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a-wanderin-whirlybird · 4 years

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Who did this? A Sole Ender AU fic

Summary: Ryan Haywood is happy in the crew. They know his quirks, well, most of them and they dont care. They have embraced his weird situation and have been the best family Ryan could ever want. He never wanted to lose them, so when one of the Lads goes missing for 2 weeks, only to return half alive? Well, Ryan isnt seeing red persay... He is seeing Black.

I would like to warn you: there are some parts where reality and imagination blurs a bit. There is also lots of blood. It will be the but be careful please.

Ryan stared at the door to the penthouse, gently holding Finnieas to his chest. The night sky glittered with the light of the city around them. The three legged kitten had grown quickly in the last 3 months. It wasnt uncommon to see the bundle hopping along besides Ryan or Jeremy. Occasionally the little guy would find an injured crew member and simply curl on them and purr. Geoff couldn't deny how adorable the cat was though he refused to admit it. Which didnt matter, Ryan had an entire album of the crew playing with Finnieas on his phone now.

But those happy times were on hold, and Finnieas wasnt purring to heal a physical wound. Michael had been missing for several weeks now, no one knew what happened, just that he went out for a supply run and never returned.

Ryan had taken to standing guard by the door at night. His years in the Lab had taught him how to operate on no sleep so he was able to do this. It didnt make the situation any better, and he was still exhausted beyond belief.

As Jack and Jeremy liked to remind him, he was still human, no matter what. He had limits.

Despite that Ryan sat up. His Vagabond Mask in arms reach just in case and surrounded by Diet Coke cans. His mind wandered about phasing between focused intent and roaming memories.

God exhaustion didnt helo memories one bit, it had been a week and a half since Ryan slept more than an hour every 3 days and things were blurring.

Then the door silently opened and the scent of old blood and gunpowder filled Ryan's mind. The walls turned white.

Ryan rose and teleported in an instant to catch Michael, leaving Finnieas to tumble onto the couch with a Mrrp. God Michael was shit. Ryan couldnt tell where all the blood was from but if the distinct lack of fingernails was anything to go by, he would guess Michael had been in some deep shit.

"Michael, stay with me ok?" Ryan muttered as the curly haired man moaned in pain. Ryan began to bridal style carry Michael into the back. He stopped outside Michael's own room but decided against it. He didnt trust it at the moment, plus Gavin and Jack were asleep there. Something about the smell.

Ryan instead made his way to his own room, and gently set Michael down on his bed. Ryan then slowly began to peel away the lady's tattered clothes, and tucked a blanket over him.

All the while Ryan was taking shaky shallow breaths. Blood was easy. He saw blood on himself all the time. Ryan had removed his eye patch, a plain black silk one Geoff had gotten him, to look over Michael. It played to have an eye that could show exactly what kind of injuries or weaknesses someone had. Especially if you needed to report the injuries.

Internal bleeding, the blood pooled dangerously in Michael's lungs. The eye revealed if Michael wasnt propped up he would drown quicker. So Ryan propped him up, the ghost of an electric shock shooting through his veins as he did so.

No time for that. What else was there?

Concussion, and cracked skull. Ryan couldnt do much there but cushion the head. He grabbed extra pillows to pack around the lad just in case. The ghostly shock grew in strength and Ryan felt his vision fade a little.

Not Now! Michael needed him.

Broken ribs, arm and legs. Those needed to be set. Ryan couldnt do that himself, he needed Larry.

"Rye?" Michael groaned, his voice cracking. Ryan turned up to stare at Michael's face, not his eyes, never his eyes.

"Yeah." Ryan assured quietly. "Its me. Hang on ok? I'm getting Larry."

Ryan then Vwooped away leaving a small poof of sparkles.

Larry was a few floors down, in the crew's private infirmary, he was asleep at his desk, again. He rarely left the office unless he needed to.

He lay over various charts and reports of the crews health and healing injuries. It took a lot to keep up with the mad crew, especially since one of them didnt have all natural anatomy. But Larry didnt mind.

"Upstairs. Now. Michael needs healing." What Larry did mind was suddenly being shoved out of his sleep by Ryan literally shoving him out of his chair and teleporting away.

Hissing but rushing Larry gathered up his supplies and beelined for the elevator.

Ryan vwooped back to his room. His mind swirled and mixed up times, but it never stopped him before. For weeks a burning, and boiling rage had been hiding in the depths of his sleep deprived mind. And the sight of the lad on his bed, barely awake and alive only made that worse.

Ryan knelt down by Michael who was carefully watching Ryan. Ryan met his eyes briefly, his muscles tensed and screamed at him to run for doing so. But he kept it as best he could.

"Who did this?" Ryan whispered. The response was hesitant, but the growl that escaped Ryan's throat and the vwoop that followed wasnt.

Larry raced up through main floor, poking in every room to find where Ryan had fucking dumped Michael. On the way, he ended up waking half the crew until he found the lad half awake in Ryan's room, propped up by a mountain of pillows.

As Larry got to work a sleepy and nervous Jack went to the front room, following the desperate Mews of Finnieas. Out in the main room he found the 3 legged cat pawing at a pile of sparkles on the coffee table. For the last week or so, the Vagabond mask had been sitting on the coffee table, in case an immediate rescue mission occured.

But it was gone, and Jack was instantly awake. Jack quickly crossed the room to the back hall, following it over to a secluded mini armory. Jack cursed as they counted the weapons. Only one was missing, and no one ever saw Ryan use it.

The Vagabond was on the hunt.

Ryan was lost in a swirling sea of thoughts. Fury was the first and foremost thought. It was feral and wild, a feeling that Ryan hadn't felt for years. Not since he broke free for good and he hunted down the traitors who sold him back to the Lab.

Behind the rage was bloodlust. Ryan usually enjoyed his job, but he didnt crave the blood of his enemies. Now all he wanted was to be bathed in their blood and guts.

The combo of rage and bloodlust turned into a mechanical motion. Ryan, what little piece of his mind was still aware of its surrounding and actions, felt distant. That tiny piece that remained knew, the moment he teleported his mind would swirl back into a deep pit. The robotic movements and thoughts of an agent without agency. He didnt have the control to weigh the options at this moment as he stalked the dark streets, mask slipped on over tired eyes, the left glowing bright and ominously.

His mind and consciousness had weighed the possibilities when Michael had hobbled back into the penthouse. Ryan had made the desicion when he went to the tiny armory and grabbed That knife. The one pulsing and singing in his hand now.

Ryan teleported. A monster appeared at the destination.

The bar was empty. It had been all day. The bar keep knew that their crew in the back was celebrating. They could join once they were done cleaning. The place would have to be burnt by sunrise. It needed to be clear of booze.

The barkeep didnt hear anything but a soft vwoop before the splitting pain filled his senses and with it the world went dark.

A black and purple eye watched the human bleed from their neck on the floor. And questions rang in their head.

Why was it so easy? The tests never were this easy. Why the mask? Who said it needed the mask? Was this the doctor's playing with it again?

Who cared, one was dead. Five more remain on the building, two more on the roof. Get it done. There was someone waiting for him.

In the back room of the bar the celebrations were dieing down. The victorious party celebrated their successful efforts to through the biggest crew in Los Santos off their game. They were laugh at a joke when the faint thud of runner and kevlar hit the table.

Half present the five stared at the item before them. Then they screamed. The iconic skull mask of the Vagabond lay before them, discarded but untouched. Before they could fully process what thus meant, the dripping of blood filled the room as one member fell dead. Their skull ripped open with a knife.

There was panic as another dropped down dead. They couldnt see the attacker but it was clear who it was.

As each member fell, one by one they all had the chance to catch a glimpse of a furious purple eye and a black knife and it drew their lives away and left them to rot on the floor.

The room was clear of life, and the Vagabond moved on to the last two targets on the roof, leaving nothing but bodies and sparkles behind.

Jack and Jeremy drove down the dark streets nervously. They had left the moment Jack noticed the black knife Ryan refused to touch was missing.

"Pull over! There!" Jeremy shouted as Jack threw the car into park and jumped out of the car.

The stiff figure of Ryan had emerged from an alleyway. His sweats and tshirt were soaked with blood and sweat. A small dribble of blood dripped onto the pavement from the knife pulsing and clutched in a white knuckle grip in his hand. His eyes were blank as they turned and met Jack's own.

Jack grabbed Ryan's wrists.

"Come on big guy come back to us. Larry said Michael's ok. He'll be fine. Come on, back to earth with you." Jack soothed as Jeremy helped moved the blank Ryan back to the car.

Jack piled Ryan and Jeremy into the back seat as Ryan sat still and unresponsive, like he was processing it all. Jeremy stayed pressed to his side all the way back to the penthouse as the coaxed the statue inside.

Geoff met the two at the door and gestured to the very back room.

"Use my room. Shifty said not to move Michael." There was a twitch from Ryan at the mention of Michael but nothing more, so the three moved back.

Geoff's room was the biggest. He may be one of the biggest criminals in the world, but Geoff was a goddamned Softie. He wanted to make sure he had space for his crew, his family, in his space at all times. If that meant needing a giant custom bed that fit nearly 15 people then fuckit! He got it.

Once in the giant room Geoff took the Knife from Ryan's hand and led him over to the bed with Jack and Jeremy.

