naturally – when you were still bleeding and he was not.

Instead, eyes followed as you slid onto the edge of the kitchen table, the last golden rays of the evening clung to you like you commanded them. Like they would follow you anywhere you asked, do anything you wished.

He shook his head, tried to dislodge the thought that had come so easily, because he too, would do the very same if he had the option.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“I’ll bet you have,” he said, unable to hide the beginnings of a smile. It was one you returned all too easily without a second thought.

God, you missed him.

“The world is full of strange things, Book.” your face turned from the window to Booker, his expression perfectly indifferent, perfect trained to give away nothing.

You knew him better than that. It’s why you were there, after all.

“At this point. . . none of it means anything, not anymore. Everyone has their fair share of shit, but I think we owe it to ourselves to keep the good as long as we can. And whatever this,” you gestured towards him. “– it’s not – nothing is ideal, you know. Nothing.” your gaze turned back to the window, back to the safety of the world darkening beyond the glass. “And if you don’t want to tell me anything, then okay.”

That doesn’t mean you have to discard me from your life, you said next, voice quiet in the room grown heavy, filling slowly with a sort of longing you thought only real in stories. This relationship was poised to take one last step off a cliff before tumbling down, down, down to collide with the rocks below.

But Booker took a step towards something familiar, towards someone who may understand, in their own way, because he knew you were keeping secrets of your own.

When your eyes found his, he was in front of you, radiant as the burnished golden light disappeared. Helios had returned to you, if only for another moment of your time. There were no accusations from you, no ill will, no hate in the eyes that met his. It seemed effortless, even after everything he’d invited into your life.

But there was never hate.

He spoke your name the way a sinner pleaded in prayer, and your resolve began to crumble stone by stone. The desire to pull him closer was like a dagger in your chest, twisting, twisting, twisting.

Fingertips brushed up your cheek, down your jaw. Breath hitched, eyes fluttered closed. You leaned into his touch without hesitation, without question. He knew you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t truly want to try, weren’t truly open to anything. He knew you well enough.

Booker closed his eyes.

This wasn’t a dream.

He felt himself careen over the edge of that cliff.

Andy’s voice rose in his ears as the rocks grew closer. We can control how we live. And to be honest, Book – you and I? We’ve been doing a shit job of it. Now get up.

Would you be there to pull him to his feet?

He started small, then grew bolder. The things he had been hiding, things he wanted to whisper in your ear amidst the dark of the night, the blue hour of morning, every answer he could give. It wasn’t his secret to tell entirely, but he kept the damning aspects to himself.

There would never come a day when he could lay himself bare at your feet.

And now, there was no going back.

[fairytalesbloodandbullets]

Wash Away My Sin

He could hear the shower running and considers leaving you to it, but damn it he needed to see you, needed some warm and soft and nice after what he’d just witnessed, the violence he just committed, the evidence still red on his hands.

* Warning: Mature Content

Exhausted, covered in blood both his own and from others, Booker is struggling to find his equilibrium where he’s sitting next to Nile in the van. Even though their mission was successful, he couldn’t help but feel…unsettled, dissatisfied, incomplete. Success didn’t negate the fact that they had bled, had fallen, had died, just to get back up and keep fighting. It had been brutal and bloody and every bit as horrifying as could be expected.

Andy pulls up to the house they were using as a base a short while later, going off on her own to report back to Copley. Nile disappears into her room, Nicky and Joe into theirs. Booker stops in the kitchen, pouring a whiskey before making his way to the room you shared. He knew he’d find you there, as the spot in the living room you used as a workstation had been empty.

He could hear the shower running and considers leaving you to it, but damn it he needed to see you, needed some warm and soft and nice after what he’d just witnessed, the violence he just committed, the evidence still red on his hands.

You look up when he enters the en suite, having left the shower door open, and he hesitates while your eyes rake over him, cataloging the signs of battle on his clothes, the war still raging in his eyes. Wordlessly, you beckon him to join you, keeping eye contact while he swallows deeply from the tumbler he’s holding, slowly divests himself of his shoes, his clothes.

When he’s done, when he gets close enough, you reach over, gently taking his hand, pulling him close. Cupping the back of his neck, you pull his face down, catching his lips in a slow, soft kiss and he opens to you, inviting in your care, your sweetness. Mindless of the blood still staining his hands, he grips your hips, dragging your wet, warm body still closer.

Breaking the kiss, you reach for the shampoo and he settles for mouthing at your neck, your shoulders, while you lather up his hair, massaging, rinsing, repeating until the water runs clear of the blood and brain matter that has you wincing, wondering if it was the only time he died tonight.

