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chanoyu-to-wa · 1 year ago

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Nampō Roku, Book 7 (73): the Utensils Exchanged Between Nambō Sōkei and Rikyū in the Time Before His Seppuku.

73) [Ri]kyū, [in the months] before his death, was already resigned to its inevitability¹. And so, for whatever reason, he undertook to send a missive to this monk²: “the reality of this world is all evanescence and mutability³. Now the places where we live are so far apart that even to think about visiting each other -- we cannot do as our hearts would have us do⁴.

“Be that all as it may, these utensils are my personal treasures. Yet even so, I am giving them [to you]⁵:”

〽 Nadekata-enza [ナデ肩圓座]⁶

(this is said to be [the chaire that Rikyū used at] Kitano⁷);

〽 hoya [ホヤ]⁸;

〽 a take-zutsu [竹筒] made by Lord [Ri]kyū⁹,

on which he inscribed [the name] Sui-mō [吹毛] with his own brush¹⁰.

After having received the [above] communication, this monk sent back the following reply [by the returning messenger]: “in all things we both have the same mind” -- [accompanied by] these [two] utensils from this side¹¹:

〽 suzume no kō-bako [雀ノ香バコ]¹²;

〽 a chashaku that had been made by this monk¹³ --

these two things were sent off [to him]¹⁴.

As his last hour approached, while he was preparing one [final] portion of tea [for himself], the utensils -- according to what [I] heard in the stories shared by people -- included the suzume no kō-bako and Nambō chashaku¹⁵. Even though he was always considerate, yet at this [time], [it did not really surprise me to hear that] he should have been even more so¹⁶! Even under these [most distressing of] circumstances, [his] mind was not agitated; and [he] held those two things in his hands until the very hour of his death had arrived: this is [a demonstration of] the intimacy between master and disciple¹⁷! [His gesture] far surpassed my most cherished hopes¹⁸!

Now [having heard this story], [prostrating myself] below his memorial tablet, [my] tears flow on without end¹⁹.

Also in that letter, [he] transmitted to this monk the whole Way of Tea, without any omissions: [when he was done] there was nothing else [to teach]²⁰. But since the children are still immature, what will be the final result -- will [the true Way of Tea] disappear, or not²¹? If someone with the necessary resolve happens to show himself, if he is one who is committed to embarking on the True Path, then I would humbly like to suggest that he might [find room to] train himself in the Shū-un-an²²! 〚[Because] [Ri]kyū is in the other world, mistakes are even more of an inconvenience [since he is no longer here to offer his corrections] -- this [I am] always repeating over and over²³.〛 It is so that [you] would understand this, that [I] have written this down again and again and again²⁴.

_________________________

◎ Though the language indicates that this entry was at least rewritten during the late seventeenth century, if any parts of Book Seven can actually be traced back to Nambō Sōkei, it is fragments of entries such as this. Indeed, given the fact that Tachibana Jitsuzan obviously took the six volume Rikyū chanoyu sho [利休茶湯書] (published in 1680) as his model*, there must have been something -- some actual memorandum or words of leave-taking written by Sōkei on the morning of the day when he was intending to following Rikyū into death, that he locked in his wooden chest along with his other papers before quitting the Shū-un-an for the last time -- that lead Jitsuzan to decide to expand his collection to seven books, and then frame Book Seven as just that sort of epilogue (even though he had obviously already intended to include the rest of the material found in Sōkei’s wooden chest, things that could not be easily incorporated into any of the earlier books, in that final book as well). Nevertheless, Sōkei’s lamentations, as they are represented in this text, are excessively melodramatic (especially given that Sōkei was a very important monk) -- and they read as if copied word, for word, from one of the Kabuki tragedies that were all the rage from the end of the seventeenth century.

As with most of the other entries in Book Seven, there are minor differences between the several versions of this text, the majority of which appear to be later modifications (in other words, the changes appear in the toku-shu shahon [特殊写本] and genpon [原本] versions of the text, both of which were created during the nineteenth century as a result of the prolonged study of the Enkaku-ji manuscript by the Enkaku-ji scholars), intended to make the original easier to understand†.

Though it might be difficult to speculate on the motives of people from several hundred years ago, the purpose of this entry, as it now stands, appears to be to set up Nambō Sōkei as much more intimately involved with Rikyū than otherwise might seem to have been the case (since information regarding his acting as Rikyū’s unofficial steward is circumstantial at best). That said, the author or editor (who may have been Tachibana Jitsuzan himself) was clearly unaware of the other accounts of the hours before Rikyū’s death that were recorded by actual participants in the drama, which cast many details of the most pathetic and moving elements of this story‡ into doubt -- and so damages the credibility not only of this entry, but of the Nampō Roku itself. __________ *For the benefit of those who are unfamiliar with the story, during one of their journeys between the Fukuoka-han [福岡藩], in northern Kyūshū, and the shōgun’s court in Edo (in fulfillment of their obligations under the sankin-kōtai system wherein the daimyō and their principal ministers were forced to divide their time between the administration of their domains and their attendance on the shōgun’s court in Edo), Tachibana Jitsuzan and his lord Kuroda Tsunamasa stopped in Kyōto to rest; and on that occasion Jitsuzan was shown a copy of the recently-published Rikyū chanoyu sho by one of its editors (who was also one of Jitsuzan’s friends from the days when they had studied chanoyu with Sen no Sōtan in Kyōto); and during a discussion of this collection, he was also informed that additional material was still archived in the Shū-un-an, in the Nanshū-ji in Sakai. As the party would pass through Ōsaka on the way to Edo, Jitsuzan asked for Tsunamasa’s permission to take a detour through Sakai, so that he could inspect the Shū-un-an cache of documents for himself. The copy that he made of the chest’s contents was subsequently edited into the collection now known as the Nampō Roku.

†While the majority of the changes are extremely minor, and have no impact on the meaning, one sentence was added (perhaps originally as an interlineal kaki-ire) to the toku-shu shahon text that is found in none of the earlier sources (see footnote 23). Because it is helpful to an understanding of the whole, I chose to include this sentence in the above translation -- enclosed, as always, in doubled brackets.

‡For example, Rikyū’s sending of the Nadekata-enza to Sōkei (his own records indicate that he used that chaire on the morning of his death; while others document the confiscation of this chaire from Rikyū’s residence immediately after his death was confirmed -- with the house and all of its outbuildings pulled down on Hideyoshi’s orders immediately thereafter); his use of Sōkei’s chashaku during his final chanoyu (while the actual facts indicate that he used the chashaku now known as Namida [泪], which he carved in the morning hours of the day he was ordered to die, to match the nade-kata enza chaire when placed on the Haneda-bon that Rikyū had ordered for it; and which he sent off to Furuta Sōshitsu immediately after the chanoyu was finished, with Oribe giving it the name by which it is known); and then Rikyū’s sitting lost in thought while clutching the ruri-suzume kōgō and Sōkei’s chashaku to his bosom is not only overly Kabuki-esque, but argues against the time available.

Dawn on April 21 occurs just before 5:00 AM in that part of Japan, and Rikyū would have woken just before dawn, so he could clean his 4.5-mat room and lay a fire in the ro in preparation for the drawing of water at dawn. After that he would have begun carving the chashaku (as a way to cleanse his mind). Since seppuku committed on the orders of one’s lord was usually performed at noon, and preceded by a ritual bath in cold water (long enough to lower the body temperature so that the sense of pain would be numbed, and bleeding would be moderated), it would seem that Rikyū began his last chanoyu around 9:00 AM (the usual hour of the morning gathering), and which probably lasted a little over an hour (since he was intending to use the small unryū-gama, the ro-gama would have been removed, and replaced with the unryū-gama shortly before he began). After he finished, he would have washed all of the utensils and sent those that belonged to him off to his close friends, before going in to bathe. This does not leave much time for him to be sitting lost in thought.

And, indeed, the Sen family very quickly seized on just these details to denounce the account (as soon as they became known), and thereby the whole Nampō Roku, as a fraud (the earlier Rikyū chanoyu sho did not suffer that fate because its contents had been carefully selected to agree with the Sen family’s teachings -- this is why much yet remained in Nambō Sōkei’s wooden chest that had not been used in the preparation of the published collection). While entry 73 appears to have been concocted to make Sōkei appear to have been on especially intimate terms with Rikyū (by someone who had no real understanding of the relationship between the two men), these emendations to what may have been an authentic memorandum of Sōkei’s (logically written on the day of his own suicide) ultimately did more damage to the Nampō Roku than could ever have been imagined.

¹Kyū, nakunari-mae yori yorozu kaku-go mo ari-keru ni ya　[休、死去前ヨリヨロヅ覺悟モアリケルニヤ].

Nakunari-mae yori [死去前より] means from (a certain period of) time before his death.

Rikyū was well aware of what the likely outcome of the rising antipathy between himself and Hideyoshi* was likely to be months before he received the actual order to commit seppuku.

Yorozu kaku-go ari-keru ni [よろず覚悟ありける] means to be mentally prepared or resigned (kaku-go [覺悟]) for the possibility (ari-keru [ありける]) of everything (yorozu [よろず]) going wrong, for the situation to degenerate to the point where Rikyū’s fortunes would collapse totally.

The particle ya [や], which concludes this statement, suggests something like “isn’t it so?” or “wasn’t that likely?” In other words, Rikyū was sufficiently politically astute that he would have recognized the danger into which his opposition to Hideyoshi’s plans placed himself (and his house and associates), even though he was determined to continue his protestations against the invasion.