The moment Ryan hit the mattress his eyes closed and he began to snore lightly. Geoff shook his head and sighed.

"Right. He's not allowed out of bed until Michael's up. Bastard needs his sleep."

Ryan was twisting in his mind. He was griping desperately to a single vision, the crew after a recent heist. His mind chanting different truths at him.

This is the present. The crew is real, and so are you.

This is a dream. These people are fake, you are nothing but a tool.

His hands ached, and his head felt like it was splitting open. He didnt know if he wanted to find out which chant was true or not. He kept his eyes closed. And begged for it to stop.

"Move the fuck over asshole Gavin's going to fucking flip when he wakes up and I'm not in your room." The voice was hushed and raspy, but Ryan knew it. Oh God he knew it!

Ryan cracked his eyes open to find Michael, bandaged and wiggling down next to him. Part of Ryan was terrified this was fake. The other terrified Michael would break of he moved more.

Ryan reached out gently and Michael sighed and he curled into Ryan's arms. A gentle purr soon joined Michael's weight as Finnieas curled up on his right.

"Real..." Ryan rasped.

"Yeah. It's real. I ain't leaving. Heard Jack say you were like a Zombie a couple days ago. You went and got the bastards who got me." Suddenly the memories of a few days ago cleared of fog. Michael's arrival, the bar, the pulsing knife he swore he would never take up again. Suddenly everything felt real and present.

"Are you ok?" Ryan asked as Michael moved his bandaged head onto Ryan's chest.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I'll heal. Look I fucking suck at emotions and shit ok? But you kicked ass for me and I appreciate that. But next time dont fucking I dont know. Robotisise yourself like Jack said you did ok? Oh and save some of the fun for me!" Michael insisted. And Ryan couldnt help but laugh as he curled into Michael himself, more odd bubbling formed in his mind, but he didnt touch it. He wanted to revel in the realness of this.

Because it was real. He was real. And so was his new home. He loved it there, like hell he was going to lose any of it.

#Sole Ender AU #Ender!Vagabond #tw:blood #tw:derealization #FAHC #Ryan Haywood #OT6 is happening #because Yes #casual cuddling is great #enjoy Ryan experiencing Derealization #its a type of Disassociation #I based his off my own

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softkaimin · 5 years

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Love Contract

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun x Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Genre: angsty af / neighbor!au

Summary: It had become a part of his daily routine to complain about you and your s/o’s rowdiness, but when one quiet day turns into weeks of silence, Baekhyun can’t help but worry about you

a/n: special appearance by kim jongdae | chen

Byun Baekhyun sat up in his rumpled mess of blankets, the incessant knocking on his front door beginning to give him a headache. His eyes were still closed, shut by the lingering sleep that he was forced out of, and the drool in the corner of his mouth was still damp. He quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of his t-shirt, reluctantly opening one eye to look at the clock.

10:42 AM.

“Fuck.” He was late for work yet again. He’d already run out of excuses to tell his boss the last two times, and another fake car accident on the road wasn’t going to cut it. He tore the blanket away from his body, and threw his legs over the side of the bed, sliding his feet into his gray house slippers as he stood to answer the door.

“Can you tell your friend (Y/N) to get her mail every once in a while?” The older man hissed, slapping a stack of envelopes into Baekhyun’s chest.

“She’s not my friend,” he said, attempting to hand the mail back to the old man.

“I don’t care. Her mailbox is full, and they started putting her mail in other people’s mailboxes. It’s getting annoying!” The old man spat, pushing Baekhyun’s hand away from him.

“Why don’t you just give it her then?”

“You don’t think we’ve tried?” Another neighbor chimed in, slapping a thicker stack of mail on top of the one that was already in Baekhyun’s hand. “She won’t answer her door.” The lady huffed, a bead of sweat dribbling down her forehead from her climb up the stairs. The giant pink velcro curlers had come loose, hanging on by the dry and frayed ends of her black hair, and her slippers were of different colors. Baekhyun recognized her from the group of ladies that often huddled around the coffee maker in the lobby, and he instantly became annoyed.

“Elevator still not working?” The old man asked.

“No,” she answered. “And I shouldn’t have to leave my kids and walk up four flights of stairs to bring that girl her mail. I don’t care if she’s heartbroken or dead! We’ve all got problems, but we still pick up our shit!” She wrapped her bathrobe tightly around her body, fanning herself with the single envelope in her hand as she angrily shuffled back toward the exit, disappearing behind the railing.

The old man raised his eyebrow, and pointed at the door with the golden numbers 415B bolted near the peephole. That was your apartment.

“You know I heard her boyfriend left her. I was downstairs doing laundry the other day when I heard a group of ladies saying that he had been cheating on her, and after the girl got pregnant he left her to help take care of the baby,” he said in a hushed voice.

Baekhyun stared at the old man for a second. “You know, you’re too old to be believing those kinds of rumors,” he said, waving the large stack of mail in his face. “I’ll be sure to give this to her. Have a nice day.” Baekhyun shut the door before the old man could say anything else, and quickly shuffled back to the comfort of his bed. He sat down, skimming through the mail in his hands. They were all addressed to you.

He picked up his phone to text you when he saw the missed calls from his boss. Five in total. He groaned, questioning how long he could put off having that dreaded conversation with his boss about the “principle of showing up on time”. He already had the entire thing memorized, as if by now it would be like reading off of a script. Baekhyun bit his lip, and dialed his boss. Best to just get it over with.

The line clicked two rings in, and the familiar voice spoke in his ear. “I don’t know why, and at this point I don’t really care. This is the eighth time this month, and we’re only twelve days in!” This was not in the script. Her voice resonated through the small speaker of his phone, and he was afraid if she yelled any louder she would certainly destroy the mechanics. “I won’t keep doing this. You’re fired.”

“I understand,” Baekhyun said, and the line immediately went dead. He let himself fall back onto the bed, sighing loudly. It was kind of alleviating knowing he didn’t have to wake up so early in the morning for a while, but it also meant he’d have to do some serious budgeting in order to get by until he found a new job.

He held his phone up again, scrolling through his contacts until he found your name, cleverly nicknamed ‘Noise Pollution (Y/N)’. His finger hovered over the dial button, and he wondered if you were even home.

He pressed the green icon next to your name, and held his phone to his ear, growing more and more nervous with every ring. He could hear the ringtone of your phone through the paper thin walls that separated his apartment from yours. And then silence. His phone was still ringing, but yours wasn’t, which meant you muted it.

Which also meant you were home.

Baekhyun hung up the phone, grabbed your mail off the nightstand and made his way to the front door of your apartment. He knocked lightly the first time, and every time after a little louder. “(Y/N), it’s Baekhyun… I have your mail.”

Silence.

He knocked again, but still no answer. He huffed, and placed your mail by the door, hoping if no one was around you would feel safe enough to retrieve it.

Baekhyun walked back to his apartment, bowing at the small herd of gossiping women that was gathering at the end of the hallway by the window. He could hear your name being spoken, surely nothing of praise following it.

Ever since you moved in, the fourth floor of building B hadn’t a day of silence. The hallway always echoed with you and your boyfriend’s boisterous laughter, and every morning you sang at the top of your lungs while you showered. No complaint could get you to stop, and after a while the neighbors just got used to it. Baekhyun had even begun relying on your terrible singing as his alarm clock, and thanks to you he always woke up on time.

That is until two months ago, when the fourth floor grew eerily silent again. One neighbor swore they had seen you and your boyfriend fighting in the parking lot, and another said they saw him get in a car with another woman, leaving you in tears. He didn’t know if the rumors held any truth to them, and how could he when the main source of information were the bored housewives of building B.

He slunk back into his bed, remembering he didn’t have to go to work today or tomorrow, or the rest of week for that matter, and he drifted into a deep and peaceful slumber.

The sound of glass breaking against the wall startled him awake. He propped himself up on his elbows, his ears trained on the wall adjacent to where his bed was positioned, the same wall that he happened to share with you. He could hear you crying, breaking anything and everything that could shatter against the ceramic tile. Baekhyun scurried to his feet, leaping over his coffee table as he ripped open his front door.

The neighbors were gathered around your apartment, listening and whispering amongst themselves. He pushed past them, earning him glares from the ladies who were clad in their bathrobes and fuzzy slippers, the coffee cups in their hands half empty as they murmured about what you could be doing in that apartment.

Baekhyun knocked on the door, begging you to let him in.

“Honey, it would be a miracle if she could hear anything over her own sobbing,” one lady said. The others laughed, sipping their cold coffee as they continued their gross ritual of gossiping.

He pulled out his phone and texted the landlady, his panicked fingers quickly recounting the situation that was unfolding on the fourth floor before asking her to bring herself and the master key.

He paced back and forth. Waiting. Listening to you hysterically cursing at what he could only assume was no one, considering the mail he’d left by your door remained untouched.

He put his hands in his pocket, then took them back out. He fiddled with his fingers, running them through his unkempt locks and pulling at the loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt. And when he saw the familiar head of winter-white curls slowly ascending the steel staircase, he released a breath of relief.

The landlady hobbled down the hallway, smacking the bystander’s ankles with her glossy wooden cane to clear herself a path. They clutched their feet in pain, unspoken curses lingering against their lips as they watched her make her way to where Baekhyun stood.

