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wishicouldpostfromsecondaryblogs · 3 years ago

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[Ao3] [Part One]

He wakes up to the warmth of the sun and Jaskier singing softly as he puts away their things- they’re splitting up for the next few months; Jaskier to collect the things he’d left behind when he’d fled Oxenfurt and help Shani resettle the university into normalcy, Geralt to clear out an bruxa nest in the far North. He doesn’t like it much, still paranoid about the bard getting caught, but even he has to admit the war is well and truly over now, safe for them to travel alone again.

(He can’t voice that he doesn’t want them to split. It had been something rankling at him until yesterday silently, then blown to a thunderstorm of panic when he’d heard that he was losing Jaskier- that his friend was slipping through his fingers; then cooled again as he realized that he was needed space before he fucked it up again by moving in too quickly and too intensely.)

The voices from yesterday are silent, the numbness and anger and loathing and sadness gone like they were never there, quicksilver emotions that they are nowadays. All Geralt is left with is determination, a confident fierce understanding that he’s going to try his absolute best to get Jaskier back, no matter the cost.

And also contentment, really- he stretches out in the bed as far as he can go and closes his eyes into the sunlight, fed and well-rested and warm, not tired or hurt or out of his mind with worry for the first time in a long while. He hears Jaskier huff in amusement at him as he accidentally knocks the extra bedsheets to the floor and envisions the curve of Jaskier's bare feet hitting the ground to make the exact familiar footsound as the bard approaches him.

“Don’t you look happy?” He teases gently and Geralt snorts and shifts slightly on the small bed to make space for Jaskier. Jaskier blinks in surprise, and Geralt’s mood dips slightly with a scratch of pain at the look, at how Jaskier is so skittish around him and is surprised every time Geralt shows him affection, at how he no longer throws himself onto Geralt and demands space to be made for him.

But Jaskier makes his way over, albeit a bit stiffly, and they sit in silence and bask in the sunlight and peacefulness. Geralt forces down an irrational snarl when he sees Jaskier carefully still not touching him in the small bed, and grapples for his good mood again with renewed determination. He listens to the ambiance from outside as the village wakes up instead of focusing on the silence between them and uses the time to etch out a plan to fix what he'd callously broken between them.

First thing to do is buy the bard a lute. Jaskier could play other instruments, sure, but the lute was the one he was a true master of. And he could play other standard lutes- insisted on it, in fact, to prove the rumors of his music being enchanted by the elves wrong- but Jaskier deserved the best one Geralt could get his hands on, and he deserved the superiority of an elven one.

Easier said than done.

Even if they're at peace now, Geralt is still the father to the ex-princess of Cintra, and is very much identifiable at a single glance, even though he’s tucked his medallion inside his shirt and put on dark green instead of his usual black. People shoot him uneasy looks as he walks past and he tries to move faster and tries not to go for the singular knife in his sleeve every time someone brushes too hard against him, chaos agitatedly lashing around within his skin at the loudness of the city.

It's for Jaskier, he thinks, gritting his teeth. Jask needs a new lute. I can do that much for him. He can't live without one anymore than I can live without my swords. Geralt shudders and pushes the teeth growing in his mouth back to human and pulls the hood of his cloak lower before his usual brand of luck somehow gets him in trouble. Again.

The luthier's shopbell jingles as he walks inside, and breathes a sigh of relief at the feeling of eyes scraping along his arms finally disappearing, even as the elf at the counter nearly falls off her stool.

"Gwynbleidd!" She exclaims and Geralt resists the urge to grimace. All of Vesemir's efforts to make teenage him choose a nice, simple name, and Jaskier goes and saddles him with this. "How may I help you?"

"Lute," Geralt says shortly, dumping the bag of coins on the table. It had taken him three seasons to save up, as well as begging money off his amused brothers whenever he passed one of them, swiping several artifacts from abandoned noble houses he was contracted at and selling them, and capturing a pair of griffins, as well as their kits, and displacing them instead of killing- something the town had been insistent on. It’s a toss up on whether the first or last one was harder- but at least he had collected enough money to buy a moderately sized estate now. "How much for the best one you have?"

"At least three times of the coin you've got," The luthier says, looking into the bag with raised eyebrows and a grimace.

Geralt groans and swears at the ceiling loudly. Un-fucking-believable. She shoots him a sympathetic look- it’s not hard to deduce who it’s for, that it's supposed to be a gift and Geralt pushes down the embarrassed snarl crawling its way up to the surface at the look in her eyes. "My best is also one of the oldest pieces we have, hence the price. For what you have, you could get the second best- any of the ones on this wall here."

Geralt looks to the side even as his lip curls disdainfully at the idea of second best. He critically scans the lutes adorning the shop wall, all beautiful in their own right, brightly colored and elaborately patterned, strings shimmering slightly with what Jaskier has said are tuning blessings- but none of them right .

Sentimentality, a dead witcher says scornfully. It's bad enough that you're here, a witcher in a lute shop, a basilisk in a town square, a monster in a palace. Just fucking take one and leave.

Shut up, Geralt thinks at him, and imagines Lambert shouting scathing insults at the voice at the top of his lungs. The memory of his brother's voice yelling your fucking brain is filled with frozen piss at a trainee twice his size is enough to make him snort quietly, quelling the panic that had been slowly rising within him.

He's staring blankly at a yellow one and wondering how he could possibly fucking raise the money to triple its amount when this itself had taken so many fucking months to gather, when the luthier speaks up suddenly.

"...But I suppose you can have the lute, regardless.”

Geralt jerks his head towards her sharply, wondering if he heard wrong. She smiles at his clear surprise, looking pleased even as her eyes go a little haunted. "Sandpiper and his friends helped me escape when the soldiers closed in on my village. It's the least I can do."

"Thank you," Geralt says, endlessly grateful, and she smiles at him and retrieves the lute from the stand behind her. He spares a moment to sigh in relief that all of his efforts weren't for nothing and then moves forward to take the instrument from her delicately- even if the golden carvings on it are infused with protective spells, intricate and beautiful, the wood feels old- at least twice as old as Geralt is, and he handles it in the way a masterpiece like it should be.

“Welcome,” She says warmly. “Do tell him to spread the word, though? My shop hasn’t really gotten much business, to be honest.”

“Of course,” Geralt inclines his head and then turns around and nearly walks into a spear. “Uh-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Filavandrel hisses at him. The manic look in his eyes that’s been there since they first met has lessened- probably because of Xin’trea finally settling into itself, the elves healing slowly but steadily, no longer in charge of the survival of his species- but it’s still there.

Geralt raises the lute silently, looking at the wary guards behind Filavandrel, hoping he’s not about to get stabbed. This is one of his nicer shirts and he doesn’t think it’ll look great with blood soaked into it- if nothing else, Hemrik and Ciri and Eskel will shoot him disappointed judgmental looks when they next have to dress up and Geralt does not want to deal with them as a collective force anytime soon.

Filavandrel narrows his eyes at it, but thankfully doesn’t shout again- he and Jaskier had hashed it out last time, although both walked away angry and Jaskier’s eyes had been red-rimmed at being accused of not taking enough care of his lute, like he hadn’t risked his life for that stupid instrument multiple times.

Geralt straightens up at the reminder of it- Jaskier hadn’t talked to anyone for the rest of the day, even snapping nastily at Geralt when he’d come over to comfort him. But he’s not suicidal either, so he grabs the pouch from his belt and tosses it over to Filavandrel.

“Vesemir said to give these to you,” Geralt says, and cringes as Filavandrel’s expression immediately smooths out into a smile as he looks at the bag in his hand. He very, very, very, very much does not want to fucking know the history between them. At all. Diever had overheard them talking once and come back pale and green at the same time, and collectively they had all decided to never talk about it.

“What a great man,” Filavandrel sighs happily. He narrows his eyes at Geralt. “Don’t know how the poor thing got saddled with hellions like you and your brothers.”

