An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
Booker and Quynh are living with the rest of the team but they aren’t aware of their strange arrangement. Quynh ends up revealing it in a fit of rage and it sparks a few important conversations.
“-the hell happened here?” Booker could hear voices arguing, although slightly muffled by the blood rushing in his ears, “Stop yelling!”
“She fucking killed him!” Nicky sounded angry for some reason.
“Quynh you need to breathe, please darling, we’re not mad at you.” Andy just sounded sad.
“You should be mad.”
And nope. Booker's heart may be pounding painfully hard in his chest but he wouldn't let Quynh spiral like this. It wasn’t her fault she became violent, “Quynh,” he said, voice rough and he broke off in another wet cough, blood splattering his jeans, “come here.”
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You know those fanfics, 5 times (something) plus 1. So five times someone on the team taught Booker something. And since it was he who taught. (maybe with OT3) {for example: teaching a language, cooking, fighting with a sword}
hello anon! idek if you still want this fic bc its been so long... but i have finished it! no ot3 this time im afraid, just didnt fit well with where i took this... hope you enjoy!
~
1 - Russia, 1812
When they first found him in Russia, they barely understood one another and had to use Andromache’s passable French to communicate. The Asian woman beside her named Quynh stared at him, as if looking into his soul as he gasped out words of conversation as he recovered from another hypothermic shock. The two men were paired off, keeping a close eye on their surroundings and ignoring the conversation altogether as they did not understand.
”The first thing we will do,” Andy said, handing another wooly coat his way. ”Is teach you a language we can all speak.”
”Like hell you will. I’m to return to my family,” he replied, wrapping the coat around him tighter. Andy shook her head and huffed, glancing at Quynh beside her.
”When you return in fifty years, when your family is dead, we will teach you Russian.”
”Or you could learn better French,” Booker snapped, cursing the entire world under his breath as his limbs shook uncontrollably.
The corners of Andy’s lips curled upwards slightly.
(Back then, Booker paid no mind to this. But now, he knew it was the introduction to Andy’s competitive side.)
It was thirty-eight years later when Booker returned. Andy had gotten better at French, and Booker grumbled at the fact that he now had to learn Russian, as per their unofficial agreement.
He wasn’t half bad at Russian, but he wasn’t particularly good at it either.
~
2 - Italy, 1850
As he returned to the group after the passing of his son, the last of his true family, Quynh pulled Booker aside and placed a bow in his hands. She watched as he pulled the bow string back slightly, testing the recoil of the weapon as if he was examining its limits. Booker was just trying to not break the thing.
Quynh was scary, and Booker did not want to mess with her.
”Now aim at the target,” she had told him, nodding her head to the tree as she placed an arrow in his other hand. ,em>”Aim, and fire.”
Booker did as he was told.
Booker missed the tree by a mile.
Quynh tutted and put her hands on her hips, before taking another arrow out of the quiver on her back.
”Try again,” she said, almost encouragingly. ”We have time. I’ll make sure you can handle a bow almost as good as me.”
Booker ended up being half as good as Quynh, which they both saw as an achievement.
(He could never be as good at archery as Quynh, but it was the thought that counted at the time. Really, Booker should have been grateful for the distraction.)
~
3 - Japan, 1894
Nicky was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning his sniper rifle when Booker walked in, still half asleep. Pausing in his tracks, Booker rubbed at his eyes and looked at the weapon on the table, never having really seen it out of its case which Nicky kept stored under his bed in their various safehouses.
Nicky looked up at locked eyes with the youngest, beckoning him over to sit beside him.
”I will show you how to clean this, and then if you want, how to use it,” Nicky said, picking up the scope and rubbing the rag gently across the glass. Booker nodded and watched silently before Nicky handed him a part and a new rag. ”Gently, don’t rush or you may scratch the metal.”
Booker wasn’t sure how a piece of cloth would scratch metal, but he dared not say. Nicky was allowing him into his space, to help clean his most prized possession.
When the weapon was cleaned, Nicky showed Booker how to reassemble the rifle before picking it up and beckoning him outside.
”We will set up here, and I will teach you how to shoot,” Nicky explained as he set up the tripod that would hold the barrel steady. ”Come, look down the scope.”