“My, what on earth could have upset her so much?” She inserted the key, the pins of the lock clicking into place like music to Baekhyun’s ears. He wasn’t sure what to expect, or even what to say when he would finally come face to face with you. Should I stay to help clean up? Should I ask about the rumors? What if they were true and asking you about it only made it worse? Baekhyun’s mind was jumbled, rushing to figure out the right course of actions to take. And when the door finally swung open, his mind went blank, the sight of you making his blood run cold.

You didn’t see the door open past your tears, past the glistening shards of glass that surrounded you like a bloodthirsty maze. You couldn’t even hear Baekhyun calling your name over your wails. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hide yourself away from the world, until you felt them being pulled away from you by your wrists. Your tears hadn’t stopped at the presence of your neighbor and your landlady, if anything you welcomed Baekhyun’s chest as a temporary safe place until you could get a hold of yourself.

The women in the hallway grew silent at the sight of your open door, and slowly padded over to peek at the mess that was surely your apartment.

“You stick your nose past that doorway, I’ll have no problem charging you gossip fees.” The landlady stood in front of them, obscuring their view of you. At five feet tall, she was a giant who nobody dared poke, not even the gossip queen herself.

The lady tightened her lips to keep the curse from slipping past her teeth and she huffed, spinning on her heels to slither away. The other women followed closely behind her, their focus still on the commotion in your apartment as they reluctantly descended to the lobby to refill their coffee cups.

The landlady closed your door and replaced her cane with a wooden broom that stood taller than her, slowly but surely sweeping away the remnants of your anger. She only cleaned around the area where you and Baekhyun sat huddled together. It was all she could really do in her physical state, but something was better than nothing.

You felt the uncomfortable prickling crawling down your calf to your foot after half an hour of being nestled in Baekhyun’s arms. You attempted to reposition yourself but your cheek began to chafe against his tear-stained shirt. You groaned and lifted your head to soothe your irritated skin when you met his eyes for the first time since he entered your apartment.

“Feel better?” He asked. His eyes were wide and filled with worried, and you swore you felt your heart plummet into your stomach.

You pushed yourself off of him, breaking the stream of tears with the back of your hand as you examined the mess around you. “Oh god, I’m so…” Your voice was weak, your throat sore from all the crying and you couldn’t find the strength to continue your sentence.

Before you knew it, you were sobbing again. This time, Baekhyun helped you to your feet and led you to the couch, his arms still wrapped around you like a shield protecting you from the perverse world. You cried until your eyes stung. Until the sun switched shifts with the moon and left the two of you in the care of the obsidian sky. The landlady had left by now and gone back to manning the front desk, but not before urging Baekhyun to stop by her place for dinner when you felt better.

“I’m sorry,” You finally managed, leaning against the feathery cushions of your couch. “You probably had better things to do than be here.” Your eyes were red and dried, and they burned every time you blinked. You had stopped crying a few minutes ago, but you savoured the feeling of being in Baekhyun’s arms so you hadn’t let go. It reminded you of your boyfriend - now ex-boyfriend - and it filled the hole in your heart temporarily. You finally released your grip on his torso when his stomach involuntarily growled at you, begging you to let him eat something before it tried to eat itself.

Baekhyun shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, my schedule was pretty much cleared this morning.”

You smiled half-heartedly, pulling the colorful afghan off of the back of the couch and wrapped it around yourself tightly. God knows how terribly you longed to be in his arms again, to be held close to his chest as his heartbeat lulled you to sleep after a bad day at work. You longed for his smell, for his touch and the way he made you feel whenever you felt down about yourself. A blanket could never give you any of that, but it could give you a bit of warmth and that would just have to do.

“Are you hungry?” Baekhyun asked, gently patting his belly to shush the approaching rumble from his empty stomach.

“No,” you answered, glancing at him briefly before reverting your gaze back to the giant cardboard box in the corner of your living room.

“You should really eat something,” he urged.

You sighed, shaking your head. “I’m very not hungry.”

“Fine, but can you at least sit with me?” Baekhyun held his hand out, waiting for you to take it. “We don’t have to leave your apartment, I’ll make something here.”

Sitting with him wouldn’t be so bad, you thought. It would definitely distract you from the agonizing silence of your apartment for a while.

You nodded and took his hand, and the two of you walked toward the small kitchen table, carefully avoiding the pile of broken glass that had been swept to the side. You watched him as he cooked up a large pot of ramen, far too much for one sane person in your opinion. He said nothing and set the pot down in the middle of the table on top of the metal trivet, two sets of chopsticks in his hand.

Baekhyun kept all the utensils on his side, filling his respective bowl with the hot noodles as he slurped them with a satisfactory sigh. You watched him eat, your stomach doing backflips every time you caught a whiff of the savory smell of the soup.

So maybe you were hungry.

You licked your lips, and your stomach growled loud enough that you were sure the rest of the fourth floor heard it. Baekhyun chuckled and separated his bowl from another of the exact same color and size. He handed it to you along with the other pair of chopsticks, and you eagerly filled your bowl, and subsequently your stomach.

Once he was full, Baekhyun set his bowl to the side and quietly glanced around your apartment as he waited for you to finish the rest. He noticed the pictures that used to be on your walls were placed face-down on the coffee table, and your bookshelf was a lot emptier than the last time - granted he’d only been inside your apartment twice in the two years that you lived here. He thought back to what the old man had told him in the morning about your boyfriend, and he found himself wondering if perhaps the rumors were true.

You felt the comfortable silence that once chaperoned you and Baekhyun deteriorate into a silence that made you nervous. It was a silence you had grown accustomed to by now.

You set your bowl down, your chopsticks clanking against the ceramic, and you stared at the empty pot in front of you. You didn’t have to look at Baekhyun to know what he was thinking, you could sense the questions beginning to form in mind. Everyone always asked the same thing and they all had the same reactions, so why would Baekhyun be any different? “He didn’t leave me because he got someone else pregnant,” you said, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“That is the latest gossip of the fourth floor, isn’t it?” Baekhyun blinked absentmindedly, struggling for the right words to say, and you chuckled. “Thin walls… plus Mrs. Lee and them don’t speak as quietly as they think.”

Baekhyun hummed, strumming his fingers against the surface of the table in discomfort. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You nodded, resting your head against the palm of your hand as you brought the blanket around your shoulders closer to you. There was a faint smell on it that reminded you of him, and you could feel your eyes welling up again. You blinked them away and rubbed your irritated eyes with your shirt roughly, the stinging sensation making you curl your toes in pain.

You stood and trudged to the cabinet, pulling out the first bottle of dark liquor you saw. You grabbed two shot glasses on your way back and placed one in front of Baekhyun. Divulging your secrets was always easier when you were in a bar with strangers. You could tell them all your problems, vent to them your worries, and you’d never see them again after that. But Baekhyun wasn’t a stranger and this wasn’t a bar, however alcohol was all the same no matter where you were.

You took a shot of the liquor to warm you up, the burn on your tongue making you recoil. Tequila. You sighed loudly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and began pondering what page in the story of your life to flip to first. “He left me… that much is true.”

Baekhyun said nothing. He refilled your shot glass and you quickly downed it, ignoring the sting as it crawled down your throat. He filled his shot glass halfway and circled the pad of his index finger around the brim of the glass, listening to you and watching as the expressions on your face went from confused to hurt in a matter of seconds. He had no intention of getting drunk tonight, not when it was your every intention to try to forget what is like to be a person who had feelings.

You laughed, “I don’t even know where the whole pregnancy thing came from.”

“Mrs. Lee.”

You pointed your finger at him, and held your thumb in the air. “Right you are. That dumb broad can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business even if it meant saving her life.” You lifted the bottle of tequila and refilled your glass, your slowed reflex skills causing you to overfill before you could pull away. You shrugged and licked the side of the glass, taking the shot in one big gulp. Baekhyun quickly wiped down the table with a washcloth before the animal in you decided to sip the spilled alcohol as well, and he quietly braced himself for a long night.

You set the glass down in front of Baekhyun, motioning with your eyes for him to refill it for you. He tightened his lips and set the bottle behind him on the kitchen counter, instead filling your glass with water. You drank it without looking and groaned.

“You drank three shots in less than five minutes, I doubt you’ll even know your own name in an hour,” he explained, turning over your shot glass and placing a pitcher of water in front of you.

You huffed, holding your bobbing head in place with your arm. “How else will I tell you everything without breaking down again?”

Baekhyun nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s the point. You won’t be able to get over it unless you let yourself completely feel it. So, tell me now.”

You tightened your lips. Just the idea of coming face to face with your bottled emotions paralyzed you. For the past two months you ignored everything. You neglected your friends and your family without any explanations, and refused to leave your apartment for fear that you’d run into him in public. You were afraid if he saw you he would see that his absence was breaking you when the last thing you told him was that you didn’t need him to survive.

“I’m so tired of crying, but ever since he left I feel like I can’t breathe,” you said. Baekhyun held your hand across the table, his fingers squeezing yours like it was the only thing keeping you from breaking down all the way. “My entire life I was never apart from him. We grew up together and in high school everyone always said if soulmates were real, it would be me and Chen.”

Saying his name for the first time in a while left a bitter taste in your mouth, and it was the final shot to send you from tipsy to drunk. Your words were slurred, and your eyes heavy. “I’ll never forgive myself for not seeing that he was never in love with me the way I was with him… and I’ll never forgive him for letting me believe it.”