Geralt valiantly does not respond to that in the many ways he can. “Right,” He says instead, and intelligently flees the music shop.

The lute is extremely hard to travel with. Geralt is hyperaware of it as he walks, even splurges on enchanted cloth to wrap it up and keep it safe from the rain and wind in a fit of anxiety. It’s clunky and unmissable, with more than one person looking at the case cunningly, calculating it’s worth. Geralt’s respect for Jaskier goes up a notch, and he feels a twinge of guilt when he remembers how many times he’d snapped at Jaskier over it, had rolled his eyes at the offended ranting he got back.

Another regret. But still, all the indignant lectures he’d gotten out of it come in use to help him take care of the instrument as he travels, until-

"Geralt," Jaskier says faintly a few days later as Geralt presents it to him. "I say this with complete and utter adoration. What the fuck is that, where did you find it and how long are you going to be in debt over it?"

"Didn't think a Master Bard such as yourself would fail to recognize a lute when he sees one," Geralt teases, smiling at him. "It's a gift. For you."

Jaskier's mouth works soundlessly, eyes flicking between Geralt and the lute, wheezing a bit. He slides from the chair to the ground in front of Geralt and stares some more, trembling fingers hovering over the instrument.

Geralt chuckles, far too fondly and tenderly for their public setting. He shifts around on his knees to take the pressure off the healing right femur and gently takes the lute out of the case on the floor. "You can touch it, you know. It is for you."

"I am not touching her. You should not be touching her," Jaskier says, staring at the lute without blinking. "Geralt, go put her back at once before you get us both cursed."

"I bought it, Jaskier," Geralt laughs, holding it out to him. "She's yours."

"And what did you pay for it, an arm and a leg?" Jaskier asks hysterically. "Basilisk teeth? A small kingdom?"

"Jaskier, breathe," Priscilla says even though she doesn't take her eyes off the lute either, much like everyone else in the Oxenfurt luncheon hall, students craning their necks to get a glance. "You're going to pass out."

"Look at that thing, Priscilla," Jaskier hisses, shooting out a hand and gripping her arm with his nails, shaking her. "Look at it."

"Jaskier, for fuck's sake," Geralt says exasperatedly, though he still can't pull the smile off his face. "Take the lute. It's for you."

Jaskier bursts into tears.

"Fuck," Geralt panics, maneuvering the lute delicately to the side- ten people jump forward to hold it before he can place it on the floor- so he can pull Jaskier into his arms. "Jaskier?"

"I fucking hate you," He sobs into Geralt's neck, hugging him so tight that he hears a few of his own bones pop. "You're the absolute worst. What the fuck is- that’s a- that lute- Who even does something like this, Geralt? Stars, I fucking hate you."

Geralt huffs softly, smiling at the little of his friend he can see and wraps his hands tighter around Jaskier, basking in the feel of it. "I hate you too."

"I know you all must be tired of listening to them all by now, but my lovely muse over there has gotten me this absolute artifact of an instrument for me to sing his songs, so let's hear it for the Song Cycle of the White Wolf!"

“What has gotten into you?” Jaskier asks him a few days later, pushing through the bushes with a huff. “I think this is the most I’ve ever seen you sulk.”

Geralt jerks in surprise and turns to snarl at him, dropping his bloody, half-eaten hare to the ground. Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him and nonchalantly takes a seat on the forest floor, patting the ground next to him.

Geralt blows out a breath and picks up the rabbit, feeling rather embarrassed as he sits back down next to Jaskier, surreptitiously trying to wipe the blood off his mouth as he throws himself down next to the bard.

They sit in silence for a moment, only the rustle of the trees and the whispering of the wind between them.

Jaskier snorts suddenly and jerks his chin towards the gore clutched in Geralt's hand. "Eat, you fool. It's not like I've never seen you do it before."

Geralt starts and hesitates, feeling unusually uncomfortable with giving into his instincts in front of Jaskier. Jaskier's smile fades slightly the longer Geralt doesn't move, and something hisses at him that Jaskier is going to be more offended if he doesn't; and resumes crunching down on it immediately.

The tendons rip under his teeth, bones giving way to splinters, blood gushing out from the veins under the force and dribbling down his mouth, over his hands. The first bite into the raw meat has him losing it again instantly, digging into the dead animal with renewed hunger and viciousness.

Jaskier sits next to him without a lick of fear, casually humming and lying back on his hands to watch the clouds as Geralt devours the hare whole within a few moments in broad daylight, slobbering over it like an animal.

Normally he wouldn’t dare do this under sunlight, never lose himself so close to humanity, but Jaskier is right- he’s done this in front of him before. The first time had been in a fit of anger- anger he remembers being so fierce and wounded and harsh that it feels like it belongs to a completely different person now- furious that Jaskier wasn’t taking the hint that Geralt wanted to be left alone, that he had to stay away before something bad happened- that following a monster, no matter how tame, would only end badly for him.

He’d shot a deer and dragged it back to camp and then ignored all of Jaskier’s chatter as he dropped it down and dived straight into it. He’d heard Jaskier’s voice faltering and then trailing off as Geralt tore into the meat with nothing but his teeth and claws, blood staining his lips as he ate, wild.

He’d heard Jaskier’s heartbeat increase, then jackrabbit further when he lifted his head and snarled at his staring. Geralt remembers exactly how it felt- crouching there in the moonlight and firelight, warm blood on his hands and mouth, meeting widened cornflower blue eyes and waiting for Jaskier to scream or run or shout or smile awkwardly and begin drifting slowly away, violently smothering the small part of him that had cried out in protest of losing the first human companionship they'd had in years.

And he also remembers how he almost fallen backwards by the sudden scent of thick arousal in the air slamming into him out of nowhere, Jaskier’s eyes shining excitedly but voice tempered and curious when he walked around the carcass and plopped down next to Geralt without a care in the world and asked, “Is that a thing you have to do then? Eat food raw? Does it help with the witchering and such, or is it something that you just do because you have to?”

Geralt had stared incredulously at Jaskier, wondering if the bard was insane and if he should be tracking down a healer of some sort for him. “I like it,” He replies slowly, going straight for what was the most disturbing thing about the whole situation. Jaskier continued staring at him, unbothered. Geralt had wondered if he was the one who needed a healer. “All witchers have... animal traits in them, from their School's mutations. Us Wolves need to sate the need to hunt once in a while, to eat raw meat. Keeps us sane.”

Jaskier, impossibly, had not so much as blinked at that, instead humming in interest and turning to scribble something down in a worn notebook. “Fascinating. Truly fascinating. Wait, does that mean you have other wolfy traits in you then? Do you howl? Scratch your head with your foot sometimes?” The amused look on Jaskier's face had suddenly gone serious, and Geralt had to fight to keep his mouth from dropping open when Jaskier had suddenly looked him up and down, the scent of lust increasing as he asked excitedly, “Wait, are you that flexible? Can you put your legs over your head?”

Geralt hadn’t answered him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before he tore his own hair out. He’d gone back to eating his deer while Jaskier chattered at him happily and silently given up on ever getting rid of the bard, because clearly the part of Jaskier’s brain that felt fear was irreplaceably broken. He hadn’t- and still didn’t, actually- wanted to unpack the arousal part of the whole fever dream interaction, because Geralt is quite sure thinking about it will tip him into insanity as well.

But no- it hadn’t bothered Jaskier, then or the hundred other times he’d done it. He’d pulled faces and made teasing quips on his table manners, sure, threatened to put Geralt’s messy eating habits and subsequent satisfied rumbling into song every time Geralt playfully offered him some of the kill and chased him around the campsite with hands that were dripping with blood, but he’d never looked twice at him for it. Never treated it as anything other than normal.

(Once, after they’d spent a bit too long in Toussaint, they’d been attacked by bandits. Geralt had lost it immediately at the threat, already frayed thin by the city, and had a dozen dead at his feet when the world came back into focus, heaving for breath and blood dripping from his sword, still aching for a fight.

