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alaynes-writings · 2 years

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Photographs

Summary: When you look through some old and new photographs with your fiancée Paul he admits that he has been carrying around his favourite one with him for a while without showing you.

Pairing: Paul Atreides x reader

Prompt: “This is my favorite picture of us.”

A/N: Alright, first request done. Again, I am sorry it took a bit longer, but I hope y’all like it. The next request will be uploaded tomorrow. Enjoy!

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“Look what I have here!”

Excitedly you sank down on the bed next to Paul, putting the box in your hand between the two of you. Paul closed the book he had been reading and eyed the box curiously.

“What’s in there?”

“My mother sent me the copies of our engagement photographs along with some other old pictures she thought I’d like. And I think your mother also put a few in there.”

When you lifted the lid the first thing you saw was the stack of your engagement photos on the top. You had seen them before briefly, but now that you had the chance to really look a t them you had to admit that they were beautiful. It was your mother who had insisted on doing such a shoot and it had taken almost a whole day, both you and Paul just glad when it had been over.

“You look stunning.”

Paul took the first picture of the stack, also seeing them for the first time, a tender smile spreading across his face.

“You look quite handsome yourself.”

“Your mother was right. I’m glad we took those. When I saw you that day in the colors of house Atreides, I think I forgot how to breathe for a second.”

You chuckled at that, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“If you like me that much in those colors I can wear them more often.” you teased and Paul blushed.

The next stack of photographs was from your mother and you reached for the first picture.

It had been taken on your first day at Caladan, just after you and your family had arrived and your mother had put you in an awful red fur-coat with a black hat and thick white boots because she was scared you would catch a cold in the rainy weather. A horrible combination that had made you so uncomfortable that one of your maids got rid of it as soon as she could.

“God I look so awful.” you laughed, half embarrassed, half amused.

Paul tried to conceal his laughter, but he couldn’t hide the grin on his face.

“I have to admit, your mother really outdid herself with that. But I didn’t think it was that awful back then.”

You huffed, pushing his shoulder playfully.

“Yeah because we were eight and neither of us had developed any fashion sense.”

“No, I mean it. I remember thinking you looked like a little fox.”

You snorted at his attempt to make you feel better about your terrible outfit.

“Oh great, so I was the weird fox girl, how relieving to know.”

“No, you were the cute fox girl.” he corrected and you giggled, putting the photo away. You went through a few more pictures of your family, your old home and your first weeks on Caladan.

Next up there was a whole stack of Atreides family photos, also taken during that time.

“Oh look at you, you were so cute!” you exclaimed holding up a picture of him and Duncan together. Paul must have been six or seven years old, standing next to Duncan in his pilot uniform. He looked so small next to the swordmaster, with wide green eyes and messy curls.

Paul rolled his eyes playfully at your excitement, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Don’t worry you still are.” you teased, kissing his cheek again.

Soon his whole bed was covered in photographs, different versions of you and Paul through the years staring up at you. When you were younger you had hated that your mother always insisted on taking pictures, but now you were grateful for it. You were grateful for the memories that were kept in those pictures, little moments saved for you to look at whenever you wanted. You had known Paul for most of your life and those photographs had captured your relationship over the years, showing you how far you had come.

“I’m so glad we have that many pictures of us. I can’t even decide on a favorite.” you said.

He smiled fondly, letting his gaze wander over the photographs spread around him.

“I already have a favorite.”

That made you look up at him, curious now.

“Really? Which one?”

“None of those.”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Wait, if it’s not one of those, then which one is it? Have I seen it?”

He shook his head, a faint blush spreading on his cheeks.

“I haven’t showed it to anyone. Do you want to see it?”

“Of course.”

He reached forward, into the pocket of his jacket that was hanging over the edge of the bed, handing you an unfamiliar photograph.

“This is my favorite picture of us.”

It was a bit wrinkled and you wondered if he kept it in his pocket, if he carried it around with him. It was a picture of you and Paul at the beach, taken on a sunny day a few months ago. You were both wet, your clothes drenched, hair sticking to your face because you had pushed Paul into the water, unable to resist your childish urge to mess with him a little. It had lead to a playful fight in which none of you stayed dry. You were both still standing knee-deep in the water, Paul had his arm around your waist, holding you close.

You were smiling at him, the kind of smile that was reserved for him and only him. But what really caught your attention was the way he was looking at you. You couldn‘t describe it as anything else than pure adoration. Whoever had taken the picture had captured the perfect moment, your feelings for each other perfectly visible.

“I look like a mess.” you blurted out, unable to put your real feelings into words.

Paul laughed, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“You look beautiful.” he murmured. “You always do.”

You couldn’t keep your eyes off the photograph, slowly realizing why it was Paul’s favorite. It wasn’t staged like your engagement photos or the other ones where your mother had insisted on taking pictures, commanding you all to smile. This was a real moment captured on film, a visual manifestation of your feelings for each other.

“Duncan took the picture.” he answered your unspoken question. “He gave it to me a few days later because he thought I would want it. I have been carrying it with me since that day.”

Your heart melted at his words. You couldn’t believe that he had actually kept that picture in his pocket. It reminded you of your grandfather, who had always carried around a picture of your grandmother in a locket. As a child you had always wondered if you would ever find someone who would love you that much, who would carry a picture of you with them. And now there was Paul, your Paul, who did exactly that. Every time you thought you couldn’t be happier with him, he always did something to prove you wrong.