Baekhyun had moved closer to you, rubbing your back as you fought to hold your head straight, but even your muscles were lovedrunk. “Did he say why?” He asked, his voice soft in your ear.

“He told me after we got together senior year, everyone told him we were destined to be together so he never questioned it.” You laughed, your throat making a gross sound as you sniffled to keep your nose from watering. “He stayed with me because he felt like it was what he had to do… and then he got a new job and new co-worker.” You gathered the last of your sobriety and strength, and held your head up to look at Baekhyun to watch his reaction. “He told me that he never understood what I meant when I said I was in love him until he met her.”

Baekhyun hadn’t much of a reaction to what you said, and you let your head fall against your kitchen table. When you told your mother what happened she blamed you for not paying attention, and when you told your friends, they immediately made a plan to get back at him for breaking your heart. Neither reaction made you feel any better, but Baekhyun’s stoic refusal to show you his true feelings gave you comfort - for some odd reason.

“He cheated on you?”

You shook your head, and closed your eyes. “No, at least not physically. He said he didn’t want to start anything with her until he told me… but you know what I said? I said I was relieved because I wanted out of the relationship a long time ago... and he then left.” And just like that, you were a sobbing mess again. “But I lied, Baekhyun!” You wailed.

“I know,” he said, caressing your head soothingly. He helped you to your feet and took you to your bedroom, laying you against the covers gently as he watched you cry yourself to sleep. He pulled the afghan over your body before moving back to the kitchen to clean up the mess of dishes and broken glass. When he was done, he made a small bed out of the spare blankets in the basket by the couch, your snoring from the other room lulling him to sleep.

Over the next few months, Baekhyun hardly left your side. You had begun looking forward to seeing him everyday, so much that getting out of bed wasn’t so hard anymore and in return for his patience with you, you helped him look for a new job.

“Today is the day,” Baekhyun announced, shutting your front door with his foot. He shuffled over to where you sat on the couch, handing you a giant cup of coffee.

“For what? Did you finally get a job interview?” You asked, taking the warm cup in your hands. You noticed the old unfamiliar coffee pot in Baekhyun’s other hand, and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “It that from the lobby?”

“Huh?” Baekhyun looked at his hand, and laughed. “Oh, yeah. Mrs. Lee was taking shit again, so I took her only source of fuel. And no, apparently my old boss is friends with that guy from the recording studio and she told him I was habitually late,” He said, using his fingers to make air quotes.

You sighed and sipped the bitter drink and placed the cup on the side table next to the couch, watching as Baekhyun got comfortable opposite to you. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep looking. My manager said he’d give me a raise by the end of the month, so we should be fine for a while. But anyway, why are we excited about today?”

“Ah! Because today is the day we get rid of the box.”

“The box?”

“The box.”

You rolled your eyes and picked up your TV remote to flip through the channels. “I don’t feel like it.”

“No-” Baekhyun tore the remote from your hands, and you looked at him in surprise. “If not today then when? Let’s just get it over with, so you can finally close that chapter of your life.”

You blinked, mentally making a list of everything you would have to look for and pack up. Too many things, almost an entire day’s worth of cleaning to get everything. You tightened your lips in refusal, but Baekhyun pulled you along anyways, forcing you to your feet as he dragged the cardboard box to the middle of the living room.

“No more putting it off. You can do this,” Baekhyun cheered. You groaned, watching as Baekhyun began tossing things into a pile on the carpet. Why is he always so energetic, you asked yourself. You sat down and lazily looked through the mess, picking and choosing the things you wanted to keep or get rid of.

You picked up a black shirt, and your eyes glossed over as if a projector screen had lit against the soft fabric. You remembered the days that you and Chen slept in until noon, his shirt - this shirt - pulling up as he stretched his arms. You remembered his sleepy eyes and adorable bed head, and how even in his worst state he was still the most beautiful person you’d ever met. You remembered how he made you laugh so hard that you started crying, or how he’d whisper something cheeky in your ear and the passionate sex that soon followed. You missed how he’d stumble over his sentences because he couldn’t stop laughing at what he was about to say, or how he’d hug you from behind and wouldn’t let go after a long day at work.

It was the small things that you missed. The true moments when you were yourself. No mask. No embarrassment. Just yourself.

“And that’s why I think you should get rid of this,” Baekhyun said, holding the dinosaur plushie in front of you. He was sitting on the other side of the box, and you wondered how long he’d been there. You quickly came back to your senses and you realized the giant mess in the middle of the living room had transformed into a neat organized pile and the cardboard box was full to the top.

“Huh?”

Baekhyun smacked his lips, his shoulders slouching forward in annoyance. “You didn’t hear anything I just said?”

You smiled shamelessly and shook your head. “Not really, no.”

He held the plushie up again, this time speaking in short to-the-point sentences. “No good memories. Bad for you. Get rid of it.” You furrowed your eyebrows, but before you could say anything, the doorbell rang.

“You get it,” you told him.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re closer!”

Baekhyun groaned and stood to open the door. “Fine, but now you really have to get rid of that,” he said, throwing the dinosaur plushie to you. You caught it your hands, smiling at the pink cartoon rendition of a t-rex as you traced the stitched smile on its face with your finger.

Baekhyun looked through the peephole, the head of light brown hair unfamiliar to him. He’d never met any of your other friends, and he wondered if one of them had decided to drop by. He tore the door open, ready to greet with his sincerest smile, but when the five-foot eight man turned, his mouth fell open in shock.

Chen was just as taken aback when his eyes met with Baekhyun’s. His first thought was he had knocked on the wrong apartment, and he quickly double-checked the number on the front door. 415B. Nope, this was definitely your apartment, so what was the next-door neighbor doing here and why was he answering your door?

“Mm… is (Y/N) here?” He asked.

Baekhyun’s lips stretched into a disgusted smirk, and he looked over his shoulder to make sure you hadn’t noticed that your ex-boyfriend was at the front door. You were sat in the same place where he had left you, flipping through an old book. He quickly pushed Chen aside, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door. “She is, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see her.”

“I’m not asking for your permission. Who are you anyways, her bodyguard?”

He scoffed, eyeing Chen up and down before settling on his glowering gaze. Baekhyun’s breaths were quiet yet angry, and his hands were balled into fists. He hadn’t realized just how important you had become to him over the past four months until this moment, when your happiness was being threatened again. “No,” he answered. “Just her friend.”

Chen nodded, gesturing to the door. “Well, that’s great, but I really need to talk to her.”

“Yah! What part of it’s not a good idea did you not understand? She’s just barely getting over the shit you put her through after you left her and seeing you will just cause her more pain.”

“I only left because she told me to.”

“Well, when she told you to leave, you should have stayed to help keep her from falling apart. You owed her at least that much after you strung her along for years.”

Chen stayed silent, watching as Baekhyun’s face turned crimson from the anger. He never imagined in all his years of knowing you that it would be himself that would end up hurting you in the end. He did love you, just not the way you did him, and he would have done everything to protect you, just as Baekhyun was doing for you now. A part of him hated seeing a complete stranger taking his place as your best friend before his very eyes, but how could he ask to stay in your life after the hurt he caused?

“What is taking you so long?” You called to Baekhyun. You swung the door open and the smile on your face was immediately snatched away by the sight of Chen. Your lungs were filling with anxiety and you found it hard to catch your breath.

Baekhyun grabbed your wrist, your skin cold to the touch and he stood in front of you, shielding you from Chen’s gaze.

It was like you were paralyzed. You imagined this moment ever since he left, and you had even practiced what you were going to say to him with Baekhyun. But all the things you wanted to say, the curses you saved just for him and the questions you so desperately needed the answers to, disappeared. Your mind was empty and useless, and you hopelessly wished for Baekhyun to save you from this situation.

But then you remembered something he had told you four months ago. You won’t be able to get over it unless you let yourself completely feel it. You lived by those words ever since, and you had made a silent promise to yourself that you would try your hardest to keep the box of unwanted emotions in your mind as empty as you could manage.

You patted Baekhyun’s shoulder, nodding for him to let Chen in. The hard expression on his face softened and he released your hand. “If you need me, just yell. I’ll be here as fast as I can.”

You nodded, watching as he made his way back to his apartment. You looked at Chen for a second, then led him to the kitchen table, the two of you sitting on opposite ends.

Chen looked around the apartment. It had been six months since he left, and everything was completely different. There were no more photos on the walls and bookshelf where all of his favorite novels were kept was completely empty. He noticed the empty space beside the fridge where your favorite lamp used to be, and he wondered what had happened to it. “Where’s the lamp?”

Your lip twitched at the memory. “I couldn’t figure out how to stop it from flickering… so I broke it.”

“Oh-”

“I also broke the plates because they reminded me that you forgot to fix the dishwasher before you left. Hiring someone to fix it would have cost me almost three hundred, but I needed to pay the rent, so...”

Chen’s lips parted in surprise, and he wasn’t exactly sure what to say. He wasn’t necessarily expecting a welcome back party in his honor, but he also wasn’t expecting you to be this brusque to him.

“You’re angry with me, I know,” was all he could come up with.

