#reader drabble

“I would prefer it if you didn’t do that,” Oksana frowned as you peaked through the gaps of the curtains. “When people call themselves monsters. They don’t do it because they want you to say ‘No. Don’t say that about yourself. You’re not a monster.' Sometimes. Sometimes they want to vent out how they feel without the fear of the person possibly judging their mental state. It doesn’t give you a free pass to make condescending remarks because you believe you should tell them they not something they feel. Sit on it. Think about it. Come back to me when you reached a conclusion that doesn’t automatically align with the preconceived notion that you’re right and the soldiers are wrong for feeling that way.”

You didn’t know what to say to what she said. On one hand, you didn’t like the fact that you were told off. In your mind, you felt like you were helping them by telling Simon that he wasn’t a monster. That he had no reason to feel that way. At the same time. She’s right. Telling someone how to feel wasn’t going to fix anything.

Telling them how to be is a sure-fire way to push them further away from you. ‘Hell is paved with good intentions.’

“He needs to come to terms with it on his own. You can guide. You can assist. But you can not do the hard parts for him. Just as no one can do the hard parts for you either. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. We want to help in whichever way we can and sometimes, it just makes matters worse.” Oksana continued, it felt like a lecture, but at the same time, she had seen enough to know what you were trying to do.

“You wear a similar mask.” You commented. Noting the similarity between the two of them.

“I suppose.”

“I don’t like the way they look at you.”

“They being who exactly?” She raised an eyebrow at the comment. “They being the shadow company.”

“Oddly specific-“

You cut her off with, “You could have died, you know.”

“I believe you.” She paused as Simon walked into the hallway towards his office. “At the same time. You should be looking over your shoulder a bit more than you have been already. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried something to get to them.”

“I don't always need you to fix everything. Sometimes I just want you to listen.” Simon told you a month ago.

The act of hubris in pretending to know the right words to send the demons inside the minds of men packing.

When the reality means there is no right way to help someone. Just as there is no right answer in philosophy.

To demand an answer, you consider right, would be several acts of self-indulgent hubris. Reeking of pride from the intention itself.

Let alone assuming the fact that everyone wants to be fixed. In hushed tones, you might even think you are curing them of a disease inside their mind.

“Just give him a little space for a while before you attempt at an apology, Pup.” Oksana stated. Leaving before you protest at her use of the nickname ‘Pup’.

Your vision swam, drenched in sweat, and all at once you were going down. Your knees hit the sand -- there was so much sand -- and for a moment you were at rest. Maybe you could just rest here for a bit. You could catch up, right? Or maybe you could just wait here, they would come back for you.

Of course they wouldn’t leave you. No sooner had you fallen to your knees, your pack falling from your shoulder, and Murphy was at your side.

“(Y/n)? Love, can you hear me?” And you could, but he sounded so far away. Still, he needed to know you heard him. Nodding, your body slumped against his. He caught you, and he was firm against your side. John held you, and that security roused you from the pool of unconsciousness you were drowning in.

“‘s too hot” You insisted, a dry and heavy tongue causing your words to slur and twist. 

“I know,” He barks out a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor there. “It's a desert.”

“‘r we almos’ there yet?”

“I don’t know (Y/n)... Jaha,” Now he was speaking to your fearless leader.

Cracking your eyes open was difficult enough, in the minute or so they were closed they’d been glued shut by sand. One day, Murphy and you were going to live in a place where there's no sand. At all, it’ll be illegal.

The sun was intense and abrasive, but you made out that your remaining companions were huddled around you. Jaha, the man best imitating the biblical figure Moses, was already on the next dune, looking at the group expectantly.

“We need a break.” It wasn’t a question or request. All of you had been walking for hours, you’d just been the unlucky one to fall first. 

“Nonsense, it isn’t dark yet” As if you weren’t curled into your boyfriend's side, miserable and useless. You knew that once you were hydrated and of your right mind, he’d tease you for this. His damsel in distress.

“Dumbass, we can’t get to your City of Light if we’re all dead!” You weren’t surprised with how pragmatic he was being. You really did feel like death, though he didn’t need to know that.

Mustering what little strength you had, you sat up. “I-I’m fine. I can make it” You were trying to sound convincing... Maybe if you pretend you werent slurring your words or seeing double, everyone else would believe you were fine.

Jaha took this as fact and nodded. “See, they’re fine. Come, we have more ground to cover.” With that, he disappeared over the dune.

Murphy spat curses as the others walked past him and towards the dune. He might also be determined to press on, but you were clearly in no position. And your well being trumped his desires.

“Go, you needa go with Jaha” You pressed, attempting to push him away. 

“Shut up” He mumbled, before scooping you up. He held you bridal style, taking a moment to adjust and shift you in his arms, before pressing on. 

“There’s no way I’d ever even think of leaving you, don’t fucking forget that.” His words are steel, his intent ironclad. His eyes are on the horizon, and all you can do is stare at him. After a moment, he kisses your forehead.

“Don’t leave me like this!” 