Taking a tiny step back, you change from shampoo to body wash, rubbing slow circles until the water swirling down the drain finally loses its pink tinge. All the while Booker lavishes touches, caresses across your skin, your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, dips in for the occasional lick and bite, so when you finally finish and he slants his lips over yours once more, it’s no longer soft, sweet or slow. There’s hunger now, urgency as your hand finds his pulsing, hard length, gripping, stroking, as he dips two fingers into your wet heat, pumping stretching, stealing your breath.

Groaning, he grips your leg, raises it to his hip and you take hold of his shoulders as he pushes into you in one firm, long thrust, giving you both only a moment before moving, starting slow and deep, gradually speeding up until he’s pounding into you without thought, without mercy, and all you can do is cling to him, trying to find purchase on his wet skin. It’s burning up, it’s drowning in pleasure, it’s coming home, and a soul washed clean, if but for these moments.

You whimper and moan your release, he follows but a moment after, groaning your name, bracing a hand on the wall for knees gone weak, an arm around your waist keeping you upright, keeping you close. His hope, his comfort, his personal ray of sunshine in this hell of an eternal existence.

You spend time gently toweling each other dry, still in that silence that for you means more than a thousand words, and Booker feels calmer, content, able to face the world again.

When you’re dressed, you walk to the living room hand in hand to join the others for a late night, post op dinner of pizza, and as Booker pulls you into his side on the couch while Nicky and Joe passes out paper plates and beer bottles, you quietly murmur “I’m glad you’re home, Sebastien.”

Booker, taking in Joe now occupying a chair, feeding Nicky who settled on a pile of throw pillows by his feet, Nile badgering Andy about trying a new flavoured beer instead of drinking straight from a bottle of Vodka, thinks you’re right. The people in this room is home, not matter where you are. He drops a kiss on your head, smiling. “So am I.”

[lucy-sky]

It's me again. Cause I love your writing, so how could I not send two requests? 😆

I would absolutely love a drabble with Booker. Confessing feelings under the stars? 🥰❤️

(And I've already said it, but huge GZ on your milestone. It's so amazing! 🥳)

Say it (Booker | Sébastien Le Livre x immortal Reader)

779 words; nightmares; mention of blood and violence; mention of (rough) sex; gender neutral reader; actually really soft and fluffy in the end :) gif by me

AO3 link

A/N: yes, I really am determined to finish all the requests :D 

REQUESTS CLOSED!

It doesn’t happen to you very often, not anymore. At least not as often as it used to a few years ago, when the memories were still fresh and bright.

You thought this nightmare is already in the past since it didn’t bother you for quite a long while, but there it is again, still haunting you. Air thick and suffocating from smoke; gunshots, explosions and ringing in your ears; dead bodies of your friends and enemies… blood… Lots of blood.

You gasp, starting up from your sleep, heart hammering wildly as you’re trying to catch your breath. Well, at least you didn’t scream out loud this time, you think, as you turn your head to see Booker still peacefully sleeping by your side. Another reason why the dream was so unexpected - usually after having sex you sleep soundly until the early morning, which is not surprising. Your sex with Booker is always rough, desperate and impatient. It happens after battles, while adrenaline is still boiling in your blood. You don’t need much foreplay; sometimes you don’t even bother taking off your clothes, like tonight when you snuck up into his tent. You simply wanted him to ruin you, to fuck your brains out and make you forget. It worked, but not for long - the nightmare got you anyway. Maybe the thing is that today’s battlefield was so painfully similar to the one where you died for the very first time? Apparently so.

Feeling the urge to take a breath, you sit up carefully and rub your eyes. It’s still dark, but you manage to crawl out of the tent into the chilly night air. Inhaling deeply, you let it fill your lungs. You set a camp in the mountains tonight, and you think it’s a great choice. It’s beautiful and quiet, the sky is clear - not a single cloud, and the stars are so bright you can’t take your eyes off them as you sit on the ground next to the remains of the fire.

“Hey,” Booker’s husky voice, quiet and thick from sleep, caused you to flinch.

“Sorry,” he lets out a grunt as he sits down beside you, gently throwing a blanket over your shoulders.

“Book… you didn’t have to…” you protest weakly.

“You’re gonna get cold,” he says simply. “Nightmares again?”

“Yeah…” you sigh. “Did I wake you up?”

“I’m a light sleeper,” he shrugs, a faint smile on his lips.