“Why this one?” you asked. “I look horrible in it. And we have all of those.” You gestured to your engagement photos.

Paul smiled, noticing how much this actually meant to you and he reached out, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you to him. He nuzzled his cheek against yours, his curls tickling your skin.

“We do have all of those very pretty engagement photos, yes. But this-” he tapped on the photograph, “-this smile on your face here… this is the one I want to see every day. The one I want to earn every day. And maybe that’s selfish, but I want to carry that around with me, wherever I go so I can look at it whenever I want. I always want to see you this happy.”

A wonderful warm feeling spread through your body at his words and you wondered how he was always able to make you love him even more than you did before.

“I want you to always look at me like that.” he whispered, kissing your cheek.

“I will.” you responded. “I also want you to always look at me like you do here.”

You felt him smile against your skin, his arms wrapping a little tighter around you.

“I will.”

Your gaze was still locked on the photograph and you just felt infinitely happy. Happy that you had Paul by your side, that you would get to marry him, that you would get to spend your whole life with him. Paul noticed that you were still staring at the picture and chuckled softly.

“You want a copy of that?” he teased and you laughed.

“Actually yes, I do.”

#paul atreides imagine #paul atreides x reader #dune imagine #dune fanfiction

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heyhyunjiin · 6 years

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Merman!Hyunjin AU

(Hello! So those recent pictures of Hyunjin with green contacts gave out some demon au feels but for me, it gave more of a merman feel y’know? SO HERE WE GO. P.S. THIS IS SUPER LONG AND I’M REALLY SORRY!) * let’s start with how you meet •Your family was visiting a nearby island in your country bc… you’ve got a lot of islands there. •everything was going fine at first •selfies here and there while the guide made terrible puns •weather was nice too (hA, for now) •BUT •the guide suggests on showing your fam the awesome harmless animals and fruits in the specific island you guys were on •your family is ecstatic! bc animals are cool. •you saw some rad lizards, lil snakes that had no venom, these thicc beetles, and more. •well you were sorta gazing at the critters for too long bc when you looked up, your family was gone. •like you were alone at this point. •you called out to them but received no reply. •after a few minutes of mindlessly searching for them, you had no clue where they went. •there was no cellphone reception and the only thing you had was your backpack filled with snacks, water, your underwater camera, and phone. •AS IF YOUR LUCK COULDN’T GET ANY WORSE, the sky started turning into a really dark color. •oof •sprinkles of rain started falling and you were getting a little more worried bc the ground was getting a bit slippery to walk on. •you tried remembering the route back to the boat but everything looked the sAME! •the rain becomes more aggressive and you search for some shelter bc at this point you needed a quiet place to think. •AND BEHOLD! a cave •it was hidden through some vines and rubble but you managed to squeeze yourself inside. the opening was pretty narrow and very dark with a dim light coming from the other side. •you keep walking till you reach the middle of the cave that had a vast underwater paradise within it

•your mouth hung open bc wOw! it’s such a beautiful place but no one else would witness it bc it’s not included in the vacation brochure •you took out your camera to snap a photo of the beautiful area •as you checked the photo, a silver slither of... something catches your eye. the thing was behind some rocks and appeared to be peaking out from them in the picture. then the camera slips from your hands and slides down the rocks and directly into the water * it went “ploop” * you leaned over the water and just searched for your camera but you couldn’t see it??? * wat? * you literally felt like shoving your head in the water bc how could u do such a thing? your camera was a present and now you lost it. * your hand found its way to your necklace that you toyed with when you were nervous/upset. * “i’m so doNe. how in the heck could this get any worse?” you huffed to yourself. * “...well you could fall in the water and die?” a voice said nonchalantly from behind a rock. * deFENSE mode ActivATED! you peered cautiously at the area where you heard the voice * “...is someone there?” you asked * “nah. just a talking rock.” the voice sounded deep and like it belonged to a male but you weren’t sure. * “Show yourself.” you requested, half hoping it isn’t some sort of terrifying monster and the other half you hoped it would be someone who could help. * a handsome hyunjin appears, swimming towards you. * you were so mesmerized! this boy was so attractive like his face was scultped precisely by the gods themselves. his hair was as dark as the night but his eyes were a nice mint green color with black pupils. * you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in * he chuckled. wow his voice is dEEP. “...ah, how do you humans say it? cat’s got your tongue?” * you were stumped. how in the world did he get into this cave through the pool? * your eyes looked into the water and found something resembling a fish tail that was connected to... HIM? * he followed your gaze and chuckled again at your surprised expression. * this guy even waved his tail at you from underwater. * and your eyes were still as wide as saucers. * “impressed?” He asked you all smug. * you whirled your backpack straight at his face to see if he was,,, real? * he clutched his nose because that fucking hurt :) * “okay... ow.” was all he said. * “m-mermaid!” you uttered out. * he rubbed his aching nose and said, “the correct term is merman but yeah, you get the gist.” * whAt wHat whaT?! * you were in shock because 1. you didn’t consider merpeople as real until now and 2. you were speaking to one * “you’re real... you’re actually real.” you said after taking a couple breaths. * he nodded and gave you some more moments to process it. * “you’re surprisingly calm for a human. aren’t you afraid i’m gonna eat you or something?” he asked. * “if you were gonna eat me, you would’ve done so already.” you pointed out. * “...and what are you doing here anyways?” you added. * “i should be asking you that since this is sorta my place.” he said. * you kinda ignored his previous statement because his tail caught your eye again.