Jaskier had walked up to him from behind and Geralt had reacted instinctively, throwing the bard against a tree and snarling at him, sword at his throat. There had been a spike of fear for the barest of moments, but Jaskier’s eyes remained steady and understanding as he slowly reached for Geralt’s armor and unbuckled it, one by one.

He’d stared at Jaskier, still panting, trembling with the force of holding himself back. Jaskier had removed the armor silently, then reached out fearlessly and grasped the hilt of the sword where Geralt had held it white-knuckled, claws so long they had drawn blood from his own hands. Geralt growled fiercely, but Jaskier only hesitated long enough to look back at him, still fearless, still steady, and then gently pulled with all the force of a light breeze, somehow making Geralt let go of the blood soaked weapon.

“Go,” Jaskier had said knowingly, stepping back, inclining his head towards the forest. “Go hunt, Geralt.”

Geralt had wanted to thank him, demand how he’d known, but his teeth had already sharpened in his mouth and he’d turned and run.

When he’d come back, covered in blood and dirt, the bodies were all gone and there was a fire burning, the scent of roasted nuts in the air. Geralt had stared at Jaskier brushing down Roach and singing small ditties to her from the shadows, unable to understand him. Roach had whickered softly in greeting and Jaskier had turned to him and met his unblinking gaze evenly.

“Better?” He’d asked with a soft smile, tilting his head, and Geralt had thought, you know I could rip you to pieces. You know I could do anything to you. You’ve seen what I can do.

Then, covered in still-warm blood, he’d nodded and smiled back.)

“Better?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt blinks and looks at him, caught off guard by the dissonance. Jaskier smiles, not as soft but still just as knowing. “I was wondering when you’d need to hunt again, considering you've been here for weeks. Although, I would have recommended the glade to the East instead- it has deer.”

Geralt hums. He shifts closer, intending to lie next to Jaskier on the ground- then freezes when Jaskier flinches backward. They stare at each other, Geralt feeling slightly nauseous, wondering what he’d done.

“Oh, I just- you have blood on you,” Jaskier says awkwardly. “This is a brand new outfit, you know, rather wouldn’t get it stained so soon.”

Geralt nods slowly and sits back up. It’s a valid reason- a long-standing joke between them, even, but the hurt and panic is slow to fade still. The air between them hangs tense and stilted, practically a physical reminder of how uneven their relationship had become.

“What, uh-” Jaskier resumes after a while, thankfully breaking the silence. “What were you sulking about anyway? Not that anyone looking at you wouldn't be able to tell with that huge thundercloud over your head, but Shani said you haven’t been seen in the library the past few days, and I know quite well that I usually have to drag you by your hair out of those. Or threaten to steal our lovely Plotka all for myself.”

“Don’t touch Plotka,” Geralt says with mock snappishness, and smiles when Jaskier laughs loudly, both of them back on familiar ground. “...And I wasn’t sulking.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow judgmentally and Geralt scowls. Jaskier stays silent and tips his head to the side even more judgmentally and Geralt sighs. “Something that I planned didn’t work out, alright? And I feel…stupid for thinking it would.”

He does. He has no idea why he subconsciously expected everything to go back to normal once he'd finally given Jaskier the lute. He’d stayed in the luncheon hall as the bard sang for everyone, lute playing beautifully, his voice twice as melodious, but hadn’t been able to pay attention to it himself, too busy trying to keep himself together after hearing that he was still relegated to ‘muse’.

Jaskier clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Ah, that sounds like it sucks. But even without knowing what it was, I’m sure your neurotic ass did the absolute uttermost for it to work, so don’t feel bad, sometimes things don’t work out. But hey, at least we’ve made progress!” Geralt looks over at him and Jaskier aims a shit-eating grin at him. “We’ve finally got you to admit that you’re stupid.”

Geralt barks a loud laugh, surprised out of him, and reaches out to smack Jaskier gently. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Seriously- it’s a momentous occasion, Geralt!” Jaskier cheers harder. “I should send a raven to all your brothers, we should celebrate it each year- ack!”

Geralt tackles him and they go rolling in the grass, laughing. He loses himself to it- putting up a fight without hurting Jaskier and also trying to win as the bard pulls at his hair and knees him in the balls and tries to fight dirty; and only remembers the state of himself too late, faltering when he suddenly sees the blood now smeared all across Jaskier’s clothes.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier says with a grimace, looking down at it. “Shit. Maybe I can get it out if I run back to the laundress?”

“Maybe,” Geralt says, delight fading as he sits back on his haunches and surveys the damage. Melitele, why does he always have to fuck it up? “You go on ahead. I need to get my boots.”

Jaskier nods, getting to his feet, leaving an impression of himself in the grass and his scent on Geralt’s clothes behind. He starts running, then suddenly skids to a stop at the edge of the clearing, turning back. “Oh, and Geralt?”

Geralt grunts and looks up at him, away from where he was morosely wondering if all he was ever going to be left with were shadows and memories of their friendship.

Jaskier smiles- a hint of the old softness in it, and Geralt's heart skips a hopeful beat. “Whatever you had planned, try again. Don’t be a pessimistic idiot about it, alright? You deserve to have whatever it was you’d wanted.”

Geralt smiles at Jaskier, dipping his head in a nod, and the bard grins back and disappears into the trees.

Chin up, pup, Vesemir’s voice says steadily. Retrace your steps and find a different path.

Geralt sighs and leans back, staring up at the sky. Alright then. He could do better.

#geraskier #my fic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #filavandrel #also lmfao the one person on ao3 who forgot that vesemir had a convo with filavandrel while naked and called him fil #who thought i was just pulling the crackship from nowhere #u made my day #vesemir

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sugakoni · 3 years ago

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"drunken thoughts"

pairing: leon kennedy x ethan winters

word count: 1495

warnings: mentions of throwing up, drunk leon, confused ethan, chris just being there for moral support.

(a/n): eden ( @resileon ) got me into the leon x ethan train and i wanted to write something about them because this crackship makes me so god damn happy. so, fellow leon x ethan shippers, here you go. heh.

one-shot under the cut.

The music on the radio filled the car, but soon began to annoy the blonde who was driving it. He huffed, turning off the music and mild concern laced his actions soon afterwards. He gripped at his steering wheel, thinking of the text that he had just gotten 15 minutes ago from Chris, shaking his head to himself.

Redfield : Hey. Before I tell you this, you

have to promise me you won’t be mad.

Ethan: I’m gonna already assume I will be mad.

Redfield: Please.

Ethan: Fine. What’s up?

Redfield: I took Leon out to get some drinks.

He… might’ve had one too many, and

forced me to go to your apartment.

Ethan: You let a drunk man… force you

to go to my apartment?

Redfield: Look, man. He is begging to see

you, and he is scary when he is drunk.

Ethan: Fine. I’m omw.

Ethan soon pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, parking the car and sitting there for a moment. He groaned, rubbing his face all over with his hands. This wasn’t something he was planning on coming home from work to, but it was better than coming home alone.

He hopped out of the car, looking around and seeing Chris’s car parked somewhat close by. He made sure he had his phone and his keys before making his way up the stairs to his door, unlocking it and walking in. Ethan was soon met with a worried Chris, and Leon nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?”

“In the bathroom… As I said, one too many,” Chris replied, running a hand through his hair. Ethan sighed, taking off his jacket and putting it on a chair in the living room. He made his way towards the bathroom, seeing Leon hunched over the toilet, forehead resting on his arm. Ethan looked at the glass that was seated beside him, assuming Chris had gotten him a glass of water while the two waited.

“You know, when I gave you a key to my apartment, I half didn’t expect you to come here drunk,” Ethan said, leaning against the counter beside the drunk man. Leon looked up, squinting his eyes due to the blinding light in the bathroom, finally being met with the other man’s features.