You raised your eyebrows, nodding at his keenness. The face that you once begged to see just one more time, and the hands you wished to hold in yours again, fueled you with pity for your past self. You wondered why you wasted so many tears on someone who didn’t even miss you, on someone who lied to you for most of your life, letting you believe your life was perfect only to tear it away from you himself.

“I am,” you said. “You know I stopped crying myself to sleep? Yeah, I finally got over you… or at least I thought I did. You showing up here unannounced just reminded me of how much you hurt me, and how much I hurt you.”

Chen furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“I did. I made you feel so much sympathy and pity for me that you decided it was best to stay even though you knew it wasn’t what you wanted. You gave up a lot to be with me, and I never even asked if you if you were truly happy. For that, I will never forgive myself.”

You chuckled, biting the broken skin on your bottom lip out of uneasiness. “So yeah, I am mad. I have no other choice than to be mad, because if I’m not then I’d just be crying and begging for you to give me another chance.”

You stood for a brief moment to drag the cardboard box to the kitchen by one of the ears and then sat back down. “These are the things you left. You don’t have to keep them, you can throw them away if you want.”

Chen looked at the neatly arranged things inside of the box, and he his cheeks grew warm with resentment. “Did the neighbor help you with this?”

You smacked your lips, glaring at him. “Six months, Jongdae. You left me alone to pick up the pieces by myself for six months.”

He sighed, regretting the jealous question all together. “I thought having to see me after everything would have been hard for you.”

“We were practically joined at the hip our entire lives! We never did anything without each other, so how could you think being left on my own out of the blue would have been easier?”

Chen swallowed hard. He knew the feeling all too well; to have something be a part of you for so long that you had to learn to live without it once it was gone. The past six months were miserable for him, not knowing if you were okay or if you needed something. He asked around your shared group of friends, but no one knew anything about you.

But his leaving served its purpose, even if it was unbearably painful. He found love and you learned that you could survive just fine on your own.

He knew that and so did you.

“Just between you and me,” you started. “I haven’t stopped loving you, and I don’t think I ever will, but if it wasn’t for Baekhyun I would’ve never stopped crying over you. He didn’t save me, and he didn’t replace you. He just made it easier to deal with everything... he forced me to learn to live on my own.”

What else was there to say? You couldn’t tell him that you forgive him, because you didn’t. You didn’t want to tell him that you could be friends again, because ignoring a ten year relationship was near impossible.

There was truly nothing left to say, other than your farewells.

“…are you going to be okay?”

You nodded, “Eventually.”

Chen ran his fingers through his hair and stood, picking up the box with both hands. You walked him to the front door, staring at each other in silence for a moment. It was uncanny how the two of you could read each other’s minds, the unspoken words that you were afraid to speak never going unheard. Maybe it was all those years the two of you had spent together in each other’s company.

Whatever it was, you were certain this kind of connection only ever happened once in a lifetime. And your once was coming to an end right in front of you, but you didn’t resent it. You told yourself the end of something meant the start of something new, and your new was yourself.

You quietly watched as Chen walked down the hallway before finally disappearing past the staircase. You weren’t sure when you’d ever see him again, and the feeling of it was bittersweet.

You closed your door, shaking the last of his presence from your aura and a small smile creeped on your lips. You tiptoed to the kitchen, pressing your ear against the wall where you were absolutely certain Baekhyun was trying to eavesdrop, and smacked your palm against it. Your smile turned into a mischievous laugh when you heard a cry of pain from the other side and you ran to knock on Baekhyun’s door.

“Why did you do that!?”

You lightly punched his arm and pointed your finger at him. “Why were you trying to listen to our conversation?”

He rubbed his arm in faux pain, letting out a small chuckle before finally relaxing. He admired the serene look on your face, and he had the sudden urge to hug you into oblivion. “I wanted to make sure you were ok, but by the looks of it, you seem like you’re doing fine.”

You nodded, “I am. I thought if I saw him again, it would be like that first night you came to my apartment, but then… I don’t know, something in me clicked when I saw him, because I knew he was struggling to get on without me, just as I was with him… but he also seemed happier, you know. He had this light in eye that I’d never seen before, and then I thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.”

You huffed and wrapped your arms around Baekhyun torso, and he immediately embraced you into the tightest hug. “I just want to thank you for putting up with me these past few months. I don’t know how to repay it.”

“Hm… well, you can start by buying me lunch,” He suggested, and you chuckled.

“Deal.”

“Good, let’s go.”

“Ah, now? But I haven’t showered and I’m still in my pajamas… I haven’t even brushed my teeth, at least let me do that!”

Baekhyun shook his head, and pushed you along down the hallway, “You look beautiful just like that. Now let’s go, all this caring made me hungry.”

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nerdybubblebee · 5 years

Text

Falling in Love Under the Stars

Jonerys The Mummy AU

Thanks to the inspiration from a certain image of Emilia’s from a photoshoot and @ashleyfanfic for bringing up the need for an AU with Dany as Evelyn and Jon as Rick from The Mummy, this little fic was born :D.

This is my take on the very iconic scene with Evie screaming “I am a librarian!”. It’ll be Dany this time though hehe. Spoken dialogue taken and adapted from the movie with additional ones of my own creation.

Moodboard made in collaboration with my partner in crime @midqueenally. Love you sunflower~

I hope you guys like this! Can be read on Ao3.

“Take a swing at me. Try a right hook. Hit me right here.” Pointing at his open right palm with his left index finger, he waved it before his student’s face. “Like you mean it.” Mister Snow was giving her an impromptu lesson in self-defence. How fun! Her alcohol addled mind cheerily supplied. Shifting her weight, keeping her legs firmly planted as best as she could to the shifting sand with her hands balled up into fists by her cheeks, Daenerys Targaryen pursed her lips, a look of determination slipping onto her face. Taking a deep breath, she swung her fist at him as instructed. Only to miss her target completely. The momentum of her punch however, sent her toppling forwards. Not into the sturdy body of her coach, but just off to the side. “Oopsie!” Her giddy voice came out from behind her broad grin on the backs of a giggle and down she went. With nothing but air and a solid ground of sand awaiting eagerly to receive her face.

Thankfully, what would have been an ungraceful landing was averted by a strong, muscular arm shooting out to catch her. One across her chest and another around her back, coming around to clutch at her shoulders. Effectively saving her from enjoying a mouthful of grainy particles.

“I think you’d better take a seat. Time for another drink?” Jon offered, chuckling to himself whilst pulling the woman in his arms to stand upright. More or less. Her teetering new born fawn like legs and imbalanced equilibrium from the alcohol meant he had to prop her up with his whole person. Though the warmth of her petite body aligned along the entire length of his front was not the least bit unpleasant at all and if he kept his arms around her longer than necessary, well, desert nights were rather chilly. He needed to keep her warm. “Unlike my brother, Sir, I know when to say no!” Through the haze in her tipsy state, she could sense the heat radiating from Jon’s fingers around her arms, holding her in case she took another tumble. She didn’t need assistance for she wasn’t even drunk yet! Batting lazily at his hands, Dany stumbled out of their confines, wobbly legs carrying her back towards the seat she had chosen as her own by the fire. Spotting the bottle of whiskey cradled within said snoozing brother’s arms, Dany reached for its neck and yanked it free from his embrace. Viserys merely snuggled deeper into his makeshift beds barely stirring at all. Triumphantly, with bottle in hand, Dany plucked the cork stopper off and took a swig. The amber liquor coursed down her throat like liquid fire. But, she didn’t mind at all. “Unlike your brother, Miss, you I don’t get.” “I know.... what you’re wondering.” Clumsily swiping at the dribble of alcohol escaping from the corner of her lips with the back of her hand, Dany shifted off of her knees to sit on her bum. “What’s a place like me doing in a girl like this?!” “Something like that, yes.” Jon watched her sway, body rocking to and fro beside him. How had he not seen that the very moment he clapped eyes on her? Under all that English sensibility was a gorgeous, intelligent, courageous, not to mention feisty rose waiting to bloom. This woman was adorable. Even while dozing on the back of a camel with her mouth agape and a little drool dribbling down the side.

“You see, Egypt is in my blood” Daenerys told Jon, tugging at the chain around her neck until she located the oval shaped object hanging from it. Her fingers found the familiar grove along its side. Prying the halves apart, she presented it to the man before her, gingerly placing it in his hand. The locket contained the faces of her darling parents that she carried with her everywhere she went since they passed. “My father was a famous explorer. He loved Egypt so much that he fell in love with an Egyptian woman, who later became my mother.”

By the light of the fire, Jon’s eyes could make out a pair of miniature black and white faces. On the left, a strapping man in a dark coloured suit with piercing, intelligent eyes that seemed to hold an immense amount of knowledge within them stared right back at him. To the right was a woman who looked nothing like the typical women of the desert. Very different, almost the complete opposite in fact. Her skin was fair and her hair was light. Jon imagined it would have been just like Daenerys’. Silver locks interwoven with gold. The woman was smiling, not at the camera but at the bundle in her arms. He could see so clearly, the happiness and love this woman held for the infant she had pressed close to her heart. She must have loved her children very much. Daenerys and Viserys were very lucky to have had both their parents in their lives for as long as they did. Parents who cared for them and protected them and watched them grow. Closing the locket gently, he released it from his grasp, letting it dangle from Daenerys’ neck once more.