* lemme say this: his tail was really pretty. it was metallic silver but depending on the sunlight, it appeared black in some areas. * “...are you gonna like... tell me your name or something?” he asked you. * you tore your eyes away from his tail because you didn’t wanna make him uncomfortable. * you gave him your name and he gave you his. * SO LET ME SPEED IT UP A BIT * hyunjin and you discussed how you came to your predicament and to your current situation. * you both tried to come up with a solution on how you can get found but it all either ended up with him being discovered or you dying from trying to swim to the boat. * he saw the upset look on your face and it made him feel kinda bad?? like he totaLLY didn’t mind your presence in his cave (it’s literally his chill area when he wants to be away from the other mermen!straykids.) bc he found it kinda comforting to talk to someone new (he loves his other mer friends tho don’t get me wrong!!) but the upset look you had on was unsettling for him. * to get your mind off of things, he pointed at your backpack and asked what was inside. * you said that it was food and water. * “human food?” he asked all cute & curious * you came to the realization that this guy probably hasn’t eaten any human food in his life. * you whipped out some granola bars from your bag and handed him two. * he held one in each hand like an adorable little kid. he was skimming through the name, ingredients, nutrician facts, etc. * “have you ever tried human food before?” you asked him. * he shook his head for a no. you showed him how to open the snack and he took a small bite out of one of the bars * you’re literally sharing food with a mythical creature right now. * suddenly, your mind came to the realization that he could feel ill from eating human food. * his reply was simple, “if i get sick from this then...oh well.” * HE ENDS UP LIKING IT! * you two start talking about your favorite foods and his food selections were seaweed, kelp, clam, etc. * you tried to explain the concept of some of your favorite treats but he still couldn’t really grasp the info. (it was alright tho bc he was still really enchanting with a confused expression) * you also ask him what life was like as a merman and he answered all your questions to the best of his ability. * unfortunately?? you heard the familiar voice of the guide shouting from a distance near the entrance of the cave. * you both stared at the source of the sound and the chill mood you both once had suddenly turned....sad. * you kind of didn’t wanna part with your new friend. * “uh, guess i got the help i needed after all!” you awkwardly said. * hyunjin nodded understandingly and watched you stand up to gather your belongings. * “it was nice meeting you, dude. even though it was only for a short time.” you said through a sad smile. * “same to you, (y/n)...” he said with the same expression. * you took a few strides away from the pool but turned around and saw him still swimming in the same location where you two were just chatting seconds ago. * “do you know that pier with a restaurant on a big yellow boat?” you asked. * he nodded. “yeah, below that pier is a hangout spot for us. what about it?” * you sheepishly toyed with your necklace as you said, “well, my family and i own that restaurant and if you wanted to speak with me again, you can find me there.” * tHIS BOY WOULD BE GRINNING SO WIDE BC HE GETS TO SEA YOU AGAIN (ahaha sorry.) * he agrees that he’ll visit you there soon. (by that he means the next day lol) * he pulls out an object from behind a rock and hands it to you. * IT’S YOUR CAMERA!!! * ah you could practically jump in the water and give this kid a hug. * “I saw it sinking down earlier before I revealed myself and saw how torn up you were about losing it... so here.” * “thanks!” you said and then, asked if you could take a photo of him for your scrapbook. * of course he didn’t know what a scrapbook was but agreed nevertheless... you reminded yourself to bring your scrapbook to the restaurant next time so you can show it to hyunjin. * (i’m not saying his smile in the photo was the sweetest you’ve ever seen... but that’s exactly what i’m saying. you only took a photo of his face and upper torso tho, avoiding his tail in the shot in case someone got a hold of your camera.) * you waved goodbye to him as you made your way towards the entrance of the cave and left with the guide who took you back to your worried family at the boat. AHHHHH THIS WAS LONG. if you want some more mermen!straykids au’s feel free to request hehe. I’M OPEN TO A PART 2 TO THIS BTW! I’M SORRY IF THIS WASN’T PLEASING... I HAVEN’T WRITTEN FOR A WHILE ASIDE FROM SCHOOL PAPERS XD

mermen!straykids au links: bang chan: https://tinyurl.com/mermanchan

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lilianenke · 6 years

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Fic: Memory of Something Beautiful

Summary: When it's all over, Marcus goes to say goodbye to Peter.

@excommune , I think this is relevant to what you were saying here and here.

[AO3]

Once it's all over and they're allowed to leave, Marcus asks Tomas for a couple of hours.

“I want to say goodbye to Peter,” he explains.

Given the latest development, Marcus thinks Tomas will have something to say on the matter and, truth be told, he could use a judgmental voice of reason right about now, someone to remind him of his duties to the Church. Instead, Tomas grins like a frat boy and says, “I guess I'll see you in the morning, then.”

Marcus tells him to sod off, but doesn't correct him.