“I just h-had to see you,” Leon slurred out, which made Ethan have to hold back a chuckle. He looked outside of the bathroom, seeing Chris in the kitchen, trying to find some food for the drunk man that had taken over the single bathroom in his apartment.

Ethan stayed quiet, not knowing what to say or do in this situation. But his thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of Leon throwing up violently. He scrunched his nose up at the noise, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Leon groaned, moving to grab a piece of toilet paper to wipe off his lips and chin.

The blonde moved to push the hair out of Leon’s face, exposing his forehead. Ethan blushed slightly at the sight, looking away for a moment as his flustered self began to take over. Leon was too focused on the fact he felt like shit to notice a shift in the atmosphere, thankful that Ethan was even helping him. He moved down to grab the glass of water beside him, taking a sip.

“Why did you need to see me so badly, Leon?” Ethan asked, and Leon moved away from the toilet and the man’s hand, pressing his back up against the wall. His eyes were closed, and head was searing in pain. Ethan frowned, sitting down in front of the cabinets of his sink and leaning his back up against it as well.

Leon opened his eyes, looking over at Ethan and felt his own face start to heat up. Ethan, being oblivious, didn’t notice his sudden change in demeanor. He hummed to himself, waiting for Leon to respond to his question.

“I like you… and your stupid freaking face… I like your face and you… I don’t know what I’m saying,” Leon whined, leaning his head back against the wall. Ethan’s eyes slightly widened at the confession the other made, before laughing loudly. He glanced over to see if Chris was listening in, but he seemed to be busy microwaving something.

“Leon… I would love to hear this tomorrow, when you are sober,” Ethan chuckled, biting at his lip as he played with his hands. His face felt hot, and he knew it was obvious he was red at the confession Leon had laid out on him. But, he liked the man too.

Just didn’t want to tell him while he was drunk.

“I’m sober enough,” Leon said with a huff. Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not though, Leon.”

Ethan stood up, flushing the toilet and a small ‘ew’ left his lips. He moved to grab the other’s hand, who happily obliged and pulled himself up. Ethan started to lead him towards the couch, laying him down. Leon kicked off his shoes, while the other helped him shrug off his infamous jacket he always wore.

The two’s touches on one another in this moment seemed to linger more than usual, but Ethan had to remind himself that this wasn’t the place or time he wanted to admit his feelings towards Leon. And Ethan also knew that Leon probably didn’t expect himself to do this, either. He grabbed a throw blanket from the closet, unfolding it and laying it on top of Leon. He made his way to the bathroom to grab the glass of water, bringing it back while Chris was holding a plate with some microwavable chimichangas.

Ethan chuckled a bit at the gesture, moving to place the water down on the coffee table alongside Chris’s effort of comfort food for the drunken male. Leon thanked them in slurs, eating in silence.

Chris motioned the other to follow him outside, and he obliged. The bigger man shut the door behind him, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and placing it in between his lips, lighting it before he spoke.

“I gotta head back home, but I am figuring you will be okay enough to watch him?” Chris asked, looking down at the other. Ethan gave a small nod.

“Yeah. If I need anything, I’ll let you know,” Ethan replied, and Chris gave him a nod back. He began to walk back to his car, and Ethan went back into his apartment, seeing that Leon had eaten the food and was in need of more water. He moved to grab the glass, going to the kitchen and getting him some more with ice in it this time, making his way back towards the brunette.

Leon was on his phone, scrolling aimlessly. He wouldn’t remember anything he saw tomorrow, but it kept him content in this moment. Ethan moved to grab himself another throw blanket, sitting down on a chair and curling up, on his phone as well.

Ethan waited, and soon enough Leon was passed out, a video playing on a loop with his phone on his chest. He grinned to himself at the sight, moving over towards him and turning his phone off, trying not to disturb him. He made his way back to the chair, sitting down and feeling himself become tired as well.

Sunlight soon seeped through the windows of Ethan’s apartment, stirring Leon up from his slumber. He glanced around, feeling like he was in an unfamiliar place for a moment, before his eyes met a sleeping Ethan on the chair beside the couch. He breathed out softly, biting against his lip as he took in how soft his features looked, and how relaxed the always tense man seemed to be.

Leon stood up, head immediately hurting as he did. He glanced down at the coffee table, seeing the glass of water with two pain killers beside it. He took them, before hearing a noise behind him.

Ethan had stirred awake, eyes slightly open as his arms stretched out above his head. He looked over at Leon, a soft smile on his face.

“How are you feeling?” Ethan asked, grogginess lacing his voice. Leon shrugged.

“Better than I did last night, I guess.”

“Do you still feel the same as last night?”

Leon raised an eyebrow at Ethan’s second question, before his eyes widened a bit in recognition. He slightly remembered himself telling Ethan his feelings towards him, embarrassment now shooting through him. Ethan chuckled, standing up and going towards him.

“It’s okay, Leon. I wish it was more romantic than you sitting in my bathroom, throwing up, but I like you and your stupid face too,” Ethan hummed. Leon turned to face him, and Ethan wrapped his arms around his neck. The other’s face grew red at the sudden interaction, and felt like he was about to explode whenever he laid a kiss on his cheek.

“So, how about some breakfast?”

#ethan winters #leon kennedy #ethan winters x leon kennedy #ethan x leon #leon x ethan #leon kennedy x ethan winters #resident evil biohazard #resident evil village #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil 6 #resident evil #this is for you eden

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hopetofantasy · 5 years ago

Text

‘Tout oublier’

Title: ‘Tout oublier’ Square Filled: Crackship Ship: Jens Stoffels/Robbe Ijzermans Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied. Mostly longing and softness, no kissing or smut - only hinted at. Created for @skamevents

Notes: As a huge VDS and Sobbe supporter, I challenged myself to write something outside my own comfort zone. A crackship that I don’t entirely support, but hey, I tried my best! :) (Btw, who can spot the cameo?)

The title comes from an ‘Angèle’ song, a Belgian singer Luca referenced (and sang along with) in S2. I thought it fit this work like a glove.

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour. It’s about time that you showed up!”

A seemingly casual statement, answered by a mischievous smile. Long brown locks radiating a ‘I just got laid’ look, covered by a two sizes too big sweatshirt. Clearly not his own. Dark eyes anxiously darted towards his.

Oh yes, my dear, you are in so much trouble now.

“Robbe, what were you thinking?! You just went with the guy, like that, without saying anything to us. We couldn’t find you anywhere! You didn’t answer any texts or calls, we had no clue where you were! He could’ve been a rapist for all we know! How could you be so irresponsible?!”

Wow, back up there, turbo. You need to relax.

He slowly lifted up his hand to pinch his nose, in a desperate attempt to relax. Breath in, breath out. Damn, it wasn’t his intention going off like that, especially since he looked like a parent now. Robbe didn’t deserve this. Not only because they were best friends, but also roommates. Broerrrs, but there was still a line.

Don’t go there, Jens. You’re not responsible for everything he does.

He just wished the boy would listen. It’s a harsh world out there, especially for LGBT youngsters. And they didn’t know the neighborhood that well. They’ve only just moved in, like, a month ago. The boysquad knew a thing or two about Antwerp, but Ghent? A whole other ballpark. Even though, you know, the fishing pond was bigger here than it ever was in Antwerp, he had to admit.

Soooo not the point, Stoffels.

Robbe pulled out a smile, watery smile. He knew exactly what he was doing, with the innocent Bambi look. A hand on his shoulder, a reassuring nod, yet with a hint of irritation.

“Yeah, okay, Jens, I’m sorry I didn’t leave a message. But if I wanted to have sex with some random dude, then that’s my choice. Something I decided. What I wanted to to! Alright? I don’t want people parenting me. I already have a father, well, only my father, but-”

The smaller boy paused for a while. A glimpse of hurt clouded his face, for just a second. Just enough to weaken Jens’ anger. He knew how hard it all had been, coming out in the midst of his father’s mental health. Oliver had worked too hard for his family. To keep it all together. Completely burned out, the specialist had said. He kept trying to provide a good home for his son, despite every financial struggle they faced in the past.