“I thought I’m already over it… I mean… It’s been years since I uh… Since I’m with you guys,” you murmur.

“It’s not that long. Just give yourself some more time. After all, we’re lucky to have a lot of it,” he chuckles softly.

“Right.”

You both fall silent for a while, simply watching the sky above you. Leaning against his frame, you can feel the comforting warmth of his body.

“You should get some rest,” Booker breaks the silence. “Tomorrow’s another tough day.”

“You go… I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t. You need sleep y/n, come on.” His tone is somehow both stern and gentle.

“Why do you care so much about me?”

He seems to be baffled by your question, because he hesitates with his reply.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know why,” he finally utters.

“Just want you to say it.”

Slowly, he reaches to cup your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone softly. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as his lips find yours. It’s the sweetest kiss you’ve had in your entire life. Booker kisses you slowly, tenderly. Not even close to those feverish sloppy kisses you usually share. This time it seems like he wants to savor it. Every touch, every trembling sigh. A shiver that runs through you when his warm tongue darts to meet yours, and the way your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he whispers against your mouth, and the way he looks at you makes your heart flutter. “It’s… been a while since I felt like this…”

“Yeah… Me too,” you reply breathlessly, pulling him into another kiss.

“Will you go to sleep now?” Booker smiles as your lips finally part.

“Alright… I should probably get back to my tent…”

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think they,” he nods at the other two tents occupied by Andy, Joe and Nicky, “know nothing about us?”

You bite your lip.

“I doubt that,” you admit.

“Come on then,” he gets on his feet and offers you a hand.

In the morning there’s not a single sight of surprise on your friends’ faces as they see you getting out of Booker’s tent. And you’ve never slept better.

Thank you for reading!

Tagging @cinebration as promised <3

1500 Milestone Celebration Drabbles Masterlist  

[romancingromanoff]

Annoying the Old Guard with Questions Would Include

Starting off with some basic questions

“So how did you prepare and store food back then? Would a spaghetti take like 8 hours or something?”

“What do you mean you didn’t have noodles back then, what else would Italians eat?”

"What do you mean you didn't have TOMATOES back then??? Are you Italian or not, sir?"

“Are there any really famous historic figures you met? Did they actually look that ugly or were all the painters just really bad at their jobs?”

"Why is this artifact in the British Museum?"

Things get a little spicy

“If Julius Caesar was alive today I feel like he’d really get along with Elon Musk.”

“Is it true that the Romans used urine for cleaning?”

“Be honest, what is the strangest thing you’ve ever used to wipe after going to the bathroom?”

"Uh, how did these human remains get in the British Museum?"

The Point of No Return

“So you’re telling me aliens weren’t involved in the pyramids at all? Not even a little bit?”

“But let's just say you gave the Vikings a nuke. Who would they nuke first?”

"I'm not saying he wasn't a literal baby killer, but at least Genghis Khan was tolerant of other religions! You have to hand that to him!"

"People used WHAT in the British Museum to WHAT?"

*sobbing noises*

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Sixteen: Interlude to a Cunning Cottage

AN: Long time no see! Writer’s block is a bitch, and honestly I still have it but somehow I was able to churn out this chapter. So, hopefully you enjoy.

Word Count: 2.6k

Trigger Warnings: none

Taglist: @leahnicole1219, @nerds4life246

Chapter Seventeen: A New Era Emerges

Third POV

Booker hadn't always been a drinking man, of course, he did appreciate the occasional glass of brandy or bottle of beer back in his day. However, after his first death in Russia and the subsequent discovery of the curse he called immortality, Booker soon found himself heavily drinking away his grief. Nursing a tumbler of whiskey, Booker furrowed his brows and stared at the half empty glass which he had been doing for the last hour or so.

"You trying to drown a broken heart?" the bartender asked, cleaning a shot glass while staring at Booker. "I can always tell when someone's trying to drink away a broken heart. Seen them one too many times," she commented, chuckling a little.

"Do not take this the wrong way, as I understand if you would," Booker responded quietly, never looking up. "But I'd prefer not to speak with anyone at this moment," he said, his finger lightly tapping the side of the cup.

"Hmm, suit yourself,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders. “All I know is, you're not going to find whatever answers you’re looking for at the bottom of that glass," the bartender pointed, turning away to continue her cleaning of the bar.

Just as Booker brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, a raven-haired woman wearing a bright, red coat gracefully slid onto the stool next to him. It was silent as he swirled dark colored liquid around before slowly sipping his drink. He closed eyes briefly, savoring the burn of the drink.