He follows Andrew's directions to the other side of the island, quickly becoming breathless as the pain in his legs and back turn from a dull reminder to a horrible ache. These have been a terrible couple of weeks and Marcus can't wait to put them behind. If he were any wiser, he'd still be in the bed that Rose graciously offered them instead of rushing back to Chicago, but he was never really good at staying put for long. It's time to leave.

He just needs to make this one stop first.

Even though the night is freezing, Peter is on the porch, saving Marcus the agony of deciding whether to knock or leave. The door to his cabin is wide open as though he didn't think anything harmful could sneak inside. His life is simple that way.

Peter looks up from his phone and Marcus waves at him from down the road.

Peter points at the purple bruise on his left eye and asks, “I should see the other guy?”

“You should see the other guy,” Marcus says, with a smile. “Are you busy?”

“Work email,” Peter says, holding up his cellphone. “My boss is not satisfied with my inconclusive reports on the unusual behavior animals have been exhibiting on the island. He wants me to run more tests.”

“I'm sure it'll go back to normal soon.”

Peter makes a non-committal sound. “Global warming will kill us all, I tell you.” He put the phone down and smiles. “How's Andy?”

“He's doing much better. Should be back on his feet in a couple of days.”

“Good. And the kids are...?”

“Fine,” Marcus says, trying not to think of their horrified faces or Harper's shrill voice, louder than Andy's agonizing sounds from the floor above, as she told him, “Mommy was right, it's true, it's all true, it's inside me!” He'd tried his best but he wasn't sure he'd managed to dissuade her from that horrible thought.

Peter nods. “Good, I'd hate to see them get some nasty virus.” He gets to his feet. “Did you come for the beer?”

“If the offer still stands.”

Peter beckons him to come inside and closes the door behind them.

His home is a lot more modest than Andre Kim's, though just as isolated as every other house on the island. It resembled a hunting lodge, were it not for the lack of trophies and antlers on the walls. Instead, there were pictures of very alive animals everywhere.

“You photograph,” Marcus says, analyzing the picture of a blue macaw about to take flight. He might try to replicate the sheer majesty of the bird later but he doesn't think it'll look the same without the vibrant colors.

Peter laughs on his way to the kitchen. “No, god no. They're gifts from a friend. She travels a lot more than I do.”

Marcus looks around the living room, more out of habit than curiosity. Part of his pessimistic mind expects to find something horrible lurking in the corner but everything looks absolutely normal. There are nick-knacks from souvenir shops all over America, books on wild life and vegan cooking, and one large photo of Peter and other agents around a long picnic table. Marcus can't see family pictures anywhere.

Peter comes back with his beer and Marcus tries not to flinch when he sits on the couch, though his muscles are still complaining because of the long walk. They're so close to one another that there's no space left for misunderstandings, but Peter still keeps his hands wrapped around the bottle and doesn't speak until Marcus points at the picture he'd been looking at and says, “Office picnic, was it?”

“Office fishing trip. Back when I still fished. Now I have to stay at the table with the other vegetarians and promise not to glare.”

Marcus laughs. Peter is so wonderfully mundane. The kind of man who likes nature and goes to office parties and sails with his friends on that boat he loves so much. He knows nothing of demons or hell and he probably thinks the bible is nothing but an illustration of a time when people were too ignorant to rely on science. He'll live a full and happy life in his little home without ever questioning whether there is anything out there that can't be explained by rational thought.

“Marcus?”

“Sorry,” he says, blinking into attention. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

Peter is watching him closely and Marcus can feel it.

“You look like you did on my boat,” he says.

“Seasick?”

“Overwhelmed.”

“I thought I was doing fine on the boat.”

It's such a blatant lie that Peter has to laugh.

“Well, not fine,” Marcus concedes. “Just... not too horrible.”

“You managed to look simultaneously red and green.”

“Well, the sun didn't kill me and I was getting my sea legs in the end. I'm sure I could get used to it.”

“Are you sticking around a little longer? You could have another go.”

Marcus shifts on the couch so that he can look at Peter. His arm rests on the back cushions and he's tempted to drape it over Peter's shoulders but doesn't feel brave enough, so he rests his head on his hand instead.

“We're leaving in the morning,” he says.

“You and Tomas?”

“Yes.”

Peter drinks to mask his disappointment.

“We've already overstayed.”

“It was kind of you guys to stick around and help him and the kids.”

“It's our job,” Marcus says, knowing that Peter thought he'd spent the last two weeks bringing chicken soup to a convalescent Andrew and making dinner for his five children. His mind, which Marcus has already realized is scientific and rational, couldn't begin to understand the pain Andy was in, or how he'd pushed Tomas against a wall and Marcus down the stairs with nothing but his mind.

“You, sir,” Peter says, “are a couple of good Samaritans.” He sips but puts the bottle down quickly to add, “Which, now that I remember you were a priest, is a term I'm probably misusing and I'm sorry.”

“It's close enough.”

“Yeah, sorry. I used to skip Sunday school.”

Marcus smiles at him. That seems to encourage Peter to reach for his hand though he doesn't hold it right away. Marcus looks down at their fingers, touching very gently, and tells him, “I'm going to be a priest again,” before either of them has the chance to do anything about it.

Peter looks at him but doesn't stop stroking his fingers.

“I got a call from Father Bennet, he's a friend of mine,” Marcus explains. “Apparently, there have been some changes in the Church and they want me back.”