“I get your father and your mother. I even get your brother. But you. What are you doing here?” Jon asked earnestly. This place, this journey they were on was treacherous and not the safest for a lady, not safe for any human no matter how brave they were.

A scowl came over Daenerys’ face. Was he implying that she wasn’t good enough?

“Look here!” She yelled. Her entire being was thrumming with agitation. She was a very capable woman in her own right for goodness sake! Did he not see that? Scrambling to her feet, Daenerys glared down at the man sitting cross legged on the ground. She would just have to attempt to set him straight. “I may not be an explorer or an adventurer or a treasure seeker or a gun fighter, Mister Snow! But, I am proud of what I am!” “And... what is that?” “I am a... a…” What was that word again? A furrow took its perch between her brows as Daenerys swam through her murky mind searching for it. Oh yes! Throwing her head back, she shouted her profession for all the world to hear. “Librarian!” The blatant pride in her voice tugged on Jon’s heartstrings, pulling his lips into a smile. Her exclamation drifted away up towards the inky black midnight sky but not before his ears caught hold of each syllable. If he could see himself, he would have noticed the softness in his deep brown orbs as well.

Her display seemed to suck all the energy from her and she plopped back down onto her knees soon after. This time much, much closer to him than before. Daenerys was so near that he had to tip his head down to look at her. So close now that Jon could feel the warmth of each exhalation of breath from her parted lips caressing his face like the fingers of a lover. The intimacy of her proximity had a thrill swirling up his spine. Once again, he was struck by how stunning this woman was. Through lowered lashes and bleary eyes, Dany couldn’t help lingering on those lips of his. Too pretty to belong to this filthy, rude, complete scoundrel of a man. Who cleaned up really, really well. His shaggy hair and bread caked with dirt and who knows what now still looked shaggy but in a good way. A ruggedly handsome kind of way. Those deep brown eyes of his were so changeable. A steely near black as he cocked his gun just before a fight. A mellow, lighter brown, the tint of a perfectly brewed cup of Earl Grey that sparkled in the light of the setting sun when he smiled at her as they raced each other towards Hamunaptra. She longed to watch them all day to see what array of tones she could find within those orbs.

The more time she spent in his company, Deanerys realised that this man was growing more endearing and less insufferable by the minute.She wasn’t even mad anymore about the kiss.

That first kiss that he robbed from her, catching her off guard, pulling the air right out of her lungs and made her heart stop. It was a peculiarly wonderful sensation one which she had never in all her life experienced before. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. She couldn’t stop thinking about the sensation of his lips on hers, no matter how hard she tried. Pouting, the librarian sighed wistfully. It certainly didn’t help now that those lips of his were right in front of her, right there, like an enticingly juicy ripe peach dangling before her eyes, close enough to nip a taste. Oh, how she wanted another taste and this time, she was going to get one from him instead.

“I’m going to kiss you, Mister Snow.” The huskiness in her tone would have ordinarily brought on a wave of shame but in that moment, Daenerys couldn’t care less.

The hungry gleam in her eyes, staring intently at his mouth had him swallowing nervously.

Oh boy.

“Alright. Umm... Only if you call me Jon.” Even so, smirking, he couldn’t resist a tease at the lovely woman who had all but glued herself against the side of his arm, much like a cat asking for a good cuddle. Was this actually happening?

Peering down at Deanery’s face, Jon’s breath did a jaunty little jig. How could someone be so effortlessly beautiful? Her dazed violet eyes glittered like the stars above their heads with a dance of fire light within them. That pert little nose of hers. Those defined eyebrows. The comely flush in her cheeks and those lips of hers. They looked so tantalizingly plump with the lovely pink hue of a desert rose blooming wild in the heart of an oasis. He desired another sample. “Jon....” Daenerys tested the feel of his name upon his tongue like a child enunciating their first word. Just saying it aloud made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Her lips curled up on their own, reacting to an involuntary reflex into a broad goofy grin. She liked his name very much. Just like how she was growing to like his person. No one had stolen an archaeologist’s tool kit for her before. He’d be the first. Now, for that much anticipated kiss that was agreed upon. Eyelids at half mast, Jon observed with bated breath as those pretty lips approached his own. Just a bit more now. So close, he could practically feel her petal soft touch already. Almost simultaneously, their eyes slid shut. Inching forward as one, each tilting their heads incrementally to the side, they moved in anticipation for the contact they most craved. There was naught but a finite space between their lips. A little bit more now! And.... There was nothing.

Eyes snapping open in astonishment, Jon blinked owlishly. Where did her lips go? Where was that zing that he had experienced the day before? Where was that spark he knew would come from her touch? A solid weight landed with a thump and a sleepy groan in his lap. Looking down, stunned, all Jon could do was laugh. This woman would be the end of him. Using his lap as a pillow, Daenerys wriggled to find a comfortable position in the sand before promptly diving into the realm of sleep. Her shiny silver locks flowed like the glittering Nile River reflecting the glow of the moon, down her back. The ends mingling with the sand beneath her. Under the watchful eyes of the stars above, Jon tenderly sifted through those locks of silver with one hand. The strands were so smooth like spun silk. Tucking some of her hair behind her ear, he smiled again. His eyes traced over her features, completely relaxed in peaceful slumber. This lady truly was magnificent. Her bravery and wits impressed him to no end. So passionate was she in her search of ancient knowledge that even in the face of more than one gun aimed at her head she stood her ground and acted as the voice of reason, settling an argument with her own brand of feminine wisdom ensuring no violence or blood was shed. Even in the midst of a gun battle, she still persisted. Any lesser woman would have given up and insisted she be escorted back to civilization. Perhaps, she’d make it out of Hamunaptra after all.

Either way, he’d do his utmost best to make sure she remained unharmed. If not for her own sake, then for his. If he lost her to the horrors that lay dormant in stone tombs beneath the sand, he was certain that his heart would surely shatter into bits. And then, like dunes crumbling under the blow of a gust of wind, there would be nothing left of him. Whether he liked it or not and whether she knew it or not, that beating organ within his chest belonged to her already.

#jonerys au #jonerys fic #jonerys fanfic #jonerys #jon x daenerys #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #the mummy au #got fanfiction #this was a fun one heheh #short but fun #gave me the chance to rewatch the mummy

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smoltododorki · 7 years

Text

BROKEN TELEPHONE

TODODEKU WEEK: DAY 4

LOYALTY

“I tried my hardest. I don’t know what else to do.” -The Darjeeling Limited (2007), Dir. Wes Anderson

AO3

It’s a beautiful day.

In the middle of spring, Shouto would have expected for there to be large heaps of rainfall, equally dreary clouds, humid air and sticky gusts of wind. There should have at least been a light drizzle.

But it’s sunny today, blindingly bright—it resembles Izuku’s smiles.

The pretty rays and brilliant blue sky distracts Shouto from the pointed metal beam sticking out of his gut, the sharp copper scent of his own blood, and the pool of red seeping through his clothing and sinking into the earth beneath him.

Shouto is dying, but, it’s at least a nice day.

He can’t remember exactly what had happened, brain in a haze from the scent of his own blood and the numbness of his legs—he can’t feel his legs.

Shouto can’t feel anything waist-down. Had he been paralyzed?

He knew he’d been ambushed.

It had been noon, around lunch break, and Shouto had decided to go on a run. He’d drifted towards the lesser known parts of the city, because less people roamed and the atmosphere wasn’t as condensed.

Shouto had been foolish, and let his guard down. It had been peaceful recently, with the League of Villains finally taken down.

Too peaceful.

He should have known there would be fragments of the large group left behind after the huge clash—after the borderline massacre.

The remaining villains had cornered him in a hoard, asking for Todoroki Shouto to come with them—to talk, they had insisted.

Judging from the malicious intent in their eyes, they had wanted to do more than just talk.

Shouto had sprung into action. Not wanting to cause any unnecessary damage to the surroundings, he had lead the villains towards an abandoned construction site—the workers were on strike—intending on taking them out one by one.

He’d immobilized more than half of the villains when the leader had managed to land a lucky hit, flinging Shouto over a pit.

Shouto had fallen into it.

He would have been fine—he should have been fine. He should have been able to spring back onto his feet, to ignite his flames and crystallize his ice.

He hadn’t expected for there to be a long, metal beam—probably forgotten building material—at the bottom of the pit.

He hadn’t expected for the beam to run straight through his back, exiting his stomach, and shattering his spine.

Even if he survived, he would be paralyzed waist-down.

His hero career was essentially over.

After ensuring Shouto couldn’t move, the leader of the group had then dismissed his lackeys, slipping into the deep pit with spike-covered boots.

He had hovered over Shouto’s writhing form, asking questions about Hero Deku:

Where does Deku live?

What was his relationship with All Might?

Who are his family members?

Shouto knew all the answers, of course:

He lived with Izuku in the quiet part of the city, only a few blocks away from their joint hero agency. They’d picked it out for themselves not long after they graduated U.A. and fully established their hero careers. Shouto particularly remembers the real estate agent who had shown them the place, because they had mistakenly thought he and Izuku were dating.

Even so, it didn’t take long for them to start going out afterwards.

All Might had been one of U.A.’s teachers, but Shouto knew he was also Izuku’s mentor. Izuku had told Shouto about One for All only recently, in the dead of the night on Shouto’s birthday, when Izuku had been certain he would be with Shouto for a very long time—that they would grow old together. Die together.