"She left me," Booker stated gruffly, reopening his eyes.

"Of course she did," Quynh said, causing him to look at her. "You didn't actually think she would join you, did you?" she asked, signaling for the bartender.

"The slightest bit of hope," he answered, swirling his whiskey again. "But hope nonetheless," he murmured, as Quynh told the bartender her order.

"Well, in the end, both of you got what you wanted," she said, returning her gaze to the Frenchman.

Booker placed his tumbler down on the bar countertop, the glass lightly clinking against the wood.

"Meaning?"

Quynh quickly flashed the bartender a smile as they came with her order, a glass of red wine.

"You got to see Sabine after all this time, presumably sleep with her as well," she remarked, with a knowing expression. "And she got information she needed," she deduced.

He chuckled, "She pulled the information right out of me like I was one of her marks, and I never caught on," Booker remarked, shaking his head and picking up his drink again. "Clever woman," he commented, smiling into his cup.

“She’s probably landing in London right as we speak,” Quynh reasoned, raising her own glass.

“Most likely,” Booker agreed, his eyes meeting hers again. “But I know Sabine, she’s going to visit her old haunts in England before rejoining the team. She’s...sentimental like that,” he explained.

"Sabine’s very fond of England then?”

He slightly chuckled, “It wasn’t always like that,” Booker answered. “England had to grow on her due to some unsavory experiences during the Victorian era,”

“Hmm,” Quynh hummed, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Tell me more, I want to know all about Sabine Lavelle,”

~~~x~~~

Third POV

Nile softly let her finger run along Copley’s board that displayed timeline of events that the team was apart of, paying specific attention to anything that Sabine was involved. Some she had read about from Sabine’s journals or heard from Joe, Nicky, or Andy; but some events were still a mystery to Nile. Not all of Sabine’s journals were all in one place unfortunately. Nile began to walk along the board, still amazed by Sabine and everything she had endured and subsequently accomplished. The old photographs and paintings that Copley managed to find captured many moments now frozen time, waiting to be told.

"Nile!"

The arrival of the Italian caught her off guard, as she was still deep in thought.

“Josef said that Sabine is most likely in France right now,” Nile began, turning around to face him. “But what if she’s not? What if she went home, to America?” she asked.

Nicky laughed incredulously, “Oh no, I very much doubt that,” he answered, shaking his head.

“Why?”

“Because Sabine hates it there, quite frankly,” Nicky answered. “She rather live in Europe or Canada than step foot back in the States,” he explained. “That’s not to say, that either of those places don’t have their own terrible histories that they’re guilty of,” he said, walking closer to the board.

“So, she never visits America? At all?” Nile asked, slightly shocked. “I mean, I get why she wouldn’t, but she’s never curious to see if the country has changed?”

“Sabine visits occasionally, but she only goes to places that have meaning to her. Those are mainly her family’s graves and The Martin Plantation,” Nicky replied, briefly glancing at Nile before staring at the board himself.

Nile focused her attention on finding any photos from the turn of the century, Sabine’s last journal she could find was the 1889 journal she had just finished. Hopefully, she could find more journals from the twentieth century stashed away in their current safe house. That’s when her eyes landed on a vibrant painting filled with figures in a park.

In the most basic of descriptions it was a depiction of an Edwardian era park, the grass was manicured and a flower-strewn meadow on the edge of a dark forest in autumn. Women were dressed in lovely, in long-sleeves blouses and tulip skirts, while men wore bowler hats and waist coats. Her eyes were drawn to five particular figures that were either sitting or standing along the grass. Two women, one Black and one white, both sat on a picnic blanket and held umbrellas. While three familiar men stared down at them, each of them smiling at the seated women.

“Nicky, it seems someone found you all interesting subjects for their painting,” Nile commented, with a smile.

“Huh,” he chuckled. “So it seems,” he agreed.

“When was this?”

“Hmm,” Nicky hummed. “Maybe early 1900s based on the clothes, I think we’re in England,” he continued.

Nile folded her arms against her chest, moving further down Copley’s timeline. With each photo she passed, she began to notice a pattern. The team wasn’t pictured together as frequently as before.

“Did something happened between you all?” Nile asked, glancing at him. “I’m noticing that there’s less and less photos of you all together in the early years of the twentieth century,” she remarked, pointing towards a random picture on the board.

“No, nothing happened,” Nicky answered. “Sabine was gaining her independence from us. She felt that she was ready to venture out on her own and we felt that too,” he explained.

“Would Booker travel with her?”

“Often, they were inseparable,” he said fondly.

The sound of shuffling behind them caused Nile to look over shoulder. It was just Copley, carrying a small cardboard box, he sent them a small smile.

“Still trying to piece together Sabine’s life?” he asked knowingly, and she nodded.

“Hard not to,” Nile responded. “She’s quite the interesting character,” she continued, laughing a little.

“Well, allow me to intrigue you further,” he said, his lips curving.

Copley placed the box down onto a table and carefully shifted through its contents. One by one, Nile watched as different items emerged from the box. Old newspaper articles that were laminated, books, folded maps, and finally a small picture frame.

“Ah, here it is,” Copley said, flipping the frame face up. “Look like someone?” he asked, handing the picture to her.

Nile’s brow raised as she took the picture from him and glanced down at the old frame. Immediately, she was transfixed by the old, sepia-toned photograph in front of her. It depicted a beautiful, Black couple picnicking on the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower. Unmistakably, it was Sabine, but who the man was remained a mystery.

“It’s like I said, Paris is her favorite place to visit,” Nicky commented, looking over her shoulder.

Nile glanced at Copley, “I found it at a flea market of all places,” he said, answering her silent question.

“Were they lovers?” she asked, looking at Nicky.

“I don’t know,” he answered, with a small shrug. “If he was, she certainly kept quiet about it,” he added, as Nile handed Copley the picture back.

She plopped down on a nearby couch, “So...Booker didn’t mind her seeing other men while they were together?” Nile questioned, a frown forming on her face.

“Well,” Nicky began, scratching at his chin. “That’s why Joe said, ‘they were in a relationship of sorts’,” he reminded, sitting down next to her. “It was clear they had deep love for each other, but they did see other people when they weren’t traveling together,” Nicky explained.

“It was an open relationship, essentially,” Copley chimed in.

“One could say that,” Nicky responded, nodding in agreement. “They never put a label on their relationship,” he went on.

“Do you know why?” Copley asked, now curious himself.

Nicky shook his head, “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said, throwing his hands up slightly. “Although, I do have a theory. Of course, it can’t be proven but it’s the only one that makes sense to me,” he finished.

“What’s your theory?” Nile questioned, leaning forward.

“You must remember, Booker and Sabine both lost their spouses in traumatic ways,” he reminded, glancing between the two of them. “For Book, he outlived his wife and she resented him for it. Sabine, watched her husband be taken away to be auctioned off to a different plantation,” he continued. “I think they’re scared to commit to each other. Both of them are afraid of getting hurt again,”

“Huh,” Copley hummed, processing the information. “That does make sense,” he agreed, nodding. “But now I’m curious, so they never discussed their lovers to each other while they were together?”

“They made it a point to try and not to, however there past lovers did come up at times,” Nicky answered. “Usually it wasn’t all that bad....until the incident in the 1950s,” he informed.  “That was an ugly fight to witness,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Sabine—,” Nile began, stopping herself to breathe before she got too excited. “She wouldn’t happened to have any more journals lying about, would she?” she asked.

“How would you feel about an impromptu road trip?” Nicky asked back.

“I feel I would like that very much,”