He watches Peter's face as he speaks, not really sure of what he expects to see. There's a glimpse of sadness there but it vanishes quickly and Peter does his best to smile at him.

“It's a good thing, then,” he says.

“Yes. Well, they say I have to work on my obedience,” Marcus says, rolling his eyes and making Peter laugh. “But yes. It's a good thing. It's what I wanted.”

Without letting go of his fingers, Peter says, “So you're Father Marcus again.”

“Not right now, there's a procedure. Bureaucracy. Vows to take. We'll get back to Chicago, get this sorted out and then...” He shrugs. “I don't know.”

“Will that make you happy?”

The question throws him off for a moment. Marcus isn't keen about letting the Church back into his decision making, even though it'll be good to have their power to clear up messes when things get out of hand. And he misses the feeling of being a part of something because he knows he's never going to belong anywhere. He misses the man he used to be. In that sense, going back to the Church is like taking a step back into something unpleasantly familiar, while moving forward into a promising unknown and there's some comfort in that paradox.

However, this isn't what Peter's asking and he knows it. His concept of happiness is something closer to what Marcus has learned to associate with stolen moments in the midst of chaos. Playing his tape recorder so loud he can't hear his own thoughts, for example. Or being here. Peter's life is centered around such things, his own isn't.

“It'll give me back my purpose,” Marcus says. “That's all I'm hoping for.”

Peter doesn't argue, even though he could. He pulls his hand onto his lap, their fingers still cold from holding the bottles of beer, and begins rubbing the palm of Marcus' hand with his thumb. Marcus closes his eyes, committing that moment to memory. If this is all he's ever going to get out of this encounter, he wants to remember it as best he can. The feeling of his skin, the gentleness of his touch, the way his own fingers slowly thaw in his warmth.

“You know, I've been with the Church since I was a child,” he says, almost like he's reminding himself of the fact. He could feel the years imprinted in his bones and on his skin and in the essence of the man he had become.

“Why are you here, Marcus?” he hears Peter ask. His tone is patient, a concern rather than wanting to know whether he's wasting his time. He's looking at him when Marcus opens his eyes, tanned and gray and so very handsome. Even if he tries to draw him, even if Marcus remember every detail, he will never be able to get him exactly right.

“That's over forty years,” he says, as if it were an answer. It isn't. Still, when Peter kisses his wrist, there's a hint of pity in that gesture. He cannot begin to understand what that number means but, if Marcus gave him the chance, he might be willing to try.

He pushes the sleeve out of the way and his lips brush up Marcus' arm. Marcus can hear the sound of his own breathing becoming louder. By the time Peter reaches his neck, he can barely find breath to say, “It's been a while.”

“It doesn't matter,” Peter tells him, right before he kisses him. “I've always planned on doing this slowly.”

Marcus has a lie ready at the tip of his tongue to explain the pain and the bruises but, in the end, Peter doesn't ask. He undresses him, pushes him down onto the bed and looks down at him as though those shades of black and purple fascinate him just as much as the rest of his body. He lies down beside him not to hurt him further and kisses him again, one hand on the back of Marcus' neck, another running down his torso.

Marcus wishes he were a good twenty years younger, back when a demon could throw him down a flight of stairs and he'd still be walking the next day. At this moment, his entire body feels like a rock, weighing down on Peter's mattress. He's been aching for days now and the little rest and recovery they had been granted did very little to sooth his muscles and his nerves. The moment Peter starts kissing him, though, the tension is all but forgotten.

He presses his lips to the round, purple punch that Andrew Kim left on his chest, then down to the yellowish patch of skin where he was thrown against a banister, all the way down to the bruise on his left thigh where a bedside table collided with him.

“I don't know what you've been doing,” Peter says, nibbling the inside of his thigh. “But I don't think you should move.”

Marcus props himself up on his elbows and looks at Peter, framed between his legs, his shoulders broad and his skin dark, such a contrast with Marcus' paleness. He's a gorgeous man and Marcus would like nothing more than to keep him. Before he can think of a witty remark, Peter takes him into his mouth and all he can do is whimper, “Oh God.” Whether he's thanking the lord or praying for his mercy Marcus doesn't know, he just drops back onto the mattress and doesn't say anything else for a very long while.

By the time Peter asks him to turn on his stomach, Marcus can't remember the bruises or the pain. All he knows is a need that he'd long decided not to think about and that is now resurfacing stronger than ever. He can feel Peter's hands smoothing his lower back, then a single finger tracing one of the lines Father Sean left on his back. His skin is a map of horrible stories and traumas that he'd rather not think about and would hate to repeat out loud. The only question Peter asks is whether he's done this before, and though it's been so long he can barely remember what it feels like, Marcus tells him, “Yes.”

Peter kisses the back of his ear. He says gentle things while he prepares him, pushing his fingers inside of Marcus' body in what is a familiar and promising pressure. When Peter lies on top of him and starts pushing, Marcus savors it. He can't remember if it's always felt this intense but he grabs the headboard and can't breathe until Peter is buried deep inside of him. When he moves, it's shallow and slow, just deep enough to brush at the right spot and send jolts of pleasure up his spine. He feels one of his hands hold him by the throat and another reach in between his legs to stroke him until all of Marcus' coherent thoughts have vanished.