It is actually unclear when this exchange occurred -- though within a matter of days of Rikyū’s seppuku seems improbable. My guess is that it took place during the month-long house arrest that was imposed on Rikyū following the affair with the Kidō-no-bokuseki [虛堂の墨跡]† (that is mentioned more fully in the first sub-note). The period just before his death would have been very busy, since Rikyū would have had to put his affairs in order in such a way that his wishes could not be undone by Hideyoshi afterward (in the case of his utensil collection, by distributing them to persons of such standing -- such as Furuta Sōshitsu or Hosokawa Tadaoki -- that the gifts would not be challenged, or subjected to confiscation). __________ *It appears that Rikyū, along with many of the influential citizens of Sakai, were opposed to Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea. In Rikyū’s case, Hideyoshi’s mounting displeasure was first made clear by his being placed under house arrest between the twenty-third of the Ninth Month and the twenty-sixth day of the Tenth Month of Tenshō 18 (1590), over the rather trivial matter of Rikyū’s privately showing one of Hideyoshi's scrolls to the monk Kokei, on the morning of the latter’s departure into Hideyoshi-mandated exile to Kyūshū.

The Korean expatriate populations in Japan, and the centers to which those refugees gravitated, were divided into two camps. The one, centered on Hakata, were radicalized and revolutionary, and wanted to encourage Hideyoshi’s invasion primarily because they believed that it would destabilize the Josen government and allow for a coup (to restore the class-limited popular sovereignty that had existed between the end of the Goryeo dynasty and the ultimate installation of Seojo as king in 1455) -- the idea that was hatched during his stay in Hakozaki (in 1587) was that Hideyoshi would invade Korea and use that as a stepping stone toward the ultimate goal of having himself crowned emperor of China. Indeed, several of Hideyoshi’s most important spies on the continent counted among the leading citizens of Hakata.

The other group -- we might call them pacifists, who were resigned, at least, to a continuation of the status quo -- were drawn toward Sakai; and it was the citizens of Sakai who most vociferously opposed Hideyoshi’s plans. This so angered Hideyoshi that, when his first invasion was declared a failure, he decided to take out his spleen on Sakai -- decimating its population, destroying its defenses (so thoroughly that archaeologists still cannot accurately delineate the location of Sakai’s moat and walls), and absorbing the former city-state into the Japanese nation. Many of the names closely associated with the evolution of chanoyu met their demise during that assault (even if Furuta Sōshitsu, who was charged by Hideyoshi with overseeing the action, was apparently not especially concerned with its execution).

This difference in their basic philosophies is what underlay the the perpetual friction between the two Korean city-states in Japan.

†Xūtáng Zhìyú [虛堂智愚; 1185 ~ 1269] was a Chán monk during the Southern Song dyanasty. He was from Xiàngshān [象山], on the coast just south of where the East China Sea meets the Yellow Sea. Several Japanese monks traveled to China to train with him, and returned to Japan with his writings (most of which seem to be poems that are written in an unorthodox manner). He is known as Kidō Chigu in Japan.

The scroll shown above is the work that Rikyū displayed for Kokei, thereby gaining Hideyoshi's wrath -- during the sixteenth century it was the custom to remount scrolls when they changed hands, and the remounting of this scroll (like many of those in Hideyoshi's collection) was being handled by Rikyū. This scroll is almost never seen today, so the above file was actually made from a screen capture, of an occasion when it was shown.

²Kono-bō ga kata [h]e, nan-to-naku shosatsu ari　[コノ坊ガ方ヘ、何トナク書札アリ].

Kono-bō ga kata [h]e [この坊が方へ] means (Rikyū sent a letter) to Nambō Sōkei.

Nan-to-naku shosatsu [何となく書札あり]: nan-to-naku [何となく] means for some reason or other, unexpected, without knowing why (something was done); shosatsu [書札] means a missive or communication. In other words, a messenger suddenly appeared at the Shū-un-an as if out of the blue, bearing a document addressed to Sōkei.

While Nambō Sōkei seems to have acted as a sort of unofficial steward for Rikyū in Sakai after he assumed his duties as a member of Hideyoshi’s household, once the Sakai family compound was moved to Mozuno, it appears that Sōkei rarely heard from Rikyū (because, since Mozuno was too far from the Nanshu-ji for Sōkei to visit easily, or on a moment’s notice, he was forced to conclude his efforts to assist Rikyū with the running of his household in Sakai)*. It was during this time -- perhaps during the fall of 1590 -- that Sōkei unexpectedly received a missive from Rikyū. __________ *The move occurred sometime in 1589, at which time Rikyū was becoming increasingly busy (as one of Hideyoshi’s closest attendants and personal advisors during the siege of Odawara), and increasingly troubled (on account of his deepening internal conflict over Hideyoshi’s future plans regarding the invasion of the continent -- since he knew that was where Hideyoshi’s attention would turn once the matter of Odawara was resolved).

³Seken no mu-jō henka-no-tei nado arite　[世間ノ無常變化ノテイナドアリテ].

Seken no mu-jō [世間の無常] means the impermanence of the world.

Henka no tei [變化の躰] means everything is in a state of change.

In other words, as Rikyū's relationship with Hideyoshi degenerated further and further, it began to impact his relationship with Hideyoshi’s other courtiers -- and ultimately with the world in general.

⁴Ima ha i-dokoro mo hedatari, tabi-tabi no sankai mo kokoro ni makasezu　[今ハ居所モヘダヽリ、度〻ノ參會モ心ニマカセズ].

Ima ha i-dokoro mo hedatari [今は居所も隔たり] means now the places where we live are so far apart.

Tabi-tabi no sankai mo [度々の参会も] means and even to visit each other from time to time.

Kokoro ni makasezu [心に任せず] means we cannot do as our hearts would have us to do.

In other words, were Rikyū to suddenly go off to Sakai (at the time when he was under house arrest), it would cause even more trouble, since people would say he was plotting something. (Sakai, at this time, was still considered to be something of a foreign country -- though the divisions were breaking down: when Nobunaga wanted to visit Sakai in 1577, it required days of intense negotiations, and he was forbidden to bring his army anywhere near the city-state’s perimeter wall, and his attendants were strictly limited to 18 men; but Rikyū‘s seppuku was overseen by Hideyoshi’s personal guards, one of whom was appointed to be Rikyū’s second, yet this troop entered the city apparently without hindrance or objection.)

⁵Sareba kono dōgu ha tenaretaru-hizō zo-kashi-tote okuraruru [サレバコノ道具ハ手馴タル秘藏ゾカシトテヲクラルヽ].

Sareba [然れば] means therefore, thus, if that is so, if that is the case, and so forth.

Kono dōgu ha tenaretaru-hizō [この道具は手馴れたる秘藏]: tenareru [手馴れる] means things like “to become intimate with,” “to get familiar with;” hizō [秘藏] means a treasure. The implication is that these utensils are Rikyū’s special favorites.

Zo-kashi-tote [ぞかしとて]: zo-kashi [ぞかし] means “that’s how it is,” “it’s just like that;” -tote [とて] means even if, even though. In other words, “even though that’s how it is (that these utensils are, indeed, my favorites....)” This adds emphasis to Rikyū’s statement that these are his favorite utensils.

Okurareru [贈られる] means sending something off as a gift.

In other words, Rikyū is saying that even though these utensils are his special treasures -- which he avers to be a fact (though why this was necessary, in light of the purported closeness of the two men, is unclear) -- he nevertheless is sending them to Sōkei as a gift.

Here Shibayama’s version is a little different: sareba koso kono-dōgu ha tenaretaru-hizō zo-kashi, dōgu no teburi ni miyo-tote san-shu okuraruru [サレバコ��此道具ハ手馴タル秘藏ゾカシ、道具ノ手ブリニ見ヨトテ三種送ラルヽ].

Sareba-koso [然ればこそ] means for that very reason, that is exactly why (referring to the way Rikyū’s world is falling apart, and may well engulf him and his house in total ruin).

Kono-dōgu ha tenaretaru-hizō zo-kashi [この道具は手馴れたる秘蔵ぞかし], as above, means it is a fact that these utensils are (Rikyū’s) special favorites.

Dōgu no teburi ni miyo-tote [道具の手風に見よとて] means look carefully at the way these utensils are used, and even so...

San-shu okararuru [三種送られる] means ...these three things will be sent off (to you).

Here (we must remember that this version was written several decades after the Enkaku-ji text) Rikyū clearly links the reason for the gift to the fact that his situation is so precarious that, even though these things are so precious to him, he is giving them to Sōkei to protect them from Hideyoshi’s wrath.

And he also seems to be cautioning Sōkei to be careful with regard to how they are used -- that they should be used “correctly” (though whether this is an admonition to always keep kane-wari in mind, or a warning not to use them in inappropriate settings, is unclear).

⁶Nadekata-enza　[ナデ肩圓座].

This Nadekata-enza* chaire is shown below. It was originally one of Jōō’s treasures, and it was Jōō who ordered the large Haneda-bon [羽田盆]† with a red-lacquered rim, to be made for this chaire. Jōō gave or sold this chaire to Tennōji-ya Sōkyū, and Sōkyū presented it to Hideyoshi. While still the property of Hideyoshi, it was given to Rikyū to use (in theory, when serving tea to Hideyoshi’s guests in his official capacity of Hideyoshi’s representative). It was never owned by him outright (as several of the commentators claim).

Rikyū had a smaller Haneda-bon made for the chaire, that was painted black (without any other color).

Today the chaire is usually displayed on Jōō’s larger tray (which is the one that is suitable for use when serving tea with the daisu)†.

Rikyū used this chaire when preparing tea on the morning of his seppuku. After he was dead, this chaire was immediately confiscated by Hideyoshi’s agents, and returned to Hideyoshi’s collection -- from where it passed into the hands of the Tokugawa family after the demise of his house. ___________ *Nadekata-enza [撫肩圓座] is a descriptive term. Nadekata [撫肩] means sloping or rounded shoulders (as those of an old man), and an enza [圓座] is a round seat (some call it a cushion, though it is made of coiled rice-straw roping, with a covering of bamboo sheaths on the side on which the person sits).

Today this chaire is usually called the Rikyū enza-katatsuki [利休圓座肩衝], or just Rikyū-enza [利休圓座].