~~~x~~~

Sabine’s POV

Although Renford Manor had been carefully preserved and restored to its original glory, Sabine could still see the tiny cracks that ran up the old, plaster walls near the ceiling of the countryside English manor in which she stood. The mint julep green painted walls were splitting like hairline cracks of a broken mirror. To the untrained eye these defects were unnoticeable, their attention would be drawn to the beautiful Florentine mirror on the far wall, a gold leaf baroque frame. Not to mention, the romantic and impressionist paintings that hung all along the walls.

"We are now about to enter the ballroom," the tour guide announced cheerfully, before pushing the large, richly carved double doors open with a grand flourish. 

And for a moment, Sabine could feel herself being transported back into the past. The faint clicking of her heels as she walked across the white Italian marble floors into ballroom’s wooden surface. The thick fabric of the dress she wore, cut to the style of the early twentieth century, in the shape of a bell.

“Was my dress blue or purple that night?” she thought.

Sabine could envision it now, the orchestra playing on one side of the room as men and women waltz underneath the huge and truly magnificent crystal chandelier lights that hung high above. Among one of the dancers was a young, light skinned woman with curly black hair styled in an updo and dressed in a green gown with flowers embroidered on it. The man she was dancing was young, with brown hair and was wearing a standard evening tuxedo for a man of his class. The two of them were very much deeply in love in with each other.