He's missed this more than he'd like to admit, this vital part of himself he's sacrificed in the name of something bigger. He remembers it being out of control in his youth, and then quieting down as he became a man, to the point that he barely thought about it anymore. Every other encounter he's had in more recent years – and even those weren't nearly as recent as he might have liked – were clandestine and fast, an urgent quenching of the thirst so he could go back to abstinence. His life doesn't have a place for these slow moments of intimacy.

Right now, Peter's igniting that long-ignored need all over again and Marcus doesn't know if he'll be able to keep it under control once this is over. He bites on his lips to quiet the sounds and almost hopes the need will disappear if he doesn't think about how good it feels to be touched by another man – a good man, loving and slow where most of his lovers had been quick and careless.

Peter must have felt it because he picked up the pace and said, “I got you,” the words breathed inside his ear, encouraging him. “Let go, my darling, you can let go. I got you.”

And just like that, he's thrown over the edge with no chance of turning back. His mind goes blank and he grinds against Peter's hips so furiously he knows his bruised and battered body will only hurt more in the morning. He doesn't care. He rides the need off until he's left breathless and more satisfied than he's been in years.

Peter kisses the sweat on the back of his neck, still hard but not moving anymore.

Marcus tells him, “Keep going.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and Marcus can tell by that word alone that he's smiling.

“Yeah, keep going.”

Peter doesn't last much longer after that and his voice moaning inside his ear as he finally comes is perhaps the most beautiful sound Marcus has ever heard.

“If I were younger,” Peter says, after a moment, still on top of him and giving no indication that he wants to move, “I'd do this to you all night.”

Marcus grins to the pillow. “Well, it's still early...”

They shower together and Marcus wishes he could think of anything to say to him but everything that crosses his mind (a multitude of ways to say “thank you”) seems inappropriate somehow. Besides, holding and kissing him under warm water is so comforting that he doesn't want to ruin it by saying the wrong thing. When Marcus lies in his arms, he's happy. A stolen-moment sort of happiness.

Peter runs a hand from Marcus' ribs to his hipbone. There's a bruise there but it can't be seen in the dark.

“How did you get hurt?” Peter asks.

“You should see the other guy,” Marcus answers, with a sleepy smile.

Peter doesn't push and Marcus falls asleep.

He only realizes how ambitious he's been about his own body's limitations the next morning, when he tries to sit up quickly and answer the phone, only for every muscle to start hurting at the same time. Old aches reignite and new ones are suddenly adding to his discomfort.

“Yes?” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Tomas asks.

“Did you- Yes, it's five in the morning.”

“Sorry. You said you wanted to get an early start and the ferry leaves at six. Just checking to see if you changed your mind.”

Marcus looks over his shoulder. It's still dark outside but Peter has opened his eyes and is looking at him. He stretches in bed in a lazy but very inviting way.

“There's another ferry at ten,” Tomas suggests.

“Is there one that leaves at noon?”

There's a pause and Marcus feels his face going warm.

Tomas says, “There is. I'll pack your bag so, you know, you can take your time.”

“You just want to shove your thirty shirts inside my bag.”

“Are you coming to stop me?”

Peter strokes his back.

“Not at all,” Marcus says. “Shove all you want.”

He hangs up and Peter immediately asks, “How are you feeling?”

Marcus kisses him before he has to think about it.

Peter offers to drive him to the ferry because it's only a ten-minute drive and Marcus already needed his help getting dressed.

“There's no way you can make it to the other side of the island on foot,” he says, tying Marcus' shoes. The massage he's given him earlier was barely enough to ease some of the knots on his back.

“Fine, you have a point,” Marcus says.

Peter smooths his chest and, under the shirt, the bruise the size of a fist that Andrew left behind throbs sightly. Marcus does his best not to wince but Peter still notices it.

“See, that's why you shouldn't pick fights.”

There's a little question mark sneaked into that statement. Marcus just grins and says, “I like to cause trouble.”

Peter sighs. “Okay, don't tell me about your... illegal priest fight club, or whatever it is you did.”

Marcus is laughing when Peter kisses him one more time.

He follows Peter to the truck and gives his cabin one last look over the shoulder. It's a nice home, isolated and quiet, surrounded by nature and good neighbors.

The thought happens before Marcus can do anything about it: I could be happy here.

He doesn't know if it's true or just wishful thinking, but now the idea is in his head. Maybe if he were someone else, with a life a lot less complicated and erratic... maybe then he could've belonged to this little corner of the world.

“It was my father-in-law's,” Peter says, making him turn. “I got it in the divorce. It was falling apart back then, the ex couldn't wait to get rid of it.”

“It's beautiful,” Marcus says.

Peter crosses his arms over the roof of the car. “Do you know where you'll be staying in Chicago?”

Marcus opens his mouth to say with Tomas' sister, but says, “I'm not sure yet” instead. He won't have to give Peter a false phone number or address if he lies.

“Then it's an adventure,” Peter says, getting in the car.

Marcus gives the house one last look. It's rather big for just one person, but not big enough to accommodate him. Peter has no place in his life for his demons. And he doesn't want to stay, not really. It'd be selfish of him when there are so many people out there in need of his assistance.

And what does he know of love anyway?