†I cannot ever recall seeing the original of the chaire-bon made by Rikyū, though many copies exist. Possibly it was confiscated together with the chaire, and destroyed once they were shown to Hideyoshi.

⁷Kitano to iu-iu　[北野ト云〻].

This is interpreted as being a reference to the fact that this chaire was used during the Kitano ō-cha-no-e [北野大茶ノ會], that began on the first day of the Tenth Month of Tenshō 15 (1587).

That said, in the toku-shu shahon version of the text, Kitano to iu-iu has been moved to the next line -- that is, it seems to indicate that the hoya was the one used at the Kitano ō-cha-no-e (though there is no reason to give any credence to this assertion). Tanaka Senshō, meanwhile, states that some have interpreted Kitano [北野] to be the “poetic name” of the Nadekata-enza chaire (which, again, is neither substantiated by any contemporaneous documents, including the many mentions of this chaire in Rikyū’s own kaiki -- nor by the fact that the concept of “poetic names” like this were the creation of Kobori Masakazu, and so such a name would be highly anachronistic for the sixteenth century).

⁸Hoya　[ホヤ].

This refers to the “original” hoya, made of Byzantine cloisonné, that is shown below. Far from being an incense burner, it appears that this piece was actually made as a Nestorian Christian reliquary in the shape of a miniature ciborium.

Rikyū is said to have used the hoya during his final chanoyu, on the morning of the day on which he was ordered to commit seppuku, along with a kiji-tsurube and the small unryū-gama (which he suspended over the ro on a bamboo jizai) in his 4.5-mat room.

⁹Kyū-kō-saku no take-zutsu　[休公作ノ竹筒].

The take-zutsu made by Rikyū that is mentioned in this entry is otherwise unknown: possibly it was removed from the Shū-un-an along with Sōkei’s other utensils when knowledge of his suicide was revealed to the administrators of the Nanshū-ji; but there is no record of where it (or any of the other objects) may have gone.

The above take-zutsu was made by Hideyoshi, and displayed in his chaseki on the first day of the Kitano ō-cha-no-e, which opened on the first day of the Tenth Month of Tenshō 15 (coincidentally, November 1, 1587) -- according to an inscription that Rikyū wrote in lacquer on the back of this hanaire. This flower container was apparently inspired by the model, created by Rikyū, that is the subject of this line*; and like the one that he gave to Sōkei*, this hanaire is an oki-zutsu [置き筒] -- that is, it was intended to be stood on the floor of the toko, resting on an usu-ita, rather than hung on the wall (or elsewhere)†.

While this must have been an interesting hanaire, to be sure, it seems odd that Rikyū would have stated that it was one of his most treasured possessions -- since he had made it himself, and so it could be easily replaced -- since even if he liked it very much, bamboo hanaire (like everything made of bamboo and unpainted wood) were used only until they began to discolor. ___________ *We can understand that the hanaire in question was a simple cylinder because Sōkei was able to turn it around -- so that the side on which Rikyū had written the name he gave to the vase, and drawn his kaō, were visible to the guests (rather than facing toward the wall as Rikyū intended). Rotating the take-zutsu in this way would only be possible if it were a shakuhachi-giri.

Furthermore, prior to 1590 all bamboo hanaire were oki-zutsu -- that is, they were made to be displayed on the floor of the toko (see the next sub-note).

And also, the name Suimō [吹毛] is another name for the monk’s hossu [払子], which (in its most basic form) consists of a short length of bamboo with a tassel of hair from a horse’s tail affixed to one end. The inclusion of the root portion of the bamboo clum on the bottom of the take-zutsu visually suggests this object. See the next footnote for additional details.

†The idea of hanging up bamboo flower containers seems to have been introduced by two of the hanaire that Rikyū created for this specific purpose (the ichi-jū-giri [一重切] Onjō-ji [園城寺], replaced mid-gathering by a second ichi-jū-giri known as Odawara [小田原] because the first one had begun to leak badly; and the ni-jū-giri [二重切] Yo-naga [よなか]) during the siege of Odawara -- while the take-zutsu known as Shakuhachi [尺八] was intended to be stood on the floor as usual).

As has been explained elsewhere, these three bamboo flower containers were crafted out of the three pieces of Nira-yama [韮山] bamboo that Hōjō Ujimasa had sent to Hideyoshi (as a humorous “thank present” for the three bales of straw that Hideyoshi had sent to the castle as a sarcastic “visitor’s gift”). The three hanaire were intended to be used together during a flower-arranging competition that Hideyoshi hosted for his generals while they were awaiting word from the miners that the walls of the castle had been breached. The ichi-jū-giri was hung on the back wall of the toko, the ni-jū-giri was hung on the toko-bashira, and the shakuhachi-giri [尺八切], was placed on an usu-ita on the floor of the toko. The flowers that would be used were placed in the ni-jū-giri to keep them fresh (flowers from trees in the upper level, and grassy flowers in the lower).

Each contestant approached the toko, studied the two bamboo vases and the selection of flowers briefly, and then created an arrangement in his hand, which he slipped into the hanaire that he had decided to use. After viewing it himself, he moved out of the way and Hideyoshi approached the toko, and pronounced his judgement of the arrangement. Then all of the others inspected the arrangement as well. The flowers were then removed, the ni-jū-giri refilled with fresh flowers, and so the next contestant took his turn.

While this was going on, Rikyū served tea to the participants.

The reason why the ni-jū-giri was hung on the toko-bashira was because it was not part of the competition. Hanging it there kept the selection of flowers close at hand and, because its sections were filled with water, it also kept the flowers fresh (since the competition was expected to last until the next morning -- when the army could begin their invasion). Normally, a kake-hanaire was hung either on the back wall of the toko, on the minor pillar on the outer-wall-side of the toko, or on the bokuseki-mado. The idea was that the flowers should always arch toward the temae-za -- oriented as if they were leaning into the room from the garden. To suspend the kake-hanaire on the toko-bashira was a serious mistake (since the flowers would then be arching away from the temae-za).

The hook on the toko-bashira was not for the flowers, but for a hanging oil-lamp at night gatherings (since the signature and name-seals of the monk responsible for the kakemono was located on the side of the composition closest to the toko-bashira, and the oil lamp was oriented so that it would throw its light onto the name). The scroll itself was inspected by the light of a te-shoku [手燭] -- a hand-held candlestick (held, quite naturally, by the long handle, so that the flame could be brought close to the kakemono -- though some modern schools teach their followers to do the opposite). At the beginning of the gathering the last guest would take a seat near the toko and hold the candlestick while the other guests approached and inspected the kakemono. The long handle of the te-shoku allowed him to sit to one side, so that his body would not obscure the scroll.

¹⁰Ji-hitsu ni Suimō to kaki-tsuke ari　[自筆ニ吹毛ト書付アリ].

Ji-hitsu ni [自筆に] means that the inscription was written by Rikyū’s own brush (that is, written by his own hand).

Suimō [吹毛], which was the moniker that Rikyū gave to this take-zutsu, is an alternate name for the hossu [払子] (below) -- a wand-like implement, made of bamboo or carved wood, to which a long tassel made from the hairs of a horse’s tail is attached.

Monks originally used this implement to chase away insects without hurting them; but (since it was often a costly object) it came to be used as a sort of badge of authority by high-ranking monks, with the hossu often participating in their lectures as a sort of prop (the monk manipulating it or using it to strike the lecturn to underscore their main points). While awarding poetic names to utensils was something that did not become common until the Edo period (the avalanche really began with Kobori Masakazu), there were earlier precedents -- many of the “first generation” of named tea utensils being associated with the retired shōgun Yoshimasa, for example -- particularly when the appearance of an object clearly invited the comparison. The presence of the rootlets on the lower end of this hanaire visually suggested a hossu, making this a representative example.

Entry 25 in Book Seven of the Nampō Roku also refers to the Suimō hanaire, and its connection with Nambō Sōkei. There we read:

“And again, with respect to the Suimō [吹毛] take-zutsu [竹筒] that had been made by [Ri]kyū, [I] decided to change the [location of the] kan [クヮン = 鐶]. This undertaking was my own foolish idea.

“While [Ri]kyū’s own choice should not be ignored, after [this hanaire] came into [my] possession, [I observed that] the two characters “Suimō” [吹毛], as well as Rikyū’s kaō, were in every way so like the bokuseki of the great monks [that they] should be revered and appreciated in the same way. As a result [I came to feel that] hanging [this hanaire] so that [the writing] was toward the plaster wall would be reprehensible – [if only] because of the danger that the [take-]zutsu might develop a crack [due to dampness]. [I] always worried about that when using Suimō.

“[Finally, I attached a new kan, so that] the characters and kaō were in the front, [yet] turned [to the side] by one third, when it was brought out [and displayed in the toko]. Of course [I] also left Rikyū’s kan untouched – so that, depending on the occasion, [the take-zutsu] could also be hung from the original kan*.”

The above account should be taken with a grain of salt, however, because there is no evidence that take-zutsu were ever suspended in the toko prior to Hideyoshi’s all-night flower-arranging competition during the siege of Odawara†. Yet if the Suimō hanaire was indeed the inspiration for Hideyoshi’s monumental oki-zutsu (which was shown in the previous footnote), as could be expected, then there would have been no reason for Rikyū to attach a kan so that it could be hung up. Indeed, given his disinclination to do anything more elaborate than what was needed, if Rikyū did decide to hang this take-zutsu, he would have simply carved a hole for the hook on the back side.

As for hanging, it only became customary for the hanaire to be routinely suspended on the back wall of the toko during the Edo period -- so the toko would not look so empty during the goza‡. Because carving an appropriate hole for the hook is difficult -- and carries some risk to the take-zutsu** -- when dealing with an antique bamboo hanaire, or one made by a famous person (particularly when he was not the person who was preparing the vase to be hung up), the safer approach was to drill a small hole in the side, and install a metal kan [鐶] (a small iron ring, like those used to hang up ceramic hanaire, an example of which is shown below).