(Shouto wasn’t sure if he could uphold Izuku’s wishes.)

As for his family members… there was Inko, of course, whom was practically a second mom to him, and the only parent Izuku had grown up with. Inko was getting on in the years, but she was still fierce and firm when she had to be. Izuku and Shouto, along with many of their ex-classmates, loved her dearly.

While Izuku had no other known relatives, Shouto could technically be included in the family tree. His engagement ring, a comforting weight on his left hand, was currently drenched in splatters of blood, much of it already drying into a dirty burgundy colour. It would likely never return to the initial pristine state Izuku had bought it in—in the state Izuku had proposed to him in.

Much to the villain’s annoyance, but also not to his surprise, Shouto had refused to speak, biting his tongue and glaring daggers at the man.

Shouto was dying—Shouto will die—and he would take Izuku’s secrets to the grave with him.

Whether he would live or not, Shouto would never betray Izuku.

He loved Izuku too much to ever think of ratting him out, even if it was his life on the line.

At Shouto’s stubborn refusal, the villain had left him to rot alone with a huff, telling Shouto that his death would be enough to pay for Hero Deku’s heinous “crimes”.

Shouto had nearly laughed at the claim.

Crimes.

If saving the lives of others was a crime, then Izuku was guilty as charged.

It’s been several minutes since the villains had left him alone. Shouto had desperately tried to ease the bleeding, as a last-ditch effort, with the little resources he had, but with a beam through his stomach and half his body not working, there wasn’t much he could really do.

Calling for help was futile. Even if back-up arrived in between the time the villain had left and now, Shouto wouldn’t survive—the villain had taken his sweet time questioning Shouto, watching with pleasure as Shouto bled and bled and bled.

Shouto grits his teeth, keeping his breaths short but even.

He didn’t have the time to be angry, to regret his lack of awareness and curse himself.

He needs to talk to Izuku.

He had to talk to Izuku.

Shouto wants to hear his voice, at least one last time.

He didn’t have much of it—of time—left.

Ignoring the mine-numbing pain of his upper half—and the lack thereof for the rest of his body—he cranes his neck around, trying to find where his phone had fallen.

“Shit.”

It was beside his feet, closer to his left leg.

He outstretches his right hand, bloody and covered in dirt. His other hand digs into the ground beneath him, bracing himself.

Ice.

He’s spent years cultivating his control for his ice—he could do this.

He flicks his wrist. Ice crawls across the dirt of the pit, gentle and measured. The crystals reach his phone, pushing the device upwards and towards Shouto’s left hand.

Shouto grabs it with shaky fingers, breath shallow. He cranes his neck to the side, not able to lift the phone over his face, and turns it on.

The screen is cracked, but it still works.

Izuku is his first contact, and, according to his call log, the last person he had called. Shouto clicks on the icon—a picture of All Might; he would have smiled fondly if he wasn’t on the brink of death—and prays Izuku’s phone is on.

He didn’t know what he would do if it wasn’t, or if it was on silent.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four rings.

Shouto’s fingers tremble. What if Izuku didn’t answer? What if Izuku was busy taking down another villain? What if Izuku was dying somewhere in a ditch too, and Shouto was lying in his own blood being outright useless? What if—

A click. Rustling in the background. “Shouto?”

Shouto releases a shallow breath. He bites his lip until it bleeds, and resolutely looks up at the sky—he doesn’t want to see the piece of metal poking out from his stomach, nor his bloodstained clothes.

He wants to look up at the sun’s pretty rays, and think of Izuku’s smile.

“Hey,” Shouto says, just barely keeping the pain out of his tone, but still much quieter than usual.

“Are you alright?” Of course, Izuku would notice if something was off. Izuku always noticed. “You seem a little out of breath.”

“The run was intense,” Shouto says, breaths getting slower and slower. He didn’t have much time left. “I’m fine.”

Lies.

Shouto knows he’s lying, and he knows it’s wrong.

But he wants one last chat—one last chance to talk with Izuku.

If Izuku found out Shouto was dying, he would be scrambling to get to Shouto’s side, and probably cause a huge scene.

Shouto didn’t want that.

Shouto would be long dead by the time Izuku found him.

“You should go out more, if you’re that tired from a run,” Izuku says, teasingly, “Have you been slacking off?”

Shouto feels bitterness swell in his tongue. Maybe it was the blood. Maybe it was just him. “Sorry.”

Sorry.

Did he mean sorry for letting his guard down?

For not telling Izuku the truth?

For dying?

“There’s no need to apologize,” Izuku says with a laugh. “I get it. It’s been a quiet few weeks. I’m honestly kind of unsettled by it.”

“Yeah,” Shouto says. He shifts a bit and immediately regrets it, feeling the beam move and dig deeper into his body. Blood dribbles down his mouth, curling down his chin. “It’s been peaceful recently.”

Let me give you at least a few more hours of that peace.

“You always give your all,” Izuku says, sincerely, “It’s okay to relax every once and awhile.”

But I should have done my best, Shouto thinks.

If he had just tried harder, he would already be on his way home, skillfully dodging pedestrians and reluctantly stopping for the few fans whom recognized him.

If he had tried harder, he wouldn’t be in a ditch in one of the most unpopulated parts of the city, where the construction workers were on strike and the civilians were at work, or at school, or cooped up at home.

If he had tried harder, he wouldn’t be dying right now.

Shouto would try his hardest now—not to live, because at this point it’s futile—but to say everything he wants to say to Izuku, so he would die with fewer regrets.

Nonetheless, there will still be many things he’ll regret—things like not being able to marry Izuku, not being able to grow old with Izuku, not being able to protect and love and cherish Izuku.

Shouto inhales painfully.

He barely had any time left, and he shouldn’t waste it.

“Izuku, I’ve been thinking…” Shouto starts, a little delirious but no less honest, eyes on the sky but ears functioning and far from deaf. “…for our wedding… it should be outdoors.”

“Yeah?”

“Someplace sunny…” The sun’s brilliant rays tickle his cheek, illuminating his blood and the beam sticking out of his stomach. “...someplace where there aren’t a lot of people.”

If Shouto closes his eyes, he could pretend he’s getting married to Izuku—the blood in his mouth is red wine, and is only so bitter because someone, probably Kaminari, had spiked it. His shirt is red not because he’s bleeding to death, but because at the reception, after the wedding, a poor server had accidentally spilled several glasses of red wine all over him. Shouto is forgiving, because it’s his wedding day and he’s married to Izuku and too happy to care. The beam sticking out from his stomach…

That was a little harder to explain. Wedding jitters, perhaps—though definitely not cold feet.

He can’t feel his feet.

“Shouto?”

“Sorry,” Shouto says, his breaths becoming shallower and shallower. His chest barely rises. “The sun is making me a little feverish.”

“Go sit under a shade,” Izuku says, and he’s concerned and Shouto feels like crying because Izuku is so concerned, “You’ve been out for a while now. When’re you gonna come back home?”

Never.

“I might be a little late today.” Lies. Shouto grits his teeth. “Don’t wait up for me, okay?”

Keep on living.

“Alright-y,” Izuku says, “I have to go now.” Don’t go. Please don’t go—Shouto doesn’t care if he sounds hypocritical.

“I love you,” Izuku continues, light-hearted and as warm as usual. “Be safe, okay?”

Be safe.

Shouto can’t promise that.

“I love you too.” He makes sure to raise his voice, because, this, he can say with confidence. “I love you, Izuku.”

Izuku laughs a bit on the other end. “See you!”

“Goodbye.”

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

Shouto hangs up.

His finger loosens around his phone, leaving bloody fingerprints on the cracked screen.

Shouto turns his head back up. He could feel his heart rate dropping and his breath dying—his body is shutting down.

His mismatched eyes remain open, staring at the pretty blue sky and the streams of light.

As his upper body slackens, matching the numbness of his legs, he thinks of Izuku’s smile.

Shouto closes his eyes.

It’s a beautiful day.

In the middle of spring, one would have expected for there to be large heaps of rainfall, equally dreary clouds, humid air and sticky gusts of wind. There should have at least been a light drizzle.

But it’s sunny today, blindingly bright—it illuminates the ring of a beloved friend, son, and brother.

It illuminates the engagement ring that belongs to the dead body of a lover.

#tododekuweek #day 4 #tododeku #don't hate me pls #i'm already doing enough of that

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atlaswriting · 5 years

Text

“Not to ruin this Hallmark moment, but there are videos on Abram’s phone that I need to see.” Ellie sneaks her hand between the driver and passenger seat and grabs Abram’s phone, “Unlike Elise, I’m not mad at you for leaving last night—during what could have been me hitting rock bottom—,”

Ellie rolls her eyes and continues, “—what I am mad at you for is not taking me with you,” she says swiping through all the videos he didn’t post on Instagram, “Look at this!” She holds the phone out toward me then turns it back to face her, “Can you believe Abram went here without us? And with a guy he hates.”

“I don’t hate Brantley.”

“His blood on the ice sure says differently.” I snap, unable to shake the clutching fingers of him leaving from my throat. They’re sharp and smooth as they dig into my skin. I roll my shoulders and slide the key out of the ignition, “I’m going upstairs. I need to shower and get ready for class. I’ve already missed two and if I make it a third Simon will start making me pay that on my own, too.”