He doesn't make a sound while Peter drives. Just like the night before, there is nothing he can say that will be right.

Once, Peter tells him, “You could stay longer, you know.”

Marcus says, “I know,” but it's all he has to say on the matter. He could stay longer, he'd very much like to, but he really shouldn't. The longer he stays, the harder it'll be to get back to his old life.

Peter understands it. Not all of it, but as much as he can. He holds his hand for just a moment, then holds the stirring wheel again. He doesn't speak again until they've parked.

“There's your friend,” he says, pointing at Tomas. He's found a bench to sit on and has their duffle bags at his feet. Thankfully, Tomas has no visible injuries that would make Peter even more suspicious.

Marcus looks at Peter. Of all the things he needs to say, all he manages is, “Will you keep an eye on Harper?”

Peter frowns. “You know you can trust Andy-”

“I know, I know, it's not- she needs more attention than other kids.”

Whether he means it or just wants to put Marcus' mind at ease, Peter says, “Sure, I'll keep an eye on her.”

“Good, that's good.”

Marcus looks at his partner. Tomas looks like he can't wait to get home to his sister and nephew.

“Marcus, you sure you're alright?” Peter asks.

Marcus kisses him before he has the time to second guess himself. Just one more time so he won't forget it. He whispers, “Thank you,” when they pull apart.

Peter looks at him with something like heartbreak and he asks, “You sure you want to be a priest?”

Marcus can't help but laugh.

“I mean, all those tight collars,” Peter says, with an apologetic smile. “And pesky vows.”

“I'm sure.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Peter sighs. “Pity.”

Marcus gives him one more kiss, then gets out of the car.

In a second – a lapse of judgment – he leans into the open window and asks, “Can I write to you?”

Peter stares at him.

Marcus wants to say that it'll be strictly platonic, innocent letters, nothing to feel guilty about, but he doesn't want to lie. He's told enough of those already.

Peter reaches for the glove compartment and pulls out pen and paper. He jots down his address and phone number.

Marcus' legs feel like concrete when he sits on Tomas' left. Behind him, Peter is driving away, back to his uncomplicated life.

Tomas smiles with a tease, “How was your night, Don Juan?”

Marcus rubs his eyes and doesn't look at him when he says, “I said I'll write to him.”

For a moment, Tomas doesn't say anything and Marcus prepares for the admonishing he deserves because he's being stupid. Tomas will bring up Jessica and the many reasons why writing to Peter is a terrible idea and that will put some sense back into his head.

“Good,” Tomas finally says, no mockery in his voice. “Good, it's nice to have a friend sometimes.”

Until the ferry comes, they sit in silence.

#the exorcist #marcus keane #peter morrow #marcus x peter #the exorcist fic #writing fanfiction

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chellewrites · 6 years

Text

So I Have Something Left

Link to ao3

A/N: I like this? So i’m posting it here? Anyway follow for more sad amelie stories. The title is from this poem.

Warnings: None? Besides some ANGST, given it is Amelie. Oh there’s two swears

Maybe, Amelie thought, things will be better.

She lay on her side in a hospital bed, monitors beeping, an IV in her arm, Angela’s notes scattered across one of the bedside tables.

And flowers. From everyone. A bouquet of white lilies from Ana and Fareeah, hospital daisies dyed blue from Jack (he was always shit with gifts, she remembered), a tall bough of orchids from the Shimadas, fresh cherry blossoms on the branch, dark purple tulips, multicolored roses, garish orange somethings from Lena and Emily, someone’s herbs from their garden, even three yellow puffs of dandelion from the bastion.

She reached out for the pills Angela left on the table, and caught a glimpse of her still-violet skin, though it was fading. Soon, they promised, she would be back to her rosy pallor.

She took the pills, and settled in for sleep.

Gabriel was gone, she’d seen it in the scope. Olivia had disappeared, and now Moira and Akande were hiding just underneath her nest in the Talon laboratory.

Widowmaker raised her gun and sucked in a breath, aiming for a little girl who’d just hopped out of a large mech -

“Don’t move, Lacroix.”

She felt the barrel of a gun, cold against her neck, and hissed, letting the gun fall to the floor. “Jack. I’ve waited for this.” She turned and smiled coldly. He’d evaded capture too long. “Here to kill me?”

“No, sadly. Angela sent me to save you.”

At some point, Olivia visited, leaving nothing but a holographic picture frame and a note. Sorry.

The frame cycled through the photos, five of Amelie and Gerard, the sixth of a press release for Giselle, with Amelie in the title role. My last, she thought, then corrected herself. For now.

Angela said the ballet would come sooner than later, but it wouldn’t be easy. “Still, you’ll be back on the stage before you know it!”

Widowmaker was held in a small prison cell while her fate was decided.

“No, no trial!” Angela insisted. She pulled her coat tighter around her. “Not until I can save her!”

“Angela, there’s nothing left to save!” Jack was pacing. “They stopped her heart, took her emotions, Angela. She’ll die before Amelie comes back.”

Angela sighed, looking into the cell. That woman had once been her friend, someone to share lunches with, someone to talk to about the horrors of doctoring and the terrible patients she’d get. Someone to tell about dates, plans for marriage. Now…

She studied the woman in the cell. Pale, nearly-purple skin, yellow eyes… she didn’t look human.