The sidewall of the hanaire was sandwiched between the two small washers, with all three holes (those in the two washers, and the hole drilled in the side of the hanaire) aligned, and the pins were pushed through from the outside, and then secured by being bent at right angles on the inside of the container, to hold the kan in place.

A shakuhachi-giri (made by Enshū), with a kan affixed to its side, is shown below.

Because at least parts of the kan assembly were usually made of iron (which will rust when used for such purposes), the kan was usually inserted just before the gathering, and then removed afterward (and replaced with a new one the next time). For this reason, the host typically kept a number of kan assemblies on hand, just in case they would be needed (because, in Rikyū’s period and before, the kan had to be specially ordered from a local metal worker -- since, at that time, there were no professional craftsmen who were solely occupied in producing things for chanoyu).

On one occasion, when Hideyoshi visited Rikyū for chanoyu in his small room, Rikyū invited him to arrange the chabana. Hideyoshi arranged white chrysanthemums in the basket that was sitting on the floor of the toko (this was the same basket that is shown above). Later several eminent monks joined the gathering, and so Rikyū attached a kan of this sort to the back of the basket, and lifted it up to the hook that was affixed to the bokuseki-mado, so that Hideyoshi could move his seat into the toko to make room for the monks. ___________ *The reader may refer to the post entitled Nampō Roku, Book 7 (25c): Rikyū’s Criticism of Nambō Sōkei’s Way of Displaying the “Suimō” [吹毛] Hanaire for additional information, since it discusses this particular hanaire in greater detail.

The URL for that post is:

https://chanoyu-to-wa.tumblr.com/post/690603677200891904/namp%C5%8D-roku-book-7-25c-riky%C5%ABs-criticism-of

†The original reason for always using hanaire made of bamboo as oki-zutsu seems to have been that, because bamboo naturally grows up from the earth, this kind of container should seem to be rooted in the floor of the toko.

‡The original rule was that the flowers were supposed to be displayed at the same altitude as that at which they had been cut by the host (flowers for this purpose were usually grown in a corner of the kitchen garden -- since the chabana was supposed to be a manifestation of the moment). Thus, if the host had to reach up to cut the flower, it was displayed in a kake-hanaire; and if he had to reach down to cut the flower (which seems to have been more common by far), it was supposed to be displayed in an oki-hanaire. Later other sorts of rules were concocted (usually as a way to excuse a violation of the original rule by someone of high rank); but this simple, logical idea was the original rule.

Since the inter-city kitchen garden usually did not provide sufficient space for large trees, most of the flowers available to him for chabana would have been blooming fairly close to the ground. This is why, when we survey the surviving kaiki, we find that references to oki-hanaire far outnumber those to kake-hanaire -- before the advent of the Edo period. (During the Edo period, the rule was forgotten or ignored, so that flowers blooming near the ground were frequently arranged in a kake-hanaire -- even by masters of the like of Kobori Enshū.)

￭ The point of this sub-note bears repeating: the original idea was that the chabana should be absolutely of the moment. Even bringing flowers from down the street -- let alone from the far-off mountains -- is wrong, because the flowers always reflect the climatic conditions where they grew. Most natural plants bloom for a span of about two weeks. So it is within the two week period, as it exists in the immediate vicinity of the tearoom, that they can be used for chanoyu. Flowers grown in a greenhouse, or those brought from the mountains, have nothing to do with the local conditions surrounding the tearoom where the gathering is taking place. The flowers must reflect the very moment of the chakai; and if the host does not have anything blooming in his garden, then a chabana should not be displayed at all. This was Rikyū’s idea.

**Carving a large hole in the back of the hanaire was dangerous, since it could lead to the vase suddenly cracking. While this was not an issue when the vase was being carved by the host, when he wished to hang up an antique hanaire (or one that had been made to stand on the floor by a famous person), drilling a small hole through which the kan could be attached was much safer.

This practice first appeared during the Edo period, since in the sixteenth century things like bamboo flower containers were used only when they were new -- as soon as the bamboo became moldy, discolored, or started to smell bad, it was thrown away and replaced by a new one.

¹¹Migi no tōri tamawari-shi hodo ni, kono-bō mo sono henji ni, nani-goto mo onaji kokoro ni koso soe to mōshite, kono-kata no dōgu 　[右ノ通玉ハリシホドニ、此坊モ其返事ニ、何事モ同ジ心ニコソ候ヘト申テ、コノ方ノ道具].

Migi no tōri [右の通り] means as mentioned heretofore (referring to the list of three utensils that Rikyū sent to Sōkei, accompanying his letter).

Tamawari-shi hodo ni [給わりしほどに] means “with respect to everything that I was given....”

Kono-bō mo sono henji ni [この坊もその返事に] means “(I) also, along with my answer (to Rikyū’s letter)....”

Nani-goto mo onaji-gokoro ni koso sōroe to mōshite [何事も同じ心にこそ候えと申して] means “because, (I) say that in everything, we act according to the same mind....”

Kono-kata no dōgu [この方の道具] means “(some of) this side’s* utensils (were also sent to Rikyū as a thank offering).”

Shibayama’s text changes the final phrase slightly: kono-kata yori dogu mata ni-shoku [コノ方ヨリ道具又二色], which means “from this side, two varieties of utensils (were sent to Rikyū).” ___________ *I.e., my own -- utensils belonging to Nambō Sōkei. Because Rikyū sent several utensils to him, he wanted to respond in kind.

¹²Suzume no kō-bako　[雀ノ香バコ].

This is referring to Rikyū’s treasured ruri-suzume [瑠璃雀], that had once been part of the Higashiyama collection (together with a red-lacquered guri-guri kōgō*). There is no evidence to suggest that it was ever owned by Nambō Sōkei while Rikyū was alive.

According to the kaiki in Book Two, Rikyū owned, and used, this kōgō on no less than thirty occasions during that tea year (1586 ~ 1587)†. For the author of this entry to therefore suggest that it was only presented to Rikyū in the autumn of 1590 implies that not only did the author know little about Rikyū and his circumstances (before the last months of his life), but that he did not even bother to read the earlier books of the collection before tossing this document into Sōkei’s wooden chest. ___________ *When used during the appreciation of incense, the lacquered kōgō held the pieces of kyara, while the ceramic container was employed as a taki-gara-ire [炷空入] -- a receptacle into which the burned-out cinders of the kyara (fused to the ginyō on which they had been heated in the incense burner) were discarded once they were exhausted.

As a result, since the incense utensils were usually arranged as a set on a tray that was displayed on the chigai-dana in the shoin, these pieces were usually collected in complementary pairs: in this instance, the lacquered kōgō has a carved arabesque design reminiscent of morning-glory vines, while the ceramic taki-gara-ire is shaped like a sparrow (both of which are natural images associated with early morning). Rikyū’s guri-guri kōgō [グリグリ香合], with which the ruri-suzume had been paired by Yoshimasa, is shown above.

As with chashaku becoming separated from the chaire for which they were made, these two objects were separated during the Edo period when the conventions of those earlier days had been lost to the fog of time and forgetfulness.

†It is not mentioned in the Rikyū hyakkai-ki [利休百會記] -- but, then again, no kōgō are mentioned in the notes describing any of the chakai in that kaiki -- despite the fact that one must have been used during the sumi-temae on every one of those occasions.

¹³Kono-bō ga saku no chashaku　[コノ坊ガ作ノ茶杓].

This means that the chashaku was one made by Nambō Sōkei himself.

However, this whole idea illustrates the that the ignorance of the chajin of the Edo period with respect to the chashaku was complete -- since it was never a case of simply using any random chashaku with any given chaire, or selecting one based on its poetic name as is done today (and Sōkei, given his close association with Rikyū, would have understood this thoroughly). In order to make a chashaku, the chaire for which it was being made had to be present in front of the person who was carving the chashaku, so he could adjust its length and width, and the position of its node (if it had one) accordingly. The rule was that the chashaku (when resting on top of the chaire) was not supposed to cross the kane with which the chaire was enclosed*.

In the case of a chashaku used for bon-date, the bend in the bowl was supposed to touch the face of the tray in line with the far end of the chaire’s foot, while the tip of the bowl was to be in line with the back side of the chaire; and the handle was supposed to project 4- or 5-bu beyond the front edge of the tray. The width of the bowl was determined by the length of the scoop end, since the correct amount of tea was supposed to be transferred into the chawan using three scoops only†. As the Nadekata-enza chaire belonged to Hideyoshi, and was only on loan to Rikyū, it would have been unthinkable that Rikyū would send it to Nambō Sōkei, so that Sōkei could carve a chashaku for it.

While the above chashaku lacks a node‡, other chashaku that were made by Sōkei include the node -- sometimes near the end of the handle end, and sometimes at the center of balance (which, because the scoop end is usually wider, is closer to the scoop end than in the exact middle of the chashaku).

That said, it is a fiction that Rikyū used Sōkei’s chashaku when making tea for the last time. This is because, in the first place, Rikyū preferred to use a new chashaku; and, secondly, because the chashaku had to be made to match the chaire with which it would be used.

The last time Rikyū made tea, on the morning of his death, he used the Nadekata-enza chaire (shown above under footnote 6), and for that chaire, for use on this occasion, he carved a chashaku which he subsequently sent to Furuta Sōshitsu, as a memento -- Oribe named this chashaku Namida [泪], and it is the chashaku shown below.

Because Rikyū performed bon-date on this occasion, the chashaku was made to rest beside the Nadekata-enza on the chaire-bon (which was a plain black-lacquered Haneda-bon -- it resembled the tray that Jōō had made for it, but it was smaller -- 2-sun larger than the chaire on all four sides). ___________ *The kane were derived from the folds and edges of the shiki-shi [敷き紙], as shown below.