I get out of the car and slam the door, forcing Abram to get out on Ellie’s side. He rounds the car while she heads toward the front door, eyes still glued to his phone. “I’m sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around me. He pulls me back toward the car, turns around and pins me against the metal. “Can I show you how sorry I am?” Leaning down he presses his lips under my jaw, teeth dragging down skin and landing on my collarbone. His hands find the hem of my skirt and start inching further up.

“We’re in public.” I say, pushing him and his limbs away.

“And?”

He moves closer once more but for the first time I’m quicker and I slide across the car, away from him. “And you’re covered in glitter and smell like cheap perfume. I’d rather kiss Natasha.”

Abram stops walking, hand falling to the stop of his stomach, “I’ve thrown up three times already, Elise and if you don’t want to make it a fourth all over your Jimmy Choo’s I wouldn’t put such disgusting images in my head.”

Reaching out I grab his hand, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “These are Valentino. But nice try.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“Now, I’m not saying that Jane Austen is the most boring and trite of female author’s—but I am saying if I have to sit through another retelling of Pride and Prejudice I might actually tear out all my hair.” Professor Keating laughs.

I snort loudly, only realizing how disruptive it was when Ellie tears her eyes away from her phone to stare at me.

“Is something funny, Miss Allaire?” Keating quirks his brown, leaning on his lectern and staring straight at me.

“I just think its funny how—,” beside me Abram inhales sharply, “coming from a professor who praises Fitzgerald and Salinger non-stop a writer like Jane intimidates you. The stories are good, that’s why they keep getting retold. Pride and Prejudice is a quintessential love story—,”

“They hated each other. Was Mr. Darcy not—by today’s standards—a misogynistic pig? And wouldn’t Elizabeth be considered—,”

“A feminist bitch?”

The slightest bit of smile turns the corner of Professor Keating’s lips upwards.

“All I’m saying is—it was already done. Why do we need to tell the same story over and over again?”

I lean back in my chair, face turning red hot under his strong gaze, “What about Shakespeare, Professor? I suppose you don’t think those stories need to stop being done?”

“Actually,” he says, “Shakespeare is the foundation of all modern storytelling. His—,”

“His?”

“Did I misuse his pronouns, Miss Allaire?”

Shrugging, I tap the tip of my pen against the keys of my laptop, “You’re assuming Shakespeare was a man.”

He laughs now moving away from the podium to stand at the board, “Why should I believe anything different?”

“Do you really think a man could write all those iconic stories, Professor? Romeo and Juliet was clearly written by a woman who was done with all of men’s shit.”

He’s in full blown laughter now. Pulling his glasses from his face he wipes at his eyes as he concedes and dismisses the class. “Miss Allaire—a moment, please?”

“I hope I didn’t come off too strongly, Mr. Keating—I just—,”

“It’s Oscar, remember? And, I like that you came off strongly. You’re passionate. Sometimes I say things to see who’s really listening—don’t get me wrong, I do think they’ve made one too many Pride and Prejudice variations, but Austen is one of the founding mothers of literature—I don’t want you to think I’m undermining all her hard work,” he shrugs, “I just like to push boundaries.” Sensing my confusion he moves toward his briefcase and pulls out a pamphlet, “I sponsor one student a year. I haven’t in a few years because most people see this class as an easy grade—but I think you match all the qualities I’m looking for.”

“Profes—Oscar, I—,”

“It isn’t much. I’ll write a few good letters, help you get into graduate school—whatever school that may be, but consider it. There are a few conventions we go to—England, Boston and New York and it’s filled with like-minded individuals all of whom are willing and able to connect you with any path you choose.”

“So it’s like a fraternity.”

He shrugs, “Even more exclusive.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Abram sits on the couch, face weighted down in a pout and cradling a bottle of beer to his chest which he’s refused to drink from since I told him about Professor Keating’s offer. Ellie is on the floor, expletives slipping smooth past her lips into the microphone of the headset she wears around her neck as she kills her fourth nine year old on Call of Duty.

“Will you say something?”

He doesn’t. Not until after her sixth or seventh kill and then he lifts the bottle to his mouth and drinks until beer starts to dribble out of the corners. “Are you banging him too?”

“Abram!” Ellie shouts, unwilling to tear her eyes away from the game, instead choose to release the control for the second it takes to chuck one of the pillows holding up her back toward him. “Oh great, your dramatic ass just got me killed. I hope you’re happy.” She gets up and returns the controller to the entertainment center and turns around, “Why are you acting like a child about this? It’s Elise. She couldn’t bang anyone other than you if she tried.”

“Excuse me,” I say, “I am right here.”

“You’re beautiful and I love you—but that vagina only works for Abram.”

“If I wanted to have sex with someone else, I very well could!” I stand as I shout, mouth falling open.

Abram rolls his eyes, cuts through his and tosses his empty bottle in the bin. He opens the fridge to retrieve another and turns back, “Then have sex with him, Elise!” Abram shouts—eyes darkening as they stare at me from across the room. His cheeks are past red as he gulps down more beer. “Why don’t all of you have a threesome? See if I care.”

“You’re absolutely infuriating, Abram.” I say, “I don’t want to have sex with anyone else—much less with Oscar.”

Oscar Abram childishly mouths when he gives the bottle a moment’s break.

“He’s helping me with a possible future. Networking with him could lend a hand with my career.”

“And what career is that, Elise? Trophy wife? Or maybe you’ll right think pieces for a mommy blog.”

“Abram.” Ellie warns, but I raise a hand and cut her off.

“It’s better than your future of AA meetings and living in your grandmother’s basement.” I snap.

“Elise!”

I’m slipping on my shoes by the time she says my name, careless that the nightgown I’m wearing won’t keep out the early November chill that Los Angeles nights offer. I grab my bag and keys from the counter, trying to keep my attention straight as I slam the front door behind me.

♡ ♡ ♡

Abram spends three hours apologizing to me the next day. While Ellie slips out to spend time with “Oscar”, Abram and I make use of the empty house. The shower. The kitchen counter. The table. The couch. Our bed. Ellie’s bed.

He tells me he loves me with his fingers trailing up my spine, presses his lips to my back and promises that it’s forever.

He tells me he loves me again with his hands separating my legs, his tongue spelling each letter against my thigh.

II.

Nothing is off limits.

We go to church with Ellie who wakes us up at eight thirty at night. I tell her it’s too late, we can go in the morning—but she begs us not to let her go alone. It’s too heavy, she says, she might break.

I’m half asleep and fully aware that the burning of my skin is due to sin. Excitement bites at my eyelids and I try to keep them open—focus on the pew beneath me while Ellie confesses her sins in the booth a few feet away.

Abram leans over and asks if I want to confess mine. I want to tell him no, but the heaviness of the word weighs down my tongue and his blue eyes tell me he’s worth burning over.

We watch Ellie exit the confessional, followed by the priest. Abram pulls me in to the small booth and on top of him. He promises that if we’re going to hell, we’ll be there together.

Like Eve, I bit the apple and it was sweet—but he was sweeter.

Abram leaves my panties on the bench of the confessional, our penance to God, he says.

III.

My legs are shaking, the fogged up windows of my car tell the story to everybody that walks by. The walk of shame is almost more shameful when I see my dad and Anais waiting by the front door.

IV.

“Why are you in the library? It’s a Saturday?” Ellie asks.

“Why are you?”

“Don’t deflect.”

I sigh, shuffling around the books—I’m somewhere in the back with all the encyclopedia’s. “I need a break Ellie. I think he might kill me.” My admission doesn’t faze her, when she rolls her eyes I continue, “I’m dehydrated. I keep drinking water—but it isn’t helping. Me and my vagina aren’t going to make it out of this alive.”

Ellie snorts, “Are you complaining about all the sex you’re having? I’m sorry but cry me a river!” Her voice gets increasingly louder, “I haven’t had sex in two weeks! I’m about as dry as the Sahara Desert. So I’m so sorry if I don’t want hear you complain about getting banged ten days to Tuesday!”

A quiet shhh comes through the bookshelves.

“I think I’m about to lose my mind.” Ellie says, “I might just go and hop on any dick that’s willing if B—,”

“I found you.” Abram drops his bags by his feet. “You left so early this morning we didn’t get to—,”

Ellie nods, “this is my cue to leave. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Abram looks at me, licks his lips and it’s all over.

♡ ♡ ♡

Returning home to the apartment a gold envelope deters Abram’s attempts to start anything before Ellie gets home. “No!” I say, before he can put it down I snatch it from him and start to open it, “it looks important.”

I’m grateful when I read the eloquently scripted letters to Gigi’s Thanksgiving. The thick cardstock with gold and browns is just the excuse I need to suppress Abram’s appetite. The excitement of being within feet of our family blooms in my chest.

“I can’t wait until we get to Gigi’s.” He says against my ear, “We can see how long you can be quiet for. Which—we both know isn’t very long.”

Ellie opens the door just then and I rush by her side, “Look!” I say, “We’re going to Gigi’s for Thankgiving.”

“Oh, no—I think I’m going back to Boston.”

“No.” I grab her arm, fingers tightening into her vice, “You’re going to Gigi’s. Maybe you can see if your dad and brother want to come. I don’t think Gigi will mind, right Abram?”

#thread: ablise #thread: all

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