Booker could not see a thing, and Nicky gently nudged his head until he gasped, suddenly seeing the tin can in the distance.
”Now line it up, and shoot.”
Booker missed, but Nicky’s eyes gleamed.
(It was something that Booker looked back on fondly as he sat in his French apartment surrounded by booze.)
~
4 - Egypt, 1948
”Where is your sword, Booker?” Joe exclaimed whenever they were gearing up for a mission. Booker looked at him then the others, who all had a sword strapped to their bodies whereas he only had an assault rifle and a handgun.
”I.. Don’t have one?”
Joe scoffed. ”I will change that. When we are done I will teach you how to wield a sword.”
Booker objected, which fell upon dead ears as the team went back to gathering their gear. Furrowing his brow, Booker looked down at his assault rifle and started to feel anxious. Was knowing how to wield a sword some kind of necessity to be in this strange team of immortals?
(He found out later, the next day in fact, when Joe had woken him up at the break of dawn with his scimitar in one hand and a longsword in the other. Joe was always the early riser, and the most energetic. Booker missed him the most.)
”Here, I will train you the art of the sword,” Joe smiled, but Booker could see the excitement shining through his eyes. ”Try to strike me.”
Booker looked at him incredulously, but swung the blade at him.
He ended up on his ass with Joe standing above him, scimitar pressed lightly on his throat.
”You take too big of a swing, leaves too much gap for the enemy to strike,” Joe explained, removing the weapon from Booker’s neck and holding a hand out to help him up. ”This will be fun. Bonding, if you will.”
”Joe, no one even uses swords anymore?”
Booker ended up on his ass again, in record time.
~
+1 - France, 2020
Booker hadn’t heard from them in six months, as per their non-contact rule, but he hadn’t expected a package to arrive at his front door with his alias on it. Curious, he placed his glass of water (which still tasted of whiskey from the night before) on the counter and picked up the box, setting it down on his kitchen table.
He stared at it for a while, not sure what to make of it as he decided to rip open the box before he could change his mind. Inside were a bunch of letters each with his name written in different handwriting, a few pictures and five small magnets that represented each member of the team.
Booker picked up the first letter from Andy, skimming through the words quickly before the tears fell on the paper and ruined it for good.
’...miss you Book…...Nile’s idea to……..considered your biological family……….struggling to cope……..should have listened to you more, and for that I’m so sorry. You taught me that there is more to life than what we do, and I should have seen that back in the 1800’s and not belittled you for it. I love you Book, see you soon.’
Quynh’s letter was short as sweet, but mainly contained phrases in many languages calling him a dumbass and pictures of him practising with the bow.
’Next time, maybe try to be a perfect shot before you decide to cross us you moron…….I hope you have improved with your bow I gave you, oh wait you left it in England and some historian took it to the museum because it is so ancient…..You better get me my bow back you absolute- Nile has been reading over my shoulder this whole time and now I’m going to write some good things about you…
‘How to start? What is good about you, Booker? You reminded me that not everyone is good at something first go, and that they deserve the effort and time you put into them. You ended up being a good shot and it only took you ten years! The others took twice as long. We will have a competition when you return, so keep those archery skills sharp, my friend.’
The next letter was from both Joe and Nicky, and Booker smiled softly to himself. Never to be separated, those two, and he was a fool to think otherwise.
’Nicky does not want to write you a letter, so I will write for both of us. This was Nile’s idea, sending you this little ‘care-package’ as she called it, but do not think this is an olive branch. We are grateful for you, Book, and since you turned up our lives have been somewhat exciting. Our separate and joint experiences in teaching you things has brought us both enjoyable memories, and though somewhat tainted by your actions, upon your return we would like to teach you more new things as we teach Nile. Maybe you might actually improve on your skills for once.
We both love you dearly.’
Booker sniffled and separated the picture enclosed within the letter. It was a capture of when Nicky was teaching him how to cook proper spaghetti bolognese, after he found out that Booker was using jar sauce and packet pasta. Booker remembered getting scolded all night in Italian, and when he told Nicky he understood, the response he got was ”Good. I should hope so."