Since the chaire was placed so that its side was at the outer edge of the shiki-shi (regardless of if it were on the right or the left side of the mat), the meaning was that, when resting on the chaire, the chashaku should not project beyond the confines of the shiki-shi (since the original purpose of the shiki-shi was to prevent matcha from falling onto the mat).

†Technically, the rule was that the three scoops of tea were not supposed to be equal. Rather, the first was supposed to be a little less than full, and the last a little more than full. That said, the middle of the three would represent the normal capacity of the scoop, and this was the determining factor when deciding upon its width.

When preparing a bowl of koicha that would be shared by two people, Rikyū said to use five scoops of matcha (the first three as above, with the final two essentially equal to the last of the three).

Rikyū always preferred to serve the shōkyaku an individual bowl of koicha. The other guests were served in groups of two, which would allow them to share their bowl of tea without its cooling too much by the time the second person took their turn.

‡Chashaku without a node were usually intended to reproduce the effect of an ivory chashaku. That said, it is important for the modern reader to keep in mind that the modern schools’ teachings, regarding the kind of chashaku that one should use in different temae, did not exist during Rikyū’s period. So, while Rikyū performed bon-date with the Nadekata-enza chaire resting on a square chaire-bon, the chashaku that he carved to accompany that chaire during that temae has a node near the middle of the handle. For Rikyū (and a majority of the chajin of his generation), the important thing was that the chashaku should “match” the chaire (referring to the relationship between the two as described in the teachings of kane-wari). The rules saying, for example, that a chashaku with the node near the end of the handle should be used with a karamono-chaire that was not accompanied by a tray, or that a chashaku without a node should be used during bon-date -- such fixed ideas did not exist prior to the codification of chanoyu that took place over the course of the Edo period.

¹⁴Migi ni-shu okurikeru ni　[右二種ヲクリケルニ].

Sōkei is saying that he sent the above two utensils to Rikyū along with his reply letter (probably intending them to be a thank-gift for the treasures he had received).

This implies that this exchange of letters took place some time before Rikyū had been ordered to commit seppuku, since if his death were imminent, return gifts (particularly of the precious kōgō, which had come from the Higashiyama collection) would have been out of place -- since it would be sending them to their probable destruction.

¹⁵Shi-ki ni oyobite, ippuku no cha wo taterare-shi-toki no dōgu wo hito no katari tsutaete kiki-shi ni, suzume no kō-bako, Nambō chashaku to iu-iu　[死期ニ及ビテ、一服ノ茶ヲ立ラレシ時ノ道具ヲ人ノ語ツタへテキヽシニ、雀ノ香バコ、南坊茶杓ト云〻].

Shi-ki ni oyobite [死期に及びて] means as (Rikyū’s) last hour approached....

Ippuku no cha wo taterare-shi-toki [一服の茶をたてられし時] means while (he) was preparing a single bowl of tea*....

Cha wo taterare-shi-toki no dōgu wo hito no katari tsutaete kiki-shi ni [茶をたてられし時の道具を人の語伝えて聞きしに] means “while (he) was preparing tea (for the last time), the utensils -- according to what was heard in the stories shared by people....”

Suzume no kō-bako, Nambō chashaku to iu-iu [雀の香箱、南坊茶杓と云々] means “... -- were said to (include) the suzume no kō-bako (and) the Nambō chashaku.”

The argument that he used these things† -- especially the Nambō chashaku -- simply does not agree with other accounts of Rikyū’s final chanoyu‡. __________ *The formula ippuku no cha [一服の茶], “one portion of tea,” was used to indicate the service of koicha; and it seems most likely that Rikyū performed his usual koicha-temae, with a bowl of usucha prepared (using the tea remaining in the chaire) during the temae. Of course he drank both bowls of tea himself, since there were no guests. (Some -- possibly romanticized -- accounts have Hideyoshi suddenly showing up to remonstrate with Rikyū, and attempt to coerce him into withdrawing his opposition to the invasion; and these invariably have Hideyoshi drinking a bowl of tea as well. But we must remember that Rikyū had been sent back to Sakai to perform the deed; and while Hideyoshi could certainly have made his way to Sakai, it would have been difficult for him to do so in such a way that he would not attract the attention of the population.)

†Since Rikyū used the kiji-tsurube on that occasion, it is very possible that he used the suzume-kōgō as well, since he typically used this piece to “seal” the lid of the tsurube when it was being used as the mizusashi. However, he could habitually do so because this kōgō had been among his possessions for many years, rather than because Nambō Sōkei had given it to him days (or months) before. (As was mentioned above, Rikyū used the ruri-suzume kōgō at least 30 times during the 1586~7 tea year; and since that was long before his troubles began in the autumn of 1590, the story contained in this narrative simply does not hold together.)

The kiji-tsurube was originally used to convey water from the well to the mizuya (it was not a “well-bucket,” as some have characterized it; the well-bucket was emptied into the tsurube, two tsurube were balanced on opposite ends of a shoulder pole, and so the water was carried to the mizuya). When used as the mizusashi -- particularly when chanoyu was not going to take place at dawn -- the original practice had been to seal the lids by passing a paper tape completely around the tsurube. This helped to keep the lids from warping, which kept dust from entering through the hole (and it also kept other people from opening the tsurube and interfering with its contents as well). After preparing it in this way, the tsurube was carried out to the utensil mat, and lowered into place from a squatting position, where it remained untouched throughout the shoza.

At the beginning of the goza, the host used a small knife to slice through the paper tape, which allowed the movable lid to be slid open. Hideyoshi, however, objected to the presence of the knife, so after 1582 Rikyū began to devise other ways of keeping the lid closed -- and one approach that pleased him was to place the ruri-suzume kōgō on the movable lid. The weight was sufficient to help keep the lid from warping to the point where it would open; and the fact that this kōgō was made of non-porous pottery meant that it, and the incense it contained, were safe from the moisture that was present in the lid.

Rikyū used the ruri-suzume all year round -- both with the furo, and with the ro. The fact that the kōgō was made of fairly high-fired ceramic meant that it was both impervious to the fragrance of the incense, and could be rinsed with water later to remove any lingering traces of it. (So byakudan or jin-kō could be used one day, and neri-kō the next, without any danger of one kind of incense cross-contaminating the next.)

‡Such as that, immediately after he finished, he sent the chashaku to Furuta Sōshitsu as a memento of his final tea. Oribe made a lacquered tsutsu for this chashaku with a small window cut in the front (so that the node in the handle was visible), and placed that on his Butsu-dan, in lieu of a memorial tablet for Rikyū.

The Namida [泪] chashaku, as Oribe named it, is (according to its measurements) the chashaku that Rikyū made to accompany the Nadekata-enza chaire when used on the black lacquered Haneda-bon that Rikyū had ordered for it.

¹⁶Hi-goro no shinsetsu nareba kaku zo aru-beki nare-domo　[日ゴロノ深切ナレバカクゾアルベキナレドモ].

Hi-goro no shinsetsu nareba [日頃の深切なれば] means since (Rikyū) was usually considerate....

Kaku zo aru-beki nare-domo [かくぞあるべきなれども] means ...yet in this particular matter (it was not surprising that) he should have been even more so.

¹⁷Toki ni torite, kokoro-isogawashiku mo aran ni, ka no ni-shu shi-ki made te ni fure-tamau shi-tei no shitashimi　[時ニ取テ、心イソガハシクモアランニ、カノ二種死期マデ手ニフレ玉フ師弟ノシタシミ].

Toki ni torite [時に取りて] means depending on the case, under the circumstances.

Kokoro-isogawashiku mo aran ni [心忙わしくもあらんに]: kokoro-isogawashiku [心忙わしく] means to be agitated in one’s mind, flustered; aran ni [有らんに] means there is not.

In other words, even though Rikyū was now literally confronting his own mortality, he was not agitated or troubled in his mind.

Ka no ni-shu [かの二種] means those two things -- the suzume-no-kōgō and Sōkei’s handmade chashaku.

Shi-ki made te ni fure-tamau [死期まで手に触れ給う] means until the hour of his death, he held (them) in his hands.

Shi-tei no shitashimi [師弟の親しみ] means (this gesture is revelatory of) the intimacy between master and disciple.

¹⁸Hon-kai shi-goku　[本懷至極].

Hon-kai [本懷] means one’s long-cherished desire.

Shi-goku [至極] means to go beyond, exceed.

In other words, Sōkei is saying that the fact that Rikyū held these two objects in his hands up to the hour of his death far surpassed Sōkei’s wildest desire that they would be meaningful for -- that they would convey Sōkei’s true feelings to -- Rikyū.

¹⁹Ima ni oite hai-ka ni namida wo moyōsu-nomi nari　[今ニ於テ脾下ニ淚ヲ催スノミ也].

Ima ni oite [今において] means now, in the present, at this moment.

Hai [脾] (which means the spleen), as found in the Sadō ko-ten zen-shū [茶道古典全集] edition of the Enkaku-ji manuscript, is a miswriting of the kanji hai [牌]. Whether this is how it is written in the Enkaku-ji manuscript, or the mistake occurred when setting the type for the printed edition, is not clear.

Hai-ka ni namida wo moyōsu nomi nari [牌下に淚を催すのみなり]: hai [牌] is referring to an i-hai [位牌], a Buddhist memorial tablet (a black-lacquered object that somewhat resembles a stick of ink, with the person’s death-name, along with the dates of his birth and death, written on it in gilded kanji: it is usually stood up on the Butsu-dan to received the prayers offered for the rebirth of the deceased person in a situation that will enable them to attain nirvāṇa at the end of their next lifetime); hai-ka ni [牌下に] means beneath, or immediately in front of, (Rikyū’s) memorial tablet (the image is that Sōkei is bowing down until his forehead touches the floor, and then unable, or unwilling, to kneel upright he remains in that position); namida wo moyōsu nomi nari [淚を催すのみなり] means only (my) tears flow (that is, Sōkei is unable to even mouth the words of his prayer; he has been overcome with unstoppable tears).