The creaking of floorboards snapped Sabine from her reverie, the foundation needed to settle from the weight of the sixty odd tourist group. Soft thumping of people’s shoes on the floor echoed in the room. Everyone filed in behind the woman, who moved to stand in the middle of the spacious room.

"This," she began, her tone bordering theatrical. "Is the pride and glory of Renford Manor," she said, spreading her arms out like a game show assistant.

As the tour guide spoke, Sabine took in her surroundings of the room, the walls were covered in maroon paint with artwork and family portraits decorating the space. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling and was greeted with the sight of the magnificent mural of angels depicting a variety of stories. It’s just as Sabine remembered, a surge of memories washed over her of that night. The party, the food, the dancing.

“We’re going to have so much fun tonight, Clara!”

Sabine lowered her eyes back to the woman, still droning on about the history of the room. She turned her gaze to a painting in the corner of room with mild curiosity, giving the figures a cursory glance. Quietly, she backed away from the group and moved over to the painting to get a closer look. The same two figures who she had envisioned gracefully waltzing earlier, now stared back down at her, captured forever in oil paint.

Lord Arthur Anderson & Lady Josephine Anderson, 1906.

Josephine was so terribly nervous that night, Arthur had proposed to her, but she wasn’t sure if she should accept, they had came from two very different worlds.  

"Man, to live a hundred years ago," a girl said, standing next to Sabine. “Those dresses they wore were simply stunning,” she remarked wistfully.

Sabine turned to the voice, her eyes meeting a teen girl in a school uniform, holding a tour provided phone for self guided tours.

“I suppose so, if you ignore the racism,”

The girl removed half of her headphones from ear, “Josephine, she was an illegitimate child from her father’s mistress and biracial,” she said, looking at the down the phone screen. “I couldn’t imagine living a tougher life than that back in those days,” she continued, briefly glancing up from the phone to look at the painting. “She got her father’s fortune in the end, so I guess that makes up for something,” she finished, shrugging her shoulders.

“Money doesn’t solve everything unfortunately, not when you’re half black during that era,“

The girl nodded in agreement as she stared at the two figures.

“Still, she got to meet a lot of interesting people because of her money. I read that Josephine met an African American woman, a small heiress, at the train station once and they became fast friends. They were described as being thick as thieves,” she informed.

A small wistful grin appeared on her lips, “Oh? What was the woman’s name?” Sabine asked curio sly, raising a brow.

“Clara Matthews,” the girl answered. “Apparently, she stayed here until the wedding before being forced to leave due to a family emergency. It’s quite sad, her and Josephine were never able to establish contact with each other again,” she sighed.

“I wonder what she like, this Clara,” Sabine mused.

“According staff and friends of the Lord and Lady, they described her as eccentric which I think is bullshit,” she stated, causing Sabine to snort. “Her eccentricities was believing in a woman’s right to vote, equal pay, civil rights, etc.” she listed. “They say Clara’s ‘eccentricities’ had rubbed off onto the lady of the house, she began to do charity work for those causes,” she informed.

“Sounds like my kinda gal, a progressive thinker ahead of her time,” Sabine stated, staring warmly at her old friend.

“Exactly!” the girl exclaimed quietly. “It’s sad that we’re not taught about people like Lady Josephine or even Clara who will be forgotten to the sands of time,” she complained. “It’s not fair,” she added, shaking her head.

Sabine turned to the young girl, “Sometimes, history has a funny way of staring at you right in the face, and you are none the wiser,”

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Falling - III - How You've Realized You've Fallen and It's Too Late To Go Back

A story I had in my WIP for the last few months and in my head since seeing the Old Guard.

Booker x Female Reader!with a sister

Warnings: Throughout the story mention of depressive behaviour, endangerment of others and one self, SMUT! 18+ DO NOT READ THIS. This is the FINAL PART. I'll consider writing more for this if I ever get inspiration to strike, but for the time being it's the last one.

He sought your care

You took it upon yourself to go take a coffee in that little shop every other week. Not even once after that first time you touched each other again.

It was a taboo you both silently agreed on. Him because he thought he would break you, you because you thought that you were afraid of what this man could do to you.

It only made things worse.

Way, way, worse.

The tension between the two was so palpable that your sister started poking sticks in it just for fun. He would sometimes pick you up from your apartment, and she’d be opening the door with innuendos barely covered through a thin veil of sarcasm.

It was hell. She was making it very uncomfortable and you could not find it in yourself to keep apologizing to Booker every time she did that. After a while, he only rolled his eyes at her antics.