Jens knew Robbe blamed himself for this. Even though it was never his fault, the scars were there nevertheless. He sighed and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry.”

Ever since high school, he had felt responsible for the boy. Trying to compensate for everything people did that made it all harder. So when Robbe asked him to be his roommate, he said ‘yes’ on the spot. Now he only needed to learn about their boundaries, where they lie and what they were.

Since Robbe walked into the room, he had felt something stir in his stomach. Relief? What else could it have been? That the other was safe, at home. Or what you could call their home. A four-by-four dorm room, entirely filled with boys’ sweatshirts, leftover pizza boxes and mismatched furniture.

Yet, something still gnawed in the inside. To be honest, he never knew Robbe was the type of guy for random hook-up with a random stranger. Jens always thought that was more his forté. Robbe was the romantic, doe-eyed boy with the heart on his sleeve. So maybe Jens didn’t want to be left behind? Especially now that they’re both out and proud, with way more game than their small town high school.

Was it that what’s bothering him?

“Hmmm, whatever, bro. Next time, chill out. I’d rather not tell you every time I go with a guy. It’s bad enough that we share a space with barely any breathing room. I’ll be hearing too much of you anyways. And vice versa”, Robbe huffed. He pushed his roommate out of the way and started to undress for bed, before flopping down. Almost passing out immediately.

Jens’ features started to soften a little. Gosh, it was sometimes unnerving how easily Robbe could get away with things, by pulling his infamous puppy eyes and awkward jokes. It turned everyone’s insides into mush.

Nobody could stay mad at him, ever. His roommate was wired like that. So it also didn’t come as a shock when Robbe mumbled the following:

“I still have his number, by the way, if you would like to ‘have a go’ at it”

What did came as a shock, however, was how fast a pillow could hit a face that didn’t expect retaliation.

The topic of hook ups came up again a few weeks after that.

“So, Jens, if you had to choose: would you rather kiss a boy or a girl? I mean, you do have a preference, right?”, Moyo coughed out with great effort. This question was instantly answered by a bitch slap to the head, followed by a collective fit of laughter.

The boys were lying on the common room floor, in the midst of their building, passing around the joint. They had been binging on chocolate bars before. Empty wrappers still scattered around their heads, close enough to ball one up and hit Moyo. He deserved it. The boy wasn’t exactly known for his friendly behavior. On the contrary.

“What kind of question is that? I don’t care. So why would you?”, Jens answered hazily. He’d already grown tired of these questions in the first months of his coming out, when everyone walked up to him to ask really personal stuff. ‘Did you have sex with boys before?’ ‘Are you sure that you are bisexual and not just homosexual?’ ‘You’re now attracted to everyone, right?’

“I don’t, bro. I’m just asking, because I have some options for you. As in, hot girls’ numbers in my phone and friends who know hot single gays. So, if you’re want, just say so. I can hook you up with anyone. Male or female. I mean, it’s been ages, right? When was the last time you got laid?!”

Another laugh accompanied Moyo’s loud howl. “It’s true, you know, I’ve gotten more D than you in these last few months.” Gosh, Robbe was such a traitor. Jens sighed and pulled himself up by the elbows, looking around the group of misfits. Aaron was already dosing off next to him. No surprise there, he never could handle his weed.

Especially Dutch marihuana.

Out of nowhere, Moyo started humming a popular rap song, instantly forgetting what he asked minutes before. Robbe joined in by tapping his fingers on his bleached jeans. A burgundy beanie covered his eyes as well as the messy mop of hair. Jens found himself more and more fascinated by his best friend’s locks lately, ever since he started growing it past his shoulders again. He never noticed how nicely they framed his face.

“I can fix my own hook ups, broerrrs. I don’t need any help.”, Jens huffed out eventually after being distracted by the sudden change.

“Don’t bullshit me, Jens, you don’t even hang out with anyone but us lately!”, the brunette retaliated. He immediately snatched the joint out of Jens’ hands, blowing some smoke clouds into the air. Jens caught himself looking at it.

The smoke...

The eyes...

The lips...

Euhm, what? What the hell was this? Since when I stare at my roommate’s lips? Okay, maybe, maybe I do need some relief after all. That could be the only reason I want to stare at Robbe.

Right?

His mind was still frazzled, but he was eventually able to huff out an agreement towards Moyo. The latter one pulled out his phone immediately to check out the options. A tall leggy blonde? A beautiful chocolate colored man? A petite pixie-cut brunette? Wow, Moyo didn’t overreact when he said that he knew people.

They finally settled on a guy Jens had spotted in the local skatepark before. A somewhat rugged, beach blonde with beautiful eyes. Leather jacket, artsy vibe? He seemed cool. Moyo’s friend Noor had been to school with this dude. It wasn’t necessarily his type, but hey, it was just for one night. Nothing more.

So it was a date.

Kinda.

Then why was his brain still picturing smoke on a certain someone's lips?

The thought still occupied his mind a couple of days later. Jens never knew how this situation came to be. How he suddenly felt something towards Robbe. Attraction. Because that’s exactly what it was. There was no way of denying it. He had felt it for weeks, maybe even months, without acknowledging it. He couldn’t be feeling this. It was wrong, so completely wrong!

Robbe was Robbe, he was like a brother, he was his best friend and roommate.

Okay, there was only one way to get over someone, Moyo always said:

“Get under someone!”

So why didn’t he?

The cute guy in front of him was the perfect distraction. He was a smooth talker, a sight for sore eyes and surely knew his way around guys as well as girls. He was pansexual, he explained, gender didn’t matter to him. When he liked someone, he liked someone. Didn’t think twice about it. And he seemed to like Jens. Enough to kiss him. Enough to go back to his dorm room.

Except...

Something in Jens closed down the moment they arrived at the door. His date seemed to have felt his hesitation, immediately stopping the trail of kisses from his ear to his shoulder. The air between them seemed to cool down in mere seconds, filled with insecurity and unanswered questions. A leather jacket was the only sound heard in the heavy silence.

“You don’t want to do this, do you?”

Jens’ eyes said it all. He knew that he didn’t need to tell the stranger what he felt. People always claimed the dark haired boy was an open book, which was a blessing as well as a burden. God, why couldn’t he just do this? Just be with a guy, any guy, especially one as attractive as this one and get it all over with? Stop being such a frikking dumbo and take him inside!

But he didn’t move. He wasn’t truthful to himself, to the other boy, to Robbe. He needed to end this before it even started. It wasn’t right. So he slowly backed away from the beach blonde and said his fast goodbyes along with a string of sorrys. The other seemed to accept this sudden change of behavior, with a knowing glint in his eyes. As if he knew how much of a mess his head felt. As if he’d experienced something like this before.

Once inside, he’d only wished he had stayed with his date. Robbe was lying on the floor, seemingly upset, clinging to an old stuffed animal. Red rimmed eyes. His hair a total mess. Sobbing like a baby. His own heart shattered on the spot.

A chernobyl explosion.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”, he whispered silently.

He tried to look inside those brown eyes he liked so much. The ones who moved his world, made him feel all things at once. He needed to see what caused this distress. Because Robbe didn’t cry. Ever. He didn’t cry when his mom left at age 10, he didn’t cry when he father got diagnosed at age 15 and he didn’t even cry when his grandparents called him hurtful names when he came out to them at age 17.

Jens slowly crawled towards the smaller boy, hauling his body off the floor and cradling his head into his arms. The soft touch confused his heart. He knew Robbe was able to hear the thrumming beat, but he could care less at the moment. His boy was crying. His boy needed reassurance. So he held him tight and listened. Listened to the hiccups and the slurring speech, the wails and the cries. Half an hour later, Robbe was finally able to answer the question.

“Dad... he couldn’t deal with me leaving. Broke down completely. He’s inside the hospital, psychiatric ward, Jens. They don’t know if he’ll ever heal from this. He’s empty. He’s clinically depressed. He doesn’t even know how to feel love anymore. I’ve got nobody to love me anymore. And it’s all my fault, I left him...”