In other words, in response to being informed that Rikyū held Sōkei’s two gifts in his hands (with the implication that he was thinking back over the years of their intimate association -- from the autumn of 1573* to their parting in 1589†) until it was time for him to prepare himself for death‡, Sōkei was moved to tears.

This information would only have reached him days, if not months or even years, after the fact, perhaps in the course of gossip about Rikyū’s end. And though he then sat in front of his Butsu-dan, in the hopes of easing Rikyū’s karma through his prayers, all he could do was collapse on the floor and sob. __________ *It was at that time, in the middle of the Ninth Month of the First Year of Tenshō (1593) that Sōkei first wrote to Rikyū, asking for an explanation of the material preserved in Book Five of the Nampō Roku.

It appears that Rikyū, though known to have been among Jōō's senior disciples, had been living under a cloud, ignored by the tea world at large (as a result of his having had a “corrupting influence” on Jōō’s ideas with ideas that he brought back from the continent, that resulted in the complete reworking of Jōō’s teachings, and the creation of the small room, in the spring and summer of 1555). Sōkei seems to have been the first member of Jōō’s elite disciples to reach out to him; and it was that gesture that slowly restored Rikyū’s reputation among his contemporaries -- though some, like Imai Sōkyū never quite forgave him.

†It seems that Rikyū removed his Sakai household to Mozuno (originally an area of marshy ground outside the walls that surrounded Sakai, the reclamation of which had been subsidized by Rikyū: the incorporation of this parcel increased the land available within the walled and moated city-state significantly) sometime during 1589.

Between 1582 or 1583 (when Rikyū entered Hideyoshi’s household) and the move to Mozuno, Sōkei seems to have acted as Rikyū’s unofficial steward (during the long periods when his duties forced him to be absent from Sakai) -- (importantly) sending Rikyū various utensils and other things from his treasure-house upon his request, access to which would have been off-limits even to the household staff. This, as much as anything, shows the level of trust that Rikyū reposed in Sōkei, since it involved handing over the keys to his treasure-house to the monk. (Usually it was a man’s wife who was charged with the responsibility for managing the finances of the household, and undertaking tasks such as this, and it is this and the related passages in the Nampō Roku that have lead scholars to conclude that she died sometime before 1582 -- which is not to say that Shōan's mother Sō-on was anything more, to Rikyū, than Hideyoshi’s appointed manager for the residence in Kyōto, and Hideyoshi’s in-house spy.)

However, on account of his age (though Sōkei’s age is not known, he appears to have been at least several years older than Rikyū, and possibly as much as a decade), and the fact that his residence was the Shū-un-an, where he was obligated to sleep (the Shū-un-an was a 15 minute walk, at most, from the site of Rikyū’s Ima-ichi property; but it was on the opposite side of the city-state from Mozuno, which was located between Sakai proper and Ōsaka), Sōkei was forced to resign this office following the move. It appears that between then and the autumn of 1590 (when Rikyū’s month-long house-arrest signaled to the world that relations between Rikyū and Hideyoshi were deteriorating rapidly), Sōkei rarely heard from Rikyū (who was, quite naturally, increasingly busy managing Hideyoshi’s private business in the run up to the siege of Odawara). Thus, the sudden appearance of a messenger, bearing a letter and gifts, seems to have disquieted Sōkei -- while also leading him to understand the annihilation of Rikyū and his house that was in the offing.

‡Usually by bathing, and then donning a white “death kimono.”

Whether Rikyū went through the motions of cutting open his belly, or simply bent over and stuck out his neck (so it could be severed by the swordsman second provided by Hideyoshi), is debated by scholars (though the consensus seems to support the later interpretation of the death scene).

²⁰Ka no tayori ni mo, cha no ichi-dō kono-bō ni nokorazu tsutae oki-sōrō hoka ta-ji nashi　[カノ消息ニモ、茶ノ一道コノ坊ニ不殘傳ヘ置候外他事ナシ].

Tayori [消息]* means a missive, letter, correspondence. Ka no tayori ni mo [かの消息にも], then, would mean “also in that letter....” This is generally understood to be a reference to Rikyū's letter (mentioned at the beginning of this entry) -- some speculate that the reference is to a part of the text that has not been quoted here.

Ichi-dō [一道]: in Buddhist thought, this would refer to the only path to salvation; but here it is probably being used in the usual Edo period way to mean the whole of an art, the entire canon of the discipline’s teachings.

Cha no ichi-dō kono-bō ni nokorazu tsutae oki-sōrō [茶の一道この坊に殘らず傳え置き候う] means “with respect to this Way of Tea, to this monk, without any omissions, everything was transmitted.”

Hoka ta-ji nashi [外他事なし] means there was nothing else (left to teach).

In other words, Sōkei is saying that to him was transmitted everything that Rikyū had to teach; and that no detail had been omitted or hidden from him†. This, at least in part, had been the purpose of Rikyū’s letter.

This final passage is the most suspect part of the entry. Perhaps it was inserted to establish the authority of the teachings showcased in the Nampō Roku? Or to turn the tea public away from the Sen family? __________ *Today this kanji compound is more commonly pronounced shōsoku [消息], and used to mean things like news, information. Historically, however, it appears that the meaning of missive, letter, was more common.

†One way this has been read is that, in his letter, written during his period of house arrest as visions of his own end began to darken his life, Rikyū decided to set down the whole body of his understanding of chanoyu, and sent this collection of teachings off to Sōkei -- and it is to this that Sōkei is now making reference. This, in other words, would have made Nambō Sōkei the ultimate authority on the authentic version of Rikyū’s teachings.

If we carefully study Rikyū’s densho (indeed, if we just focus on the Nambō-ate no densho [南坊宛の傳書]), we can get an idea of what this written version of his teachings may have looked like. But, in so far as Nambō Sōkei is concerned, since Rikyū had already done that in 1574 (which is when the Nambō-ate no densho was written) -- with additions circa 1582~3 (the Tsuri-dana no densho [釣棚の傳書]), and 1586 (the Shin-no-dai-temmoku, onaji daisu no densho [眞の臺天目、同臺子の事の傳書] -- which discusses the gokushin temae) -- there was really nothing left for Rikyū to write to Sōkei at this point in time. Perhaps the author of this entry (whether it was Jitsuzan, or someone else) had heard about, or even caught a glimpse of, the densho dedicated to Sōkei (the text of the 1574 Nambō-ate no densho, had been included -- as Book One, Two, Three and part of Book Four, in the Rikyū chanoyu sho, so Jitsuzan would probably have recognized the 1574 densho when he saw it), and used this way to explain the existence of this densho in Sōkei’s wooden chest?

²¹Kodomo mo imada mijuku nareba, sue-zue no koto wo botsuka-nashi　[子共モイマダ未熟ナレバ、末〻ノコトヲボツカナシ].

Kodomo mo imada mijuku nareba [子共も今だ未熟なれば]: kodomo [子共] (which means child) seems to be referring to the students of chanoyu (in general); mo imada mijuku nareba [も今だ未熟なれば] if (the child) is still immature. In other words, Sōkei appears to be doubting (or, perhaps, deprecating) his contemporaries’ knowledge and understanding (albeit in a manner more appropriately dated to the Edo period than to his own time)*.

Sue-zue no koto [末々のこと] means what will happen in the end, what will happen in the distant future; it could also refer specificially to the behavior of future generations of chajin.

Botsu ka nashi [没かなし] implies doubt over what will happen (in the future)†.

In other words, because the person or people who will be responsible for passing on these teaching to future generations is/are still “immature‡,” it is uncertain how chanoyu will fare in the distant future.

Here Shibayama’s version changes the final phrase: kodomo mo imada mijuku nareba, sue-zue no koto obotsuka-nashi [子共モイマダ未熟ナレバ、末〻ノコト無覺束]

Sue-zue no koto obotsuka-nashi [末々のこと覺束なし] means (I) don't know what will happen in the distant future; or, (the prospects for) the distant future are almost hopeless**.

By increasing the negativity, this version makes the future prospects of chanoyu even more doubtful.. __________ *Some commentators, however, take this to specifically mean Nambō Sōkei’s children. Or -- since there is no indication that he was ever married or had fathered children elsewhere -- as a figurative reference to his disciples.

Unfortunately, there is no evidence that Sōkei taught any students, either. Indeed, this was his big sin: after spending a lifetime collecting the teachings of Jōō and Rikyū, rather than passing them on to his contemporaries, he hoarded them, locked them into a wooden chest leaving them to molder rather than spread out in the world.

Perhaps, in some small way, this blog has sought to rectify Sōkei’s failings.

†More literally, “will it fail (botsu ka [没か]), or not (nashi [なし]).”

Botsu also means to disappear or die out.

‡Mijuku [未熟], as it is being used here, means immature in the sense of not well trained, or have not fully mastered the practice of chanoyu. The idea, however, is more applicable to the system of study that prevailed in the Edo period, than to what was the norm in Rikyū’s and Sōkei’s day.

This can be understood by comparing the Nambō-ate no densho to any modern chanoyu textbook. In Rikyū’s day, the general format of a temae was established, with each person free to fill in the details in accordance with his own personality (it should be remembered that Rikyū espoused the idea that a person should employ only one basic temae, whether he was using a common chaire or chawan or doing bon-date or the dai-temmoku-temae, though with minor accommodations made accordingly) -- and the Nambō-ate no densho explains these basic formats in all the usual settings. In the modern temae, of course, every tiny detail is fixed and immutable -- nothing should be decided by the individual who is performing the temae.

**About this word obotsuka-nashi [無覺束 = 覺束なし], Shibayama writes:

obotsuka-nai ha zoku-go nari, kokoro moto-nashi, tashika nari to omowarenu no inari, sunawachi fu-an to iu inari

[無覺束ハ俗語ナリ、心モトナシ、タシカナリト思ハレヌノ意ナリ、即チ不安ト云フ意ナリ].