Gabriel shouted. You stopped walking for a moment. Could you really be strong enough to walk away? This time would it be different? 

“Y/n?”

Your eyes rolled up to meet Constantine’s. He looked as concerned as he did from the day that he found out that you were Gabriel’s lover. 

“They don’t deserve you.” 

Constantine’s voice was calm and even. The events of the day didn’t seem to matter. He was as calm as he ever was when speaking to you. Your eyes didn’t leave his for a moment. 

Was he right? Of course, he was. John Constantine had never given you a reason to doubt him. Gabriel had...on too many occasions. Their cold disdain for humanity was becoming too much to deal with. 

Why they even became entranced by you was still a mystery. Now it was over. It didn’t matter that the innocent looking former half breed angel was begging for you to come back. Their innocence wouldn’t get them far today. 

“You’re right. No more.”

You replied before turning to face Gabriel. What a poor pathetic creature they had become! 

Oh how the mighty have fallen…

Gabriel still stood by the pool looking at you with pleading eyes. Their blond curls were everywhere framing that childlike face. They looked at you with a trembling bloody and swollen bottom lip. Gabriel had experienced their first taste of pain. When Constantine punched him in the face you weren’t as bothered as you would have been before. Normally, you would have gone to him but not anymore. 

“Good bye, Gabriel.” 

“Y/n! Don’t you leave me!”

Gabriel was genuinely surprised. 

“I saved you! More times than you can count! You would be dead if it wasn’t for me! You are really choosing John Constantine over me?! You’ll go to hell!” 

You gave Constantine a small smile before approaching Gabriel. They looked at you with a pout of a five-year-old child. You reached up and pushed a stray curl away from the fallen angel’s face. 

“I’ll see you there. By the way, you’re fucked.”

___________

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“Keep still Ori,” you intoned. The cage was in almost complete darkness, but there was a little bit of light from a nearby torch by which you were patching up a huge gash that had been opened on the youngest dwarf’s head. The poor lad was staring ahead, trembling as you did your best to minimize the damage. You had barely finished dressing the wound, when suddenly you thought you heard your name being spoken amid the buzz of dwarvish grumbling. Despite yourself, and your intentions of discretion, you pricked up your hobbit ears. 

Thorin, Balin, and Bofur were speaking in low voices. You could not make out the expressions of their faces. Patting Ori gently on the shoulder, you crept closer to the trio of whisperers. The pen was so steeped in shadow, that you were able to stay out of sight with ease. 

“This was all a grave mistake,” Balin was saying. “We should never have left Rivendell without Gandalf." 

"You think he would have fought off those trap doors?” Thorin growled. 

“He probably would have led us past the trap doors altogether." 

Thorin likely had a retort for that, but Balin wouldn’t let him say it. 

"Anyhow, enough of what might have been. We must look to what will be." 

"We must escape this place!” Bofur’s voice cut in. 

“Aye, and sooner rather than later.” Balin agreed. 

“For us I do not worry, we are dwarves after all. The goblins will likely put us to work in their black mines and their wicked forges. But for (Y/N), I fear it may be a different story.”

At these words you felt your blood run cold as you recalled that grey goblin who had sniffed at you earlier with such interest. 

“If we don’t act soon, those black savages will…..they’ll…” Bofur’s voice broke, unable to finish. 

“They’ll eat her alive.” Thorin said gravely. 

“We’ve got to do something…..but what?” Bofur sounded so lost.

“If we were to fool the goblins into believing she’s one of us….” Balin said slowly. “At least for a little while, it might buy us enough time to figure a way out of here." 

"How do you suggest we do that?” Thorin broke in. “A blind orc wouldn’t mistake her for a dwarf. She sticks out like a sore thumb. Even more than the burglar. Wherever he may be." 

"It’s not her appearance that’s giving her away.” Balin replied. “It’s her smell.” “Goblins don’t see very well, they rely primarily on their noses. If we covered her scent, made her smell like….well like us…it would probably give her a fighting chance." 

"I’ll do it.” Bofur sounded eager, a little TOO eager. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

“You’ll do what?” you stepped into the torchlight. The three dwarves jumped and scowled in surprise. 

“Lass….” Balin began. “How much did you hear?" 

"Enough to know that I apparently have body odor.” You said wryly. Nobody laughed. 

“It’s not that you smell bad…” Bofur said reassuringly. “You smell very nice!” He blushed, realizing what he had just said. 

“Too nice.” Thorin murmured.  "They could smell you before we even reached the cave.“ 

"Mind you, they smelled us first.” Balin added. 

“What must I do?” You were almost afraid to hear the answer. 

“Just….hold still. Don’t move.” Bofur’s voice came close to your ear. Large square hands closed around your shoulders, so large that they covered them completely. Hot breath on your face, something soft tickled your cheek. A pungent, musky scent filled your nose. It was like you were drowning in sweaty fur and tobacco. And then, you felt something warm and soft brush against your face, just below your left eye. Out of instinct, you jerked your head backwards. 