The sobbing continued at a louder volume. The beautiful brown eyes filled with such pain, it made Jens sick to his stomach. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled the boy out of his arms, his hands firmly gripping Robbe’s upper arms. It’ll bruise, but he didn’t want to let go. Robbe needed to know.

“Robbe, listen to me! Clinically depressed doesn’t mean your dad doesn’t love you anymore, okay?! Your dad is going through a hard time in his life. He probably struggling with this for a while and it only now faced the world. It’s not your fault! He held on as long as he did, because of you, Robbe. Because you were the light in his life. You still are! You always are, for everyone I know. For your family, for your friends, for me. Especially for me... Gosh, I love you so much, you don’t even know.”

Oh my god.

What did he say?!

Fock, fock, fock.

Oh no. Robbe suddenly looked at him with a puzzled expression. He saw the mechanics whirring inside his head, linking every accidental touch with his upped heartbeat, every soft sentence with his longing stares. Jens knew he went too far. It’ll only take a couple of seconds to realize how much the raven haired boy had concealed. From the world, from Robbe and from himself. He loved him? Really? Since when?

Robbe had pulled away quickly, like a deer caught in headlights. Making his heart ache for a do-over, another chance to explain everything. To come clean and tell him it was a mistake saying this. But before he could say a word, he felt a slight pressure on his chin. Lifting it up. It was the smaller boy again, sitting up this time.

Brown eyes stared into his, like he wanted to communicate something without forming a sound. They didn’t need any words. They would never. The sorrow was forgotten, the love was touched. The heart was healed again. Their sweet touches, their soft sighs, their teasing glances. Between them and their feelings.

Everything was said that night.

It was always them.

Against the rest of the world.

Only the two of them.

And the next morning?

Well, the next morning,

they never spoke of it again.

Everything was forgotten.

Tout oublier.

Pour y croire, il faudrait tout oublier.

#wtfock #wtfam #skambingo #don't judge me okay? I'm trying something new #something fun

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thestarrynightgazer · 6 years ago

Text

I love them so much, it hurts.

Just a little fic celebrating this crackship i picked out of nowhere, so here they are. :)

Special thanks to @galfridus1 for being my beta for this fic! Love lots!

☆☆☆☆

Estarossa glanced at his phone with a sigh, face flushed with the idea his mind had given him. However, he simply couldn't sit still without working on the project he had decided was necessary. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket, not bothering to exit the gallery, the picture of a young man with long silver hair and sapphire eyes eventually disappearing from the screen as it went pitch black.

His workspace was a mess. Zeldris had constantly complained about how messy it was but he couldn't bring himself to care since he knew exactly where to find what he needed. Containers of different kinds of paint were lying everywhere, some particular brands were on the floor, while some were on tables along with brushes he could no longer count.

The paintings he had were everywhere as well, some finished ones and things that he would never complete were lined up to the side, while those he liked a lot, or those projects he had for himself were on the wall. His favourite was a painting of him and his brothers, it was difficult to miss since it was the biggest canvas on the wall and the first thing one would see upon entering the room.

He wrinkled his nose, the smell of different paints lingering around the room as he decided to open the window before picking up an empty canvas. for the moment, he ignored how messy all his things were, picking up the materials he needed to start his project.

He shut his eyes, the image of Simon in his mind rather clearer than anticipated. From the shape of his face, the color of his eyes, the direction where the strands of his hair fell as a memory of his laughing flashed before his eyes. He smiled at the memory, Simon had been laughing back then as he shared the pranks Meliodas use to pull off on him and Zeldris, he had looked so beautiful then.

He bit his lower lip, looking at empty canvas, before picking up the brush he needed to start his painting. His hand and the brush danced gracefully over the canvas, staining the once pure white surface with colors as he finally gave it some use. He was far too focused on his work, not even noticing that paint had started to stain his hands, cheeks and nose and even his shirt as he went on.

From the clothes he wore, the color of his skin, to the strands of his hair, he paid close attention to it, wanting nothing but to perfect the image in his head. He always enjoyed painting hairs, although it was what took most of his time, usually spending hours in lighting and shading until he was satisfied. It was his first time painting Simon’s hair, and he loved how it was in a shade of silver with a hint of blue, a color only slightly different from his own.

He didn't notice the time that passed at all, had it been minutes? Hours? Probably hours, but he didn't bother to check. He usually stepped back to look at his progress, going to the bathroom once in a while, sometimes going to the fridge to pick up something to eat.

Before he knew it, he only had to color the eyes before finishing it, usually he painted them first, not understanding why he saved it for last this time.

He picked a paintbrush up again, dipping it over the paint with exactly the same hue as Simon's eyes, painting for the first layer before moving with the lighting and shading. He hoped he'd be able to capture the shine they usually had, he usually did, but the perfectionis within him were starting to give he doubts.

He took a deep breath, taking a step backwards as he looked at the painting, smiling to himself as he saw the results. He might notice some things tomorrow about it and add some finishing touches but he was happy at the result.

He took the phone out of his pocket again, swallowing nervously to see Meliodas' missed calls and one missed call from Zeldris.

At least he was done for today.

"What's the point of coming to a bar when you're not gonna drink?" Simon laughed, wiping few glasses as Estarossa glared at him, sitting by the counter as a glass was left untouched in front of him, the ice melting slowly.

"You know why I won't."

"Yeah, you made an absolute fool of yourself once---"

"Simon." He cut him off, face starting to burn red. He had absolutely no memory of what had happened, all he knew was that he got dragged here once after his classmates found out Meliodas owned this bar, he got too drunk and one of the staff finally contacted his brother about what was going on. Simon took care of him while waiting for Meliodas to pick him up. The following day, Alioli had been nice enough to send him pictures of what he did.

He was absolutely embarrassed, personally going to the bar to apologize to the staff and particularly to Simon for what he did. The taller silverette had laughed of course, telling him he had experienced far more worse.

It didn't sound reassuring, he just wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

He was thankful however, it had been the reason he had met Simon. He had tried to make it up to him though and they eventually became close friends. That's when he realized that things do happen for a reason.

"Estarossa! Stop flirting with the bartender and join us!" Arden laughed from his table, Estarossa blushing before cursing under his breath, not really wanting to drink tonight. With a sigh, he drank what was in the glass in front of him, it mostly tasted like water now.

"I am not held responsible for whatever kind of nonsense you'll see today."

"Don't worry that much, I'll look after you just like before." He chuckled, the shorter silverette eventually excusing himself.

Estarossa immediately knew it was a mistake to step in the bar. He was sure he was going to regret having more than a single glass, his tolerance just wasn’t as good as his brothers.

He groaned, having no memory of the previous night at all as he buried his face in his pillow. His head was aching, and he promised himself for the second time that he would never drink again. He was good at keeping promises, the peer pressure on this one was just annoying.

He didn't want to check his phone…He was sure Alioli or Arden had sent him pictures of his nonsense already.

"Oh, good morning Estarossa!" He lifted his bed off the pillow, hearing Elizabeth as he pushed himself off the mattress. The woman smiled at him, bringing him a glass of water and he immediately knew it was for him.

"You shouldn't have---"

"No, it's fine… you looked pretty awful last night." His face burned red, not really remembering anything at all. He just murmured his thanks, drinking the water that was given to him and feeling like he had been thirsty for ages.

He really wanted to no longer live in the mansion, Meliodas was married and it felt awkward to be around. However, the blonde had insisted for him to stay after Zeldris started living with Arthur, saying such big house felt lonely with only the two of them.

"Umm… where's Meliodas by the way?" He asked, knowing that his brother probably had picked him up. He should contact Simon soon, to thank him after promising to look after him.

"He hasn’t been home since last night, he went out with his friends, according to Elaine anyway." That made him confused, then who brought him home? No one else could have picked him up but Meliodas.