This means obotsuka-nai is a slang term; it means something that doesn’t make you feel confident. In other words, it means to be anxious (about the distant future).

²²Kokorozashi-aru-mono mo dekaseba, shin-dō ni iru-mono araba, Shū-un-an ni shugyō-seyo to mōshi-oki nari　[志アル者モ出來セバ、眞道ニ入ル者アラバ、集雲菴ニ修行セヨト申置也].

Kokorozashi-aru-mono [志ある者] means a man of resolve; someone who is fully motivated to do something. Kokorozashi-aru-mono mo dekaseba [志ある者も出来せば] means “if someone possibly has the necessary resolve (to master chanoyu)....”

Shin-dō ni iru-mono araba [眞道に入る者あらば] means “(or,) if there is anyone who wishes to enter the True Way (of chanoyu)....”

Shū-un-an ni shugyō-seyo to mōshi-oki nari [集雲庵に修行せよ、と申し置きなり] means “then he may pursue his training at the Shū-un-an -- with all humility, this is what I would like to say.”

This seems completely out of character for Nambō Sōkei, who is not known to have had any disciples -- and whom, we must not forget, locked this and the rest of his papers in his wooden chest immediately after this would have been written, and then went off to put an end to himself in the mountains.

Or perhaps he was extending this invitation to anyone who was interested in making use of the Shū-un-an for such purposes (since it will shortly be without a resident monk). Though, again, soon after writing this it was locked away, therefore nobody would see it -- perhaps ever. Things put into a chest that was subsequently locked were not intended to be examined by other people later, even if the original owner of the chest was dead. So the invitation seems to be rather insincere -- assuming, of course, that Sōkei really wrote it.

Furthermore, the Shū-un-an was not really Sōkei’s personal property. So, if the current resident died without having agreed to pass it on to another monk (as had been the case when Giō* passed it on to Nambō Sōkei shortly before Giō’s own death in 1522), the property would revert to the control of the Nanshū-ji (as it did in this case). The temple did not assign another monk to live there, however, once it became known that Sōkei had deliberately brought about his own death (by walking into the mountains at night, and then apparently stepping off the edge of a cliff).

Shibayama Fugen’s toku-shu shahon shortens this sentence (by removing the second phrase) to kokorozashi-aru-mono dekaseba, Shū-un-an ni shugyō seyo [志アル者モ出來セバ、集雲菴ニ修行セヨ].

Which means “if there is someone with the necessary resolve, pursue your training in the Shū-un-an.” Which reads rather like a want-ad. __________ *Giō Jōtei [岐翁紹禎, 1428? ~ 1522?], the illegitimate son of the great Ikkyū Sōjun [一休宗純; 1394 ~ 1481]. He built the Shū-un-an, between the main gate of the Nan-shū-ji and its outer gate, and gave the hermitage its name.

²³Kyū ga naki-yo ni mo higa-koto ha aru-majiki yoshi kure-gure hi-goro mōshi-oki nari　[休ガナキ世ニモヒガコトハ有間敷由吳〻日頃申置也].

This sentence is found only in Shibayama Fugen’s toku-shu shahon version of the text.

Kyū ga naki-yo ni mo [休が無き世にも] means “as Rikyū is in the world of the dead....”

Higa-koto ha aru-majiki yoshi [僻事は有るまじき由] means “this is why mistakes are unsuitable.” That is, we must be especially diligent, so we not fall into error.

Kure-gure hi-goro mōshi-oki nari [呉々日頃申し置きなり] means “over and over again (I) always say this (to you).”

Nambō Sōkei laments Rikyū’s loss, because this means that he is no longer here to correct our mistakes* and misapprehensions; and he is always reminding the others -- the readers of this entry -- of this. Because Rikyū is no longer here, we must be especially diligent in our studies, to understand fully what we are to do, how we are to do it -- and why it should be done that way. And then we must diligently police our own doings, constantly, so that we will not inadvertently commit a mistake -- and neither allow ourselves to be distracted or influenced by the doings of others into falling into something that is a mistake according to Rikyū’s orthodox teachings. __________ *These mistakes are not things like turning the dai-temmoku in the wrong direction, or forgetting to open the mizusashi at the proper time.

Higa-koto [僻事] implies some kind of misunderstanding at a very fundamental level (so its most common use seems to be in cases relating to morality). In chanoyu, it would be something like an ignorance of, or a fundimental misunderstanding of, the teachings of kane-wari, or how it should be applied to the utensils that one is planning on using. If one is ignorant of these things, then an accidentally successful arrangement will be as wrong as an unsuccessful one -- because one has no idea whatsoever what one is doing. And when the error occurs in the teacher’s practice, the ignorance can rapidly spread throughout the world like a disease.

An example: a certain school has been behind the publishing of the vast majority of full-color books that contain beautiful photographs of arrangements (though often the publishing houses appear to have no connection with that school at all). Now while the photos illustrate that school’s particular approach (without ever saying so), the arrangements that they show are often contrary to the classical teachings (and so the teachings preserved in some of the other schools). Yet the photos are so seductive that even fairly high-ranking teachers from those other schools begin to question what they were taught, because in the photos we clearly see something that is undoubtedly correct (because it has been made available in this way without comment -- which implies that this is the usual, general way that things are done, rather than something peculiar to one specific school). So the teachers from the other schools begin to change the way they do things, in order to match the photos -- and then go off and belittle those small schools that refuse to be influenced as country bumpkins who just don’t know what is going on.

²⁴Sono kokoro-e-subeki yoshi wo kure-gure kakare-shi nari　[其心得スベキ由ヲクレ〰ト被書シ也].

Sono kokoro-e-subeki yoshi [その心得すべき由] means this is the reason why you should (endeavor to) understand this.

Kure-gure to kakare-shi nari [呉々と書かれしなり] means this is why it is written down again and again and again.

This final block of comments are not the contents of a letter that Sōkei sent back to Rikyū along with his two gifts (as some scholars seem to understand them), but appear to be addressed directly to the reader himself.

==============================================

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nugnthopkns · 3 years ago

Text

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. ��Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You’re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @ricohenrique @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

#i don't love this but here it is!!!#one day i'll like the stories i write #kevin hayes imagine #kevin hayes x reader #kevin hayes fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #sour

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pedros-mustache · 4 years ago

Text

loquacious

summary: you’re not normally this expressive.

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ or i will fight you): protected sex (not specifically mentioned), kinda sorta cockwarming, dirty talk, .2 seconds of cumplay, breeding kink if you squint. also: language, x fem!reader.

a/n: there is no plot, but i very much enjoyed writing this prior to my three hour thesis presentation tomorrow. v much would enjoy smoft sex with ezra. also: sorry mom

it’s simple, unrushed this time.

so often you find your lovemaking with ezra to be born out of frenzy, a need to expel pent up energy after a grueling scavenge. it is rough and dirty and, yes, thoroughly enjoyable, but decidedly unromantic. though there are moments in which he gazes at you with pure adoration amidst the throes of pleasure, that adoration is quickly replaced by a cavernous sort of lust that never seems to dissipate until you are both spent and sated.

this evening, though—this evening, tucked away in your rented room, you are away from danger, away from deadlines, away from everything but the warmth of one another.

and ezra is taking his time.

he sits on the edge of the bed (a bonafide mattress with a luxurious comforter and two pillows!), his feet planted firmly on the floor. you sit on his lap, his length firmly sheathed in your tight core, your arms around his neck, face bent in the crook of his neck as you move slowly against him. your own legs squeeze tight around his hips, drawing him ever closer.

it’s a reprieve, this moment. a reprieve from thirty cycles on an inhospitable moon with other prospectors on your tail and too few resources to go around. you’d gotten the job done, though, and the buyer paid handsomely for all your trouble.

now, ezra fulfills his softly spoken promise of eighteen cycles ago. he’d promised you rest, a break from the hard work and a moment to catch you breath before moving on to the next job. noxxo seven isn’t the warm, sun-drenched planet you’d hoped for, but it’ll do the trick. so long as you’re with ezra, any place is just fine by you.

the room he’s bought for the next few nights is unique. it feels more like a replica of a pod than a traditional room. oval in shape, complete with white walls and thin carpet, the layout reminds you somewhat of an egg. soft blue lights emanating from the baseboards do little to counteract the gray permeating every corner of the room. noxxo seven’s atmosphere—a thick, heavy cloud of fog—is inescapable, and any sunlight attempting to shine through the veil merely bathes your room in a colorless soft of haze. trees smack against the singular window, pushed by the rushing wind. there’s a storm somewhere outside; you can hear rain pelt the roof of the building.

everything—the fog, the rain, the dim lighting—pushes you closer to ezra.

neither of you rush to find release. tonight is about the journey. it’s about savoring the feel of ezra in his naked humanity and him exalting in your divine aura. (his words, not yours.)

ezra’s hips barely rut beneath yours. his arms are wrapped tight around your back, his mouth drawing wet paths from your lips to your neck to yours breasts and back again. he can’t be bothered to move faster, to truly thrust in and out, and you really don’t care. the stretch of him is enough for now.

you sigh, tilting your head away from his neck when his mouth finds your nipple. raking your fingernails through his hair, you smile when he mumbles something against your sweat-slick skin.

“always talking,” you whisper. you swivel your hips lightly, and he grunts in approval, pulling away.

he catches your eye, and you still, trapped in the warmth of his gaze. “i would never be able to exhaust all the writing utensils in the universe were someone to task me with recounting all the ways i adore you, little bird.”

you lift a hand and cradle his chin between your thumb and forefinger, leaning in for a kiss. his lips are soft, his mustache ticklish. you linger in the feel of his mouth on yours: the way he lets you set the pace, humming against your touch.

then he adjusts his feet on the floor—perhaps to get more purchase, perhaps because he’s lost feeling in his toes. whatever the reason, the movement drives his cock a little deeper, a little closer to that one particular spot, and you gasp, clenching around him.

ezra chuckles. “you like that?”

you nod, and he moves again, this time with purpose. one hand comes to grip your hip, the other splayed along the small of your back. he thrusts once, twice, three times. each time you mewl in pleasure. you drop your forehead to his shoulder as he slows once more.