He enjoyed spending time with you, exchanging about books and literature. He was surprised to learn that a doctor could be so well-read.

“My Mom was sick for a long time when I was in college. The first year I had literature as a major. The second year I switched and restarted in medicine instead. She died a little before my graduation.”

He never mentioned it again, silently voicing the shared grief he felt by deeply looking into your eyes. You thought it would burn you whole if he ever touched you again.

One afternoon, you decided to stay in your apartment. Just because it was pouring outside and you did not feel like going out. Booker seemed to agree with you so you prepared coffee and tea and put them on the coffee table, turning halfway so you could see him sitting next to you on the couch.

He was caressing the edges of the cup without drinking from it.

“Something the matter?”

Your voice startled him.

“No. Nothing.”

You take a sip of your tea before putting your cup back down on the table.

“Are you sure? You seem… - I’m sure.”

His tone was dry and left a bruise right through you. He leaned back an arm outstretched on the back of the couch. He ran a hand over his mouth, seemingly thinking about what he had just done.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It wasn’t fair of me…”

You reached out for his hand but he pulled it out of your reach.

“I… I can’t do this anymore. - What do you mean? - We can’t keep seeing each other.”

Your blood heats up in your veins. You put your glasses away, as it kept falling off your nose.

“Why? Did I do something? - No. Absolutely not. It’s just… The way this is going… It can’t go that way. - Why?!”

You sat up, head held high.

“Why? Booker, I can take it. I can take almost anything, but if you keep things from me I’m not answering for any of my future reactions. - I… Don’t make this more complicated than it should be! We have to stop before… - Before what?! - Before I hurt you. - How do you mean? - I mean before you get hurt. It’s simple. I don’t want you to get hurt. - But you’re hurting me right now.”

He rose, his eyes meeting yours. Two pools of pain and incomprehension for him to blame himself for. He was up to leave in a split second.

“I’m… This will hurt way less than what you could be risking just by being with me. - And who are you to decide that for me? - I… I’m only trying to protect you!

You’re not protecting me! You’re protecting yourself! You’re protecting your secrets and your past and I’ve never ever pressured you to tell me anything about these and I won’t start now. But don’t pretend you’re protecting me when you’re not…”

You’re both standing up now, almost ready to go at each other’s throats.

“You don’t understand, do you? - If you don’t explain shit to me, then no I can’t understand! - I can’t have you hurt. You could die! -…What?”

You swallowed hard as he ran a hand through his hair.

“My line of work… I met a lot of dangerous people who would not have hesitated to hurt me. They still do. They could come after you and try to hurt you. That’s why we need to stop seeing each other.”

Mild lie to cover up his past. Again. How could he tell you who he was without scaring you for good?

You took it in for a moment. It felt like he was trying to rip you apart. You believed him when he said he had people threatening him, you believed he might be a danger to you, and you believed something bad could happen. You also trusted him not to hurt you on purpose, to be there when you needed him too, and more importantly, that you wanted to be there when he needed you.

“…But I don’t want to. I don’t want you to just exit my life like that, that’s… - We don’t have any other choice. - You don’t. I do. I still have agency. I can choose whether or not I want to be with you… And this might seem crazy but I really do.”

Your face looked heartbroken and hurt and in pain and tears. You went to him and wrapped your arms around him. Old books, warmth, drumming heartbeat. You always wondered what he would feel like up close.

“I won’t let you go. - Please… - I won’t. I can’t. I just can’t…”

You stepped back, grabbing his face in your hands, his mouth agape, his eyes watering, visibly out of breath. He took ahold of your wrists ready to pull you off.

“I…”

You knew it wouldn’t be enough for him to stay, but you said it anyway.

“Booker… Sebastien, je ne peux pas parce que… parce que je t’aime. »

[I can’t because… because I love you.]

He frowned, feeling uneasy as he heard his name. His hands stilled on yours, searching your eyes for a reason not to believe you. You moved a little closer afraid he would step back, your breath mingling with his before his body crashed into yours.

You seek out each other*

His cheeks are prickly under your palms, but his hair is soft as you slip your fingers into his locks. His arms are holding you tightly against him, his tongue caressing your lower lip, your hands caressing every inch of him you can get access to. He doesn’t stop you, only trying to bring your body impossibly closer to his pushing your lower back to meet you stomach to stomach the fabric of your shirt bunching up, revealing a little of your skin to him, as you push his shir off of his shoulder then his t-shirt, separating only for a second his eyes never leaving yours hunger painted there in all the best ways, he helps you out of your shirt leaving you bare for him to see, your covered ass against him as he slips his hands over your stomach and hovers over your breasts one finger at a time, tease your sensitive skin, his beard bruises deliciously the dips of your shoulder as he leaves kisses along the line of your shoulder blades and your clavicles dipping his head to your collarbones, never stopping caressing you as you were touching him everywhere you could, his neck, his cheeks, his hair, the nape of his neck, the early birth of his back, his chest, his shoulders, his arms, he would not stop himself from touching you devouring you with his eyes as much as his hands.