“Bofur? Did you just-MMF!” As if to answer, the moist something fastened itself over your moth. IT was now that you realized what was happening. You could only stand there in a daze as Bofur kissed you. Those soft lips seemed to be everywhere, on your face, your neck, your shoulder. Not an inch of exposed skin was left untouched. Not that you were a immodest lady. Inside, you were on fire. A squall of different emotions raged within  your head. Fear, panic, confusion, and a strange fuzzy tickly feeling that you could not identify. You tried to stay quiet and still, but sometimes little sounds escaped from you. A squeak, a gasp, a fidget. But whenever you squirmed, those big soft arms would be there to pull you back to the rain of nuzzling and kissing. You felt guilty for not obeying Bofur’s words, but you couldn’t help it. The bizarre combination of his soft, moist lips and the scratchy feeling of his whiskers tickling your skin made you warm and tingly all over. His kisses were gentle, mere caresses at first, but little by little they became fiercer and fiercer. After a while you began to worry that he might leave a few marks behind. 

“Steady on there, Bofur.” You heard Balin speak out from the shadows. 

“You’re disguising her scent, not taking her to bed.” You were glad of the darkness, because it hid the fact that you had turned redder in the face than Bombur after one pint too many. 

“Sorry Lass, guess I got carried away.” Bofur’s voice thrummed in your ear, a tad sheepishly. 

“N-no no, it’s f-fine.” You stammered, still a bit flummoxed by the omnipotent awareness of the warm, hairy presence that was still mere inches away, permeating that smell.“ 

"Enough chatter,” Thorin’s voice growled. 

“Mahal knows when those goblins will be back. No time for niceties, just get it over and done with!”

“Right,” Bofur’s hands returned to your shoulders. 

“Right,” You echoes, mentally steeling yourself into a puddle of nerves. This time, Bofur’s thick arms pulled you forward to meet what seemed in the dark to be a wall of pelts. Your face was buried in woolen fabric and fur trim. you felt the cold shock of metal fastenings and bone hooks creating indentations in your cheek. You closed your eyes, enveloped by warmth and the smell of dwarf. Bofur’s arms squeezed you tight, so tight that you barely had room to breathe. His cheek rested on the top of your head, the end of his mustache lightly tapping against your eye lid. You were surprised to experience and unexpected surge of emptiness when at last Bofur released you from his iron embrace. 

“Better make her look the part.” Balin said. 

“If they spot those ears, she’s done for." 

"Aye.” You heard Bofur mutter. Then something soft and heavy was covering your head. The flickering light of the outside torches disappeared behind a fuzzy cowl that fell past your eyes and nose. You reached up, hands searching. Your fingers came into contact with a shape that felt very familiar. Big leather straps, rustic stitches. 

“How’s that?” You could barely hear Bofur’s voice through the layers of wool and leather A hand nudged you into what you could only assume was the light. 

“That’s perfect.” Balin’s voice seemed even further away. 

“Can’t see a thing, problem is, neither can she.” That sounded like Thorin. Abruptly the yawning brim of the hat was pulled back to rest on your forehead. You blinked at the sudden ray of light as it hit you in the face. 

“What about the rest of her? Dwarves don’t wear dresses. Even goblins know that." 

"That’s right. Here lass.” Bofur’s hands took hold of you one more time. 

“How do you feel lass?” Balin asked when the flurry of hasty fumblings had ended. 

“How do I feel? Like a coat rack!” You felt rather weighed down. Bofur’s overcoat hung well past your knees, with your tiny hands utterly lost in the sleeves. The woolen scarf wrapped thrice around your neck, leaving only your eyes peering out between them and the hat. Your remark was met with genuine laughter this time. It seemed that the transformation had concluded, until Thorin’s voice broke through the quiet affirmative din. 

“Wait! What about her feet?” All eyes, including yours moved downwards to your feet, which were peeking out from below the hem of the coat. Your feet were considered tiny and quite dainty according to Hobbit standards, but were still woolly enough to make all but the most in-observant of Goblins suspicious. Bofur had already got down on one knee, tugging at his enormous fur-lined boots. 

“Bofur no!” You grabbed at his arm. You argued with him briefly but a tiny voice cut through, interrupting you both. 

“It’s alright Bofur, she can take mine.” You turned to find Ori standing there, his little boots already tucked under his arm. 

“Ori….” words failed you. He said nothing, but simply fixed you with his dark eyes, pressing the boots into your hands. 

The silence that followed as you clumsily tried them on was unbearable, but it was soon broken by something worse; the sound of footsteps. 

The cage door swung open and you were blinded by the cruel light of goblin torches. Dazed and blinking, you and the company were pulled one by one out of the pen. 

You were forced to run along in clothes that were too big and boots that were a little too small. Bofur’s hat kept slipping over your eyes and you were constantly tripping over the coat. All at once you were suddenly scooped off your feet and found yourself on Bofur’s back. Squeezing your arms around his neck, you whispered in his ear. 

“Thank you Bofur, for everything.”