"One of the staff members from the bar were nice enough to call a taxi to get you home, it was getting late so I asked him to stay for tonight as well." He had seemingly forgot about his headache as his mind started screaming. His painting, his painting! Simon is here! He'll see his painting! He just knows that it's Simon!

"Where is he?" He asked immediately, his heart beating rapidly at the idea of him seeing the painting. He just can't! He wouldn’t know how to explain it!

"He wanted to wait for you to wake up before he left so I allowed him to look around the mansion for a bit. He's really amazed with your paintings on the walls." With that, Estarossa had threw himself out of bed, running towards his workplace. Elizabeth had called out for him, but he didn't listen, far more worried about Simon finding the painting he had only just finished.

A painting of him…

He could feel his leg freeze as he found himself by the doorstep of his workspace, the color of his face draining as he saw Simon standing right in front of the painting in question. He was just standing in front of the canvas, which he hadn't lifted from his easel stand, his hands gently rested over the painting.

He couldn't hear himself breathe.

Simon suddenly turned his head, probably after noticing his presence, making him look down to the floor as he bit his lower lip. He didn't know what to say, thoughts that were giving him anxiety started flooding his mind as he gripped on the hem of his shirt.

He didn't know what to say either, unable to make himself look directly at his face.

"I… I'm sorry…" For what? For painting him without permission? For falling in love with him? He had no idea which. He tried not to tremble, trying to figure out what to say next. He didn't even know if he should be genuine or make an excuse. It was driving him insane, he feels like he could cry.

"Es-"

"I ju-just really like you a lot I didn't know how to handle it, I'm sorry." He blurted out of panic, wanting to curse for his tactlessness. There was no excuse for this, he had no other choice.

"I like you a lot, Simon." He forced himself to look up, his face as red as his crimson paint, wanting to see Simon's reaction. He couldn't read him, he looked shocked somehow, suddenly sighing and looking away while scratching his head. He bit his lips again, heart racing as he waited for the response.

"Honestly…" He started off, gaze still elsewhere as if he's thinking of something deeply. "I didn't expect that you'd tell me first before I could."

He must have been hearing things, his blue eyes going wide, his mouth agape with surprise. The implication of what he just told him just wouldn’t sink it as he stared at Simon in disbelief.

"I like you too, Es." Yep, he was definitely hearing things. This was the hangover making a fool out of him, nothing more.

"Although I'm quite sure that you told me you love me last night." Estarossa's face turned crimson, now far scared of what else he did last night.

"What else did I do last night?!" The other silverette was smirking now, leaving him absolutely terrified.

"Well you tried to kis-"

"Simon!"

"And did."

"Oh my god." He was drowning in embarrassment now, face still red as Simon kept laughing at him. He kissed him and he didn’t even remember it, he feels awful.

But if Estarossa was to choose, this was better… he had expected much worse, all the 'what if's in his head weren't just pleasant as this was an outcome he never expected.

Somehow, he was happy with this.

#nnt #sds #simon #estarossa #sirossa #long post

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commander-yinello · 7 years ago

Text

Trying to be better, part 2

If you haven’t read part 1, this story won’t make any sense! Below and under the cut, part of me sailing the crackship Echosung into slightly more serious waters. I hope you enjoy! <3

4:45 PM. She sighed as she held her phone in the air, time telling her how little she had done today. A soft whine and the scratching of nails came from beside her bed, Lady insisting that she needed to go out for a walk.

“Yes, yes. Gimme a minute to get ready,” she responded, pushing herself off her bed, blowing wavy hair out of her face. Lady didn’t seem to care for her owner’s prep time, running in circles in the hope time would go faster. Long used to her poodle’s antics, Kyungju dropped her phone on the desk next to her wardrobe.

It was right then a new notice popped up on her screen. She expected another meme from the chatroom with her overseas friends, but it was an e-mail. An e-mail with a particularly unexpected sender that made her swipe it away.

“Mom!” she yelled towards her open door while she attempted to brush out the creases in her dress so it didn’t look like she used them as pajamas. “Did you give the agent from Heart & Seoul Models my private email address?”

The gentle tapping of heels on marble followed, her mother’s shadow cast on the cream-colored wall. “Of course, I did dear! Why wouldn’t I?”

She groaned. “What the fuck, mom?!”

“Kyungju Choi, I told you to stop swearing!”

“And I told you, I don’t want these agents to be able to contact me!” Irritated, she brushed her hair down with her hands. Lady followed her every move, doing her best for constant attention.

“I don’t know why you’re so against becoming an idol again. You were so successful last time.”

She nearly lost balance, putting on her blazer and trying to win the argument. “I don’t want that anymore! It ended in a bunch of really bad bullshit, or did you somehow forget that we moved to Europe?”

“You made a mistake that you’re not going to make again. Your father and I agree that you need to be doing something other than loafing about and taking the odd modelling job. Or did you plan on finding a rich man and marrying him?”

“No!” Kyungju yelled. “God mom, I can’t believe you’re still suggesting that!”

Now properly dressed, she slipped her phone in her pants pocket and eyed the unpacked moving boxes in the corner as she left her room, making her way to the stairs in the hallway. Her mother stood on the ground floor, wearing a frilly apron, the only sign she was a housewife - unlike her hair in a tight bun and a face full of bold make-up. Kyungju glared as she ran down, but her mother had always been better in the glaring game. Lady hopped down the stairs, tail wagging from the noise they produced, noise she saw as fun and exciting like all noise really.

“God blessed you with a beautiful body and you’re wasting it,” her mom continued to nag as Kyungju tugged on her boots and jacket. “You may not have been able to charm that albino boy, but he’s young and poor - there’s plenty of older, richer, more interested men you should be aiming for.”

She couldn’t stand hearing more. “I can make it on my own, just give me time to figure out how. Come Lady,” she beckoned, and her poodle obeyed, trotting along while Kyungju grabbed the leash off the coat hook. “I’ll see you tonight mom,” she said, leaving her home for the city streets.

Her mother was merciful and closed the door behind her without another word. Kyungju sighed while Lady sniffed every possible corner and tree she could find, running back when she was called, allowing herself to be leashed. The fluffy ball of energy proceeded to pull Kyungju along the pavement while she pondered.

Her mother was making too big a deal out of this. They just moved here, surely she was going to find something, a job she could be proud of and that had nothing to do with Echo Girl. She nodded while pouting, ignoring the confused face the woman passing her made.

Rush hour had ended, and the once crowded streets slowly found silence as employees and students ran into their homes for dinner and relaxation. Kyungju turned the corner and ended up in a small shopping centre where everyone was closing up. At the end of the plaza Kyungju spotted the small building with illustrated cats and dogs on the windows, a sight that brightened her mood instantly.

Yoosung’s clinic. It wasn’t actually Yoosung’s clinic, he was just one of the vets working there, but in her mind it was. Conveniently close to her house, she had rushed Lady there - best idea she ever had. For once she was glad Lady was such a glutton.

Through the glass, she saw the blond behind the counter, busy with a customer, his red glasses nearly on the top of his nose while looking down. He’s cute, she thought. Against all of her expectations, Yoosung was understanding and warm. She smiled and began to walk over eagerly, feeling like Lady about to get a treat.

Guilt struck her, making her halt. Lady tried to run ahead and strained against the leash a few times before giving up and sitting down, scratching herself.

Kyungju bit her lip, continuing to stare at Yoosung who had no idea she was out here. Tempted as she was to enter the clinic and come up with some excuse to ask Yoosung out for an official coffee date, she couldn’t justify it. Yoosung was around her age and had his shit together better than her. No doubt her mom would be very pleased to know her daughter planned to hit it off with a doctor. An animal doctor, not that that would stop mother from counting in paychecks.

What was she even thinking? With a history like hers, it wasn’t right for her to ask him out. His friends, her parents, possibly even him, they’d all get the wrong idea. She had gotten a crush on another RFA member. What if she was responsible for causing a rift between Yoosung and the RFA?