Nile didn’t write a letter, but she didn’t need to write one. They only knew each other for two weeks before shit hit the fan and Booker was sent away. Instead, in Nile’s envelope was a tiny slip of paper with a phone number on it, along with some fliers for activities to do around Paris.
’Call me anytime, I’m here to chat. Also, don’t mope about for a hundred years, do something! Learn a new skill! (Okay, that might be hard but just do it, maybe bake some sourdough? You love that stuff!)’
Booker took the magnets out of the box, walked over to his fridge and placed them in a circle with a small click!, his heart panging every time.
Bow and arrow, two swords, a labrys, and a handgun with a US flag.
Look if spiciest of lemon is what a spite fic will get me I might just leave a comment every day your prompt box is open 😂
Honestly speaking I don’t know when I will be reopening the ask box because irl personal stuff is picking up, but just coz I’m feeling the Holy Spirit of Spite running through my veins right now, have some spicy lemons that turned kinda soft but hey, I think this is pretty on-brand for me at this point
--
Booker protests, whining when he is being pulled off Andy’s plastic cock. He thinks he must have sobbed, hands reaching out for her and calming only when she swims into his line of sight, nuzzling against his cheek. There’s a rushing of blood in his ears and he tucks his face to hers, feeling her laughter as she kisses the corner of his come smeared lips.
“Booker,” Andy purrs, licking at the seam of his mouth. He parts it, welcoming her tongue, her teeth, her bite, her breath. “Booker.”
What was she asking for?
There must have been some structure when they started this. Some sort of agreement? He cannot recall. Joe and Nicky had had him first with their cocks, their mouths and then their hands. But everything started to blur after he’d passed out after his orgasm on nothing but Nicky’s cock in his mouth and Joe trying to fit his thumb into him alongside his own.
When he woke, Quynh was riding him to the point of pain. Wild eyes bright like two burning stars as she held him down and bit him as he came when she did. Nile had been next, she only paused for a moment to kiss him, curling her touch through his hair and told him he was beautiful. It had made him shy but more than that, it had him feeling a curious curl of warmth spreading out from his belly. He watches her spreading her legs and he had eaten her out and fingered her until she gasped and shook on his tongue.
By the time Andy crawled up against him, coaxing his tired limbs to slide her strap on into him. Booker had been nothing but frayed and fraught by then. Mind thinking of nothing but how he has to listen. He must listen and follow. And so he did. He obeyed and took Andy, bottoming out with a quiet, broken hitch of his breath.
“Booker, open your eyes.”
He is lying down now. There’s something soft under his head and he is shivering. It’s peaceful here in the darkness and a small part of him is closing in on itself again. It is safer this way. No one could hurt him if he closes himself away.
So he tries but it was so hard. It was difficult to move. His arms and legs were so heavy and his heart quickens when his thoughts start to run like thick-molasses. He tries again and breathes a sigh of relief when he is on his side, knees curling to his chest as he makes himself as small as possible.
It gets hard to think. He knows he should think. Booker registers the ache in his hips from a distance like shouting at the end of a tunnel. He picks up on the hot prickle of tears dampening his cheeks and has a moment to panic before there is a careful hand in his hair, pushing them out of his eyes.
“Sebastien, darling?”
“Do you think we overdid it?”
“Nile, go grab a clean washcloth and dampen it with warm water.”
“I think he’s coming back.”
The rushing in his ears quiets as he relaxes under the rhythmic caress through his hair. “Sebastien? Are you with us?”
Booker squeezes his eyes. Blinking them open slowly. He sees Nicky first, pale eyes concerned, hair a mess. There is a glow on him that Booker knows can only come from being fucked. His sight flickers towards Nicky’s left and sees Joe crowding in, smiling when he feels his touch on his still sweaty brow.
“Hello,” Joe says softly.
“Hello,” Booker replies, leaning into the warmth of his hand.
Joe hums. “Think you want to get up so that we can change the sheets?”
“Okay.”
Joe nods, moving his arms around him to pick him up with a bridal carry. Booker stifles a soft whimper but it doesn’t go unnoticed. He registers movement around him but contents himself with rubbing his cheek against Joe’s shoulder.
“We’re going to clean you up now, ok?”