“Bedroom.”

Your heavily breathed plea, makes him pick you up and grunt in your ear as he nips the earlobe, you reach the bed, closing the door unceremoniously, he sits you there at the edge of the bed, still a bit dazzled by what just happened. You bit your lip in anticipation as he kneels before you kissing your mouth thoroughly, nipping on your lower lip, before dipping his head into your neck, your breasts and down as you lower yourself down on the bed, back arched as he removes your pants. You’re turned on but not enough to his taste as he settles without a word between your legs your panties on one of your ankles. He’s bathed in the setting sun and you can see his eyes grow in anticipation at the vision of your pussy. He presses his tongue against your clitoris and you whimper. He chuckles before doing it again. And again. And again, circling your clit and sucking on it and licking every part of your pussy clean in the most filthy way possible.

You want to see him, and you can but through your eyes, your glasses off, you can only see the shadow of him, a light shining on him and making his irises look as dark with desire as they’ve ever been. You don’t tell him to stop, you can only mewl and moan and open your mouth without any sound at all in the hopes he will make you come.

He doesn’t.

“What?!”

He doesn’t say a word as you up, your pussy dripping on the sheets, ready to explode as he pulls down his pants and gets rid of them now hovering over you. He’s frowning still, your cum on his lips and beard as he kisses you senseless. You don’t mind.

“What you said earlier…

It was all true…”

He doesn’t add a word. His hand comes to caress your cheek, kiss your nose, and your temple, and stroke your collarbone. He was never good with words ironically. Only with actions. Only in battle. Whoever said that love was like a battlefield might have been right. His love was like his fighting: violent, unmerciful but efficient.

He pushes his dick into you without another warning.

You bite your lip so hard, that you thought you had broken the skin there. He soothes you, his finger against the sensitive skin, he goes and holds your hands above your head. He starts moving and you swear even at this slow pace you close your eyes and you can see stars.

“Regarde Moi…” [Look at me…]

You open your eyes, openly watching him as reaches down to tease your clit. For a split second, you wonder how he does it without straining a muscle. The pleasure elicited by his action makes you forget all about it though. His rhythm goes a bit quicker, your legs high on his waist, yourself rendered incapable of touching him, arching your back eager to be close to him. He lets go of your hands and you start touching everywhere you can grabbing his ass to bring him closer to you, your breasts against his chest, your hand now in his hair as his head dips in your shoulder, his ragged breath tattooed on your heated skin, his rhythm picks up in speed as he lets go of your clit and intertwines your hands together, you can feel your pussy seizing on his dick on the verge of climax, you can feel his arms tremble no longer able to hold him up. He pushes a kiss on your throat, on your jaw on your lips, his tongue on yours. He pulls back looking at you with all the desire in the world. HIs voice is weak and strained.

“I… I love you too.”

He doesn’t add another word as your chest explodes in warmth and lust and heat. He pushes into you again and again and again before you feel your orgasm creep up on you, a silent scream escaping your lips as your pleasure floods in your body and on the sheets, he keeps pushing before grabbing onto you like a lifeline, bruises on your waist to be found in the morning, grunting in your ear.

Collapsing on top of you, still inside you, he moves to push himself off but you stop him. He settles there, his head on your chest as you run your hand through his hair, both cooling off.

You cover both of yourselves up with a blanket.

He’s fast asleep, his breath and beard tickling your skin.

[fireinmoonshot]

A/N: This is a masterlist for my BOOKER / SEBASTIEN LE LIVRE x READER fics from THE OLD GUARD fandom. Everything on this list was written between July 2020 and December 2021, though it will be updated accordingly if I decide to write for Booker again in the future!

DRABBLES

Not Soon Enough

"I want to feel like this forever."

Booker + kisses on the forehead

Booker + Don Quixote

Celebrating Booker's birthday

"I think you might be my soulmate."

Booker calms you down after a Quynh nightmare

It had always been you

"Do you still love me?"

"You and me, together. We're unbeatable. We can go against all odds and come out on top."

Christmas by the fireplace