And surely a guy like Yoosung must have a girlfriend as sweet as him already.

She spun around, fully intent on marching back to her house, only to be met with a man who obstructed her entire view. Startled, she took a few steps back. The man wore a typical gray office suit and his balding head was shiny from all the gel. His eyes widened as his amazement grew upon staring at her, dropping his suitcase next to his feet.

“Erm… Can I help you?” Kyungju asked.

“Echo Girl!” the man exclaimed in joy, clapping his hands together. “I can’t believe it’s really you! It’s me, Ben! I was- no, am!- your biggest fan, I used to send you a letter every month. Do you remember?”

Shit. “Ah… Not really. My agent let interns open the fanmail, I... didn’t.” Unpaid interns, she remembered. She didn’t want to bother with anything that wasn’t Zen back then.

Ben blinked at her. “What do you mean, you sent me replies back! They even had cute signatures! I really felt like we connected!”

“Automated reply letters,” Kyungju answered sheepishly.

“And the personalized autographed photo?”

“A copy. And the signature was never mine.”

Kyungju felt Lady paw at her ankles. Ben seemed lost, brows furrowing as he processed this new information. “I don’t… I don’t understand! We didn’t have something special back then? Why?”

“Because I didn’t care about anyone except me back then. Surely you must have read the scandal about me.”

The middle-aged man shook his head. “The magazines reported something, but it seemed more like a typical idol scandal. But then you disappeared. The fan club assumed you abandoned us.”

“It’s true, I did.” Better he knew now she was garbage. “It’s okay if you’re mad.”

His face completely fell. “I can’t believe this. I thought you had maybe some kind of family crisis and would come back in the future. I was hoping for your come-back! And then I could genuinely claim I am the number one fan!”

Lady reacted to his anger, growling as loud as a tiny poodle could. “God, I shouldn’t have wasted so much time on someone like you! Do you know how many you fooled with the fake crap you sold them? Was your singing even genuine or autotuned?”

“It was real,” she said, cruel words crash making her heart hurt. Lady was barking now, causing other shopkeepers to peer through their windows. Damn it, she swore quietly.

He jabbed a finger, nearly poking her chest. “Real my ass! You are supposed be pure, kind-”

“Hey!” came a sudden new voice, and they both turned towards the man with glaring purple eyes standing next to her. When had Yoosung snuck up on them?

Turned out Yoosung can be very intimidating, Kyungju discovered. His hands were clenched and his posture, wider from the white coat he wore, made him look ready to attack. The sweet, soft boy image of him she harbored since last time was nowhere to be found and she didn’t know whether to be fascinated or terrified. “What are you doing?!”

Ben bristled. “What am I doing? I’m giving this fake piece of shit what she deserves, that’s what!”

“How dare you talk to her like that - she’s still a human being!” Yoosung yelled back at him.

“It’s alright,” Kyungju said to Yoosung, who had moved in front of her, partially blocking her view of the angry fan. “I don’t mind, he has the right to.”

“Don’t say that!” Yoosung whirled around, expression equal parts anger and shock. “Kyungju, you can’t let him treat you like this!”

“Why not?” She bit back. “It’s true what he’s saying, isn’t it?”

“Why does that matter?!” He said, before pinching the bridge of his nose, calming down considerably. “I mean, yes, you did some bad things in the past. I don’t think anyone would dispute that.” He sighed, shoulders drooping. “But it’s obvious you’re genuinely sorry for what you’ve done. Letting yourself get verbally abused like this isn’t helping anyone. Why didn’t you tell him what you told me?” He gestured towards Ben, who stared at them considerably confused.

“This is different. He doesn’t know me.”

Yoosung gently took hold of her shoulders, and she recognized the same comforting gesture she gave him in the café. “Neither did I really, before we met. And even then, I was impressed by you. Everyone else would be too, if they knew. I’m sure of it.”

The dam she didn’t know she had inside her burst. Her eyes started to well up. Embarrassed, she rubbed them vigorously with the palm of her hand, feeling the heat of her cheeks. “Why are you so sweet?” she asked with a small pout. “I don’t deserve that kindness.”

“Of course you do. One day I’ll make you believe it.” Suddenly shy, he let go and blushed a little, aware of what he had said. Kyungju couldn’t help but giggle.

The sound of shoes scuffing the pavement brought about the startling reminder that they were never alone. Ben was still next to them, lost and hands raised awkwardly.

“Err…” he started.

“Look,” Kyungju intercepted, turning to him and clapping her hands together. “I can’t change the past and give you back your lost time. But I am genuinely sorry, and I have changed. I won’t be performing anymore.”

Ben returned to rage mode. “What does sorry do for me?! Do you think just cuz you’ve got a cute face that I’m going to forgive you?”

Kyungju grimaced. How long was this guy going to go on before she would have to threaten him? “I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”

“You should, because I’m done with you! It’s over!!” he yelled, grabbing his suitcase, walking off with his nose in the air. “Goodbye forever!”

Ben marched off, leaving the two blinking at the sudden turn. He had left the street before Kyungju and Yoosung grasped what had just happened, picking up the jaws that had dropped off. Then, she heard Yoosung attempt to muffle his snickers and before she knew it, they both laughed in unison.

“Wow, did you have to deal with his type all the time? I would go crazy,” Yoosung replied after he calmed down.

“Not all the time, thankfully.” Kyungju let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks Yoosung, I appreciate it.”

“No worries, when I saw you and that asshole outside, I couldn’t hold myself back.” Bashful, Yoosung scratched the back of his head.

How does he switch from scary to adorable so fast? Kyungju wondered. “I’m sorry for distracting you from your work.”

“We were closing up, so it’s fine. But what brings you back here again?”

“I live close by. And I, eh, I decided to pass by while walking Lady,” Kyungju admitted, blushing more.

“It’s good to see you still healthy! Haven’t been eating anything weird, have you?” Yoosung said as he bent down to pat Lady, who jumped to try to put her paws up as high as she could on Yoosung’s clean pants.

With things having calmed down, Kyungju followed Yoosung to his clinic, waiting inside while he locked up, his co-workers waving at them just like last time. She waved back as Lady chewed on her leash in boredom.

“Oh, Jaehee asked me to tell you that her café has new latté flavors. Maybe you’d like to try them?” Yoosung asked while he changed from his doctor’s coat to his leather jacket.

“Jaehee?”

“Ah, she’s my friend and the café owner. The café we went to last time.”

Is he asking me out? Kyungju thought, feeling the temperature rise. “Ah, sure, I’d love to try them. But won’t your girlfriend get annoyed with you hanging out with me?” she asked, instantly regretting how obvious she was.

Yoosung grabbed his keys on top of the front desk. “Girlfriend? I don’t think so, seeing as I don’t have one.” He shrugged, leading Kyungju to the front door.

It was hard for Kyungju not to let out any of the high-pitched squealing in her head. “Then, of course!”

“Great! I’m sure Jaehee would love your opinion on them,” Yoosung said enthusiastically, locking up the clinic behind them.

Kyungju wondered on whether this was a date or not. “Okay, but only if you choose a latte for me.”

“But… What if I choose something you don’t like?”

“I’m sure I will like anything you pick.” Kyungju smiled, Lady trotting by her side as they began to walk.

“You have varied taste, that’s good! I can be a bit picky sometimes,” Yoosung replied, placing his hands in his jacket pockets, practically beaming happiness.

Kyungju had a feeling Yoosung wasn’t getting it. But, either way, she was content being with him, at his side, feeling more comfortable than ever.

#echosung #fanfiction #mystic messenger #kyungju choi #yoosung kim #yoosung x kyungju #mysme #confession: I regret using the weird fan as a plot point #because I had no idea what to do with him after a while #but I had used him too much to remove him #sometimes fics have their own will haha #next one is gonna be much fluffier though #also probably the last one #I want this to be a short series #<3

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