Booker turns his head to see that he is being wiped down with what must be the softest cloth in the house. He must be losing time and the thought has him jerking in Joe’s arms. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re alright,” Nile’s voice comes like a soothing draught. He blinks up at her. Something like fondness settles on the sweet lines of her face and she smiles. “You’re safe.”
“’Kay,” Booker slurs, tongue thick in his mouth.
The next thing he knows is Quynh helping him dress in his second favourite pyjamas, smiling when she sees him looking up at her. “You’ve been very good, little brother.” She kisses him on the nose, nipping gently. “Now, you must rest.”
“Don’t leave?” He whispers, letting her push him down to lie on his side facing her.
“Never,” She promises. Booker feels Nicky wrapping an arm around his waist and sees Andy yawn as she lies behind Quynh. Nile crawls up to kiss his cheek before rolling away to lie at Andy’s free side. Joe. Where’s Joe?
“I’m here, my darling.”
“Don’t go?” Booker arches back to meet his gaze.
“None of us is ever going anywhere without you,” Joe assures him. This placates him and he settles back down. Just before the darkness takes him again, he thinks he hears someone speak.
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Oooo could you write a fic where Nile refuses to leave Booker alone? She tells them either he stays or she leaves with him. However it's hard on Booker being with a group that don't want him around so he just slips further and further into his depression.
- Yay open ask box! Could you write about the gang after Booker comes back from his exile? It doesn't have to be the full 100 years. After he comes back he is super scared of doing something that will make them send him away. So he's careful about everything he does, he's always on edge, never complains about anything, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. No one knows what's going on until Nile points it out. Que everyone trying to prove their love. Bonus if Joe/Nicky/Booker are together.
- would you do a team as a family fic where Booker is back but he is still not sure if he's allowed to joke with them or be in their presence for long periods of time and he becomes really lonely and unsure and starved for affection but hating himself too much to accept it? But the team figures it out and intervenes.
So I decided to combine these three requests cause they were quite similar to each other ^^
I’m not sure if it fits your requests perfectly but this fic just took a life of its own and will have two chapters so I hope you’ll like it even if it’s not exactly what you wanted
Despondent
Summary:
“Wh-what are you doing here?” he stumbles over the question and curses himself for being impolite, he should be asking them how they are and if something’s gone wrong.
“Nile here,” Nicky gestures to her with a roll of his eyes, “wouldn’t stop pestering us about how the punishment was too harsh.”
“Oh.” he says dumbly, shifting uncomfortably on the spot, not quite sure what to make of the answer.
“I gave them an ultimatum.” Nile says proudly, “Either I leave and come join you in exile or they let you come back with us.”
“We choose the latter.” Andy says after a beat of silence and Booker’s knees nearly give out from under him in relief.
Hi!!!! I was hoping you could write a fic where after a few years of Nile hammering home the point of maybe abandoning a depressed, suicidal guy is probably not the best way to teach Booker a lesson (plus they miss him), they decided that it's time that they bring Booker back to the family. But he's so far down his depressive spiral, that it takes them a really long time to get him well again.
This might not be exactly what you wanted but I hope you’ll still like it ^^
Promise
Summary:
It took thirteen years for their hurt and anger to diminish enough for them to listen to Nile. And another two until they finally decided that they missed Booker more than they were angry with him.
“I forget sometimes,” Booker says after a while, “that I’m real. And so, I just-” he trails off for a second, “I just needed to feel something.”
“Does it happen often?” Booker hums an affirmative, “How long?”
“Since before my first death.” he sounds sad now.
“The others were surprised, I take it they didn’t know?”
“Just under two-hundred years together and they don’t even know the half of it.”
So... I should be working on requests but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head so I wrote that so that I can now hopefully focus on the requests
A Gift
Summary:
“Fuck you.” Nicky pushed him back and pulled out the knife, quick and clean, he didn’t actually want to hurt Booker. “We’re done for today.”
He turned on his heel, frowning a little when he heard Booker keep coughing, a wet sound to it, but he kept walking. Well, until he heard Booker laugh and he twisted around, ready to yell or reprimand or something else, he wasn’t quite sure. But any words he could have mustered died on his tongue when he realised what he was seeing.
“I’m not healing.” Booker laughed, swaying a bit on the spot, looking down at his front that was already soaked in blood.