“I have to try. She can’t stay like this.”

The doctor herself stopped by. She didn’t say much, only took vitals, but Amelie was pleased nonetheless. Angela’s bedside manner was far better than Moira’s.

She rested on Hanzo’s shoulder during her release, her skin nearly its old porcelain.

“The guilt takes the longest,” he said, watching his brother and Angela talk over the doctor’s desk.

“I know.” Amelie tried to smile. “They always say so.”

Each of them knew something of guilt. At least she wasn’t alone in that.

“Amelie!”

The youngest Guillard snapped her head up from the barre she practiced at. “Oui, mama?” she called.

“Come meet your new nephew!”

Amelie sighed and bent to unlace her pointe shoes, then left the studio she’d finally convinced her father to add onto the chateau.

She tiptoed through the long hallways and shadowed arches, hurrying to the dining room, where she heard her family chittering.

“Amelie! You spend too much time in that studio,” her father reprimanded.

“Sorry, papa.” She hung her head. Some ballerinas spent twelve hours in the studio - fourteen-year-old Amelie was lucky to get twelve uninterrupted minutes.

“Amelie, come meet little Luc! Oh, Camille, he’s a delight.”

Amelie sighed to herself, but approached her sister and her sister’s new baby. One day, she thought, one day I’ll be out of here.

The chateau had never felt like home.

Now, with dust clinging to every surface, it felt even less so, but she unpacked what little she had and put it in her childhood bedroom, still painted a lush velvet pink. Not the mater bedroom, in its somber blues and heavy curtains.

She went to the wine cellar and found a good year, then drank in the kitchen from an untouched glass.

Unbidden, a tear came, then several, each for the lives she’d taken, the lives she’d lost, the lives she might have saved had they left her anything of herself.

There, at the head of her family’s ancient oak dining table, Amelie Lacroix wept for the first time in a decade.

“Oh, pardon me!” Amelie, for all her grace on the stage, had no peripheral awareness - tunnel vision, her directors called it. She bent to pick up the papers she’d knocked from the small table.

“Quite alright,” a man said. “It’s noth-”

She’d stopped, too, staring at the man in a crisp black suit, a little Overwatch pin on the left lapel. “I… hello.”

“Amelie Guillard?”

He knew her? “Yes?”

He laughed. “Sorry, I saw your performance last night. You were a vision!”

She was just Snowflake #3 in The Nutcracker, but if he said so… “Well, merci, monsieur.”

“What are you doing on an Overwatch base?” He took the papers from her hands, rearranging them in his own stack.

“Signing up for the entertainment corps. I heard it’s good money, you know…”

“I’ll get you there. Gerard Lacroix, by the way.”

Dancing came soon after her release, but it was infinite in its frustrations. The medicines made her weak, she’d forgotten the steps, the barre broke under her weight the first week. She’d had to fix it herself.

But it was the last thing she had. She kept going, because what else could she do?

It took weeks, but she began to garden again. At first, it was just upkeep, but soon, she had a vegetable garden, then something showier, colorful flowers everywhere, and the apple tree started bearing fruit again. Herbs and chickens came next, and climbing roses, and soon, she spent hours reading amongst the high walls of the garden.

Blood, not hers, on her hands.

She kept running, down the stairs, away from the apartment, away from the body of the agent she’d killed.

She didn’t run fast enough.

Baking came with the garden, almost second nature once she had chickens laying and fresh rosemary at her fingertips. But she kept most of it, at least at first.

When Angela visited for Amelie’s wellness checkups, she went back to Switzerland with a basket full of breads. Jesse, Ana, Satya, they all left with sourdough from her mother’s starter. Jack insisted he didn’t need any, but they ate a loaf together anyway, with fresh greens from her garden. Lena and Emily came with Christmas gifts and left with holiday breads.

Widowmaker had no emotions, she feared nothing, and yet Olivia Colomar got under her violet skin.

It was the little things, the taunts, the girl’s lack of discretion. Stealing food from the fridge, her insufferable puppet shows.

“I want to live here,” Olivia said.

“You don’t like me.” Amelie set a plate of biscuits, frosted yellow, on the table.

The ‘former’ hacker grabbed one and bit into it, chewing while she spoke. “I didn’t like Widowmaker, but now you’re a sweet French widow with a nice house and a killer internet connection. I make money, I can pay the rent.”

“‘Sweet French widow?’” Amelie smirked.

“Yeah, you’ve got chickens, you’re not a monster anymore.” She took another biscuit. “You down?”

Amelie thought. She probably needed more company than once-a-month visits from Angela and whoever happened to be in France at that moment, if anyone. She knew from years of experience that Olivia largely kept to herself. “Fine. But no police. If you get caught, I’m not involved.”

They visited Gabriel’s grave together, in the middle of a hot Los Angeles winter. Olivia was quiet for a long time.

“He was like a father to me,” she finally said.

Amelie said nothing. She hated cemeteries.

“Funny right? He’s this, like, terrorist, but he was the only dad I’ve ever had. He’d get on me if my quarters were messy, you remember his bad coffee I’d always drink? He-” she sniffed. “Damn, I told myself I wasn’t gonna cry.”

Amelie placed a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “You can cry here. It’s a graveyard.”

#amelie lacroix #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #my writing

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