“kevva, erza,” you breathe. you dig your nails in the muscle of his bicep.

he just snorts in amusement, thrusting upwards again. his pubic bone brushes your clit, and you keen, eyes rolling back in your head.

“shit. you’re so—” you press your lips together to stop yourself.

ezra’s fingers squeeze your hip. “what’s that, my love?” he bucks beneath you at an erratic pace, setting you on edge, uncertain of when or where the next pulse of his cock will strike. “do you have something you’d like to say with those precious lips of yours?”

before you can respond, he kisses you, his mouth a messy slant over yours. he pulls away, gasping for breath as he continuous the slow, torturous drag of his cock in and out, in and out.

your throat seizes, and you lift your head from his shoulder. your mouth falls open on a silent moan. “you just...” you gasp and shudder, shaking your head.

“what is it?” he prods, tone gentle. “tell me.”

he’s egging you on, you know. he can see the way the words sit on the tip of your tongue. he knows you well enough to sense the feelings mounting in the pit of your stomach that you shove down time after time.

talking—that’s his thing. he’s good at it. no matter the subject, the time, or the place, he can wax poetic. you, on the other hand, aren’t as eloquent. you cannot paint pictures with your words the way he can. you cannot make him crumble with just one phrase the way he does you. so you keep quiet—especially during sex. you cannot compare to him, so you don’t try.

“tell me, bird,” he whispers. he presses his palm to the side of your face. “let me hear you.”

and with one emphatic thrust, he unlocks the floodgates.

gripping his shoulders, you toss your head back with a wanton moan. “fuck, ezra. you’re so big.”

his hips stutter. he groans, his own forehead dropping to your clavicle. still, he continues pushing in and dragging out. you lift your own hips to help the movement. the evidence of your desire—your love for him—pools at the base of your joined bodies, and you whimper at the sight.

“you fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” you wind your arms tight around his back as you grind against him. “every time you fill me, i think i might burst.”

he growls, pushes a little harder, a little deeper.

“just like that, baby,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from speaking it all, telling him every thought that floats through your lust-clouded mind. “you’re good with your fingers and even better with your tongue, but fucking fuck—i want you all the time. like this, any way, i don’t care. i just love the feel of you and—” you whimper again. “touch me, ezra. ‘m close.”

ezra remains silent as he removes the hand from your back to press his thumb against your clit. he rubs the nub in sweet, gentle circles, and tears spring to your eyes.

“oh shit, that feels so good.”

if it is at all possible, you press yourself tighter against him as you clamor for your release. your hips move wildly against his, his fingers now rough against your clit. he huffs in your ear, and the sound drives you mad.

you can feel it rising like the tide in your stomach: the clench, the fluttering, the ultimate burst of pleasure.

in an instant, you clamp down, crying out against his shoulder as you come. ezra just keeps going, leading you through your high until you begin to settle.

then he moves.

in one fluid motion, he has you pinned to the mattress, one leg flung over his shoulder. sweat drips from his forehead as he drives into you, deeper still at this new angle. the sound of skin against skin brings a flush of heat to your cheeks, and you grip his arms for support.

you lift a hand to smooth back the little patch of blond hair clinging to his forehead. “fuck me so good, baby,” you mumble, the outline of another orgasm slurring your words.

he comes without warning, a guttural groan tearing through his throat as he releases inside of you. the feeling is enough to send you over the edge once more.

for a moment, as you both regain your breath, he lays his head against your chest. you hold him, your eyes fluttering shut as you swallow past your dry throat.

“i can hear your heart beat like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings.”

you startle at the sound of his voice. it’s been—what?—quite some time since you last heard him speak. a new record.

you don’t say anything, and he pulls out, moving to sit on his knees. he grunts at the sight of your mingled juices spilling from your core. with two long fingers, he scoops what he can from the bed and slips it within you.

you laugh and wiggle against the feel of his fingers. “what do you think you’re doing?”

he looks up through his lashes. “merely putting my seed where it belongs.”

satisfied, he goes to the fresher and returns with a damp cloth, wiping you down. he smirks and lifts an eyebrow as he works, his touch languid and unhurried. “you are quite loquacious when you want to be.”

“you are quite tight-lipped when you want to be.”

“i must admit your words stunned me to silence, which is a rare occurrence, as you well know.” he pauses his ministrations, meets your eyes. “but i would go to the pits of hell and back to hear you speak like that again. i would let my tongue be cut from my mouth if it meant—”

rising, you shut him up with your mouth on his. you kiss him until your lungs scream for air. you pull back, your hand pressed to his knee. “i’d be upset if you lost your tongue. it’s one of your greatest assets.”

“so i’ve been told.” he squeezes the curve of your ass, and a line of concern appears between his brows. “you must use your words, dear one. i long to know every thought that crosses your mind, especially when i am sheathed inside of you.”

you run your hand along his chest. “even if i’m not as... pretty as you are?”

he shakes his head. “i have never seen someone so illustrious.”

“i mean with my words.”

“your words are like honey, each one a magnificent drop in its own right, but electrifyingly sweet when swirled together.”

laughing, you fall to your back against the comforter, reveling in the silky fabric against your bare skin. “ezra, you should be a poet.”

he lowers himself to your side and runs his fingertips along your stomach. “only if you remain my muse.”

you circle your fingers around his. “always.”

outside, the storm rages, but inside, you bask in the moment of peace. in a few day’s time, you will be back in the field, working once more for rich men willing to pay for your skill and effort. but for now—for now you lie nestled against your love, desire sated, unyielding affection coursing through your veins.

you snuggle closer to ezra, and he slips his arms around your waist, drawing you to his chest.

tomorrow’s worries can wait.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #x fem!reader #pm writes

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dragon-kazansky · 3 years ago

Text

Made with love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU! 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

Huge thank you to @rumblelibrary for helping me out with this chapter!

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 5

Wanda basically threw you out after breakfast. You were at Escorpión Morado bright and early. The restaurant wasn't open for another hour yet.

It was as if he had been waiting for you. The moment you reached the door, Zemo opened them and let you in. He was smiling at you instantly.

"Morning."

"Good morning."

You smile back and let him lock up again before he leads you into the back. He lets you put your things down and takes you into the kitchen.

There's no one about. Just the two of you.

Suddenly you're feeling rather nervous.

On the counter is everything you needed for today, but Zemo ignored all of that as he brought in some coffee for you. You smiled as he handed over the cup, his fingers brushing against yours. You tried not to let it show that the little touch had affected you.

He had done it on purpose, not that he would tell you that. He just wanted an excuse to touch you a little. Zemo's way of flirting was less obvious sometimes.

He smiles that charming smile at you.

"I'm glad you agreed to help," he says, smile not once faltering.

"You're hard to say no to."

He likes that answer. He chuckles and sips his coffee.

"What are we making?"

"Paella! A proper paella."

"A proper paella?"

"A good paella takes a couple hours to make. I have everything I need, we just have to make it. I'm going to teach you how to cook like a chef," he winks at you.

"When is he coming?"

"This afternoon. That's why I asked you here so early."

"I don't mind. I'm happy to help, though I'm not sure how helpful I'll actually be," you offer and awkward smile. You feel out of place in his kitchen.

His kitchen. This was his domain. Helmut knew it inside and out. He knew every corner. He knew where every utensil lived, every pot and pan, every herb and spice. This was his kingdom and he had let you in.

It felt like an honour to be here.

"Should we start?" You ask, looking at the items he had set out. You felt rather intimidated.

Zemo glances up at the clock.

"Not yet. We have time."

"Alright, I trust you," you smile softly.

"Good. I have one condition while you're in my kitchen."

"What is it?" You felt even more nervous now.

"You have to call me chef. It's the only name I have in here," he grins, mischievously.

Your face felt warm.

"Yes, chef," you say, almost shyly.

"That's more like it," he says, sipping more of the delicious coffee he had made.

You had no idea how you were going to survive in here. With the constant concentration you would be putting in, to the way he looked at you, and now calling him chef, you're not sure your heart could handle it all. It felt as if there was a spell over you and you couldn't break it.

When you had both finished your coffee, he took the cups and put them to the side. He disappeared for a moment, only to return with aprons in hand. He smiles as be holds one out to you. You take it and put it on.

"Are you ready to make something so delicious, you'll never want to eat anything else again?" He asks, chuckling.

"That's quite the statement, chef."

For now he will pretend you actually calling him that wasn't sending his heart soaring and his mind racing. Instead he will act as normally as he can as he spends these next few hours with you.

"It's the truth. Until you have tried a real paella, you haven't experienced anything," he winks at you.

Helmut preps the paella pan.

"I've prepped everything, we just have to cook it."

"I've never cooked paella before," you tell him, looking at him in worry.

"Don't panic, I'm right here. I'll guide you."

That smile he gives you reassures you. You're in good hands.

He pours in the olive oil and sprinkles salt in a circle around the edge of the pan. He's smiling as he does it. You should be watching his cooking, but your eyes are drawn to his face instead. You could look at him for hours.

He knows you're looking. He can feel your eyes on him. He turns his head slightly, eyes flicking to you. His smile becomes a smirk as he meets your gaze.

You become flustered.

"The chicken and rabbit, if you would," he nods over to where meat was waiting.

You hand them over. He pops them into the pan with a flourish and looks at you with a little grin.

"We're going to brown the meat, so in the meantime, tell me what you and your friend have been up to."

"She took me bowling yesterday. She used to go with her brother."

"Ah yes, I know where she took you. I've never actually been."

"No?"

"No. I have spent a majority of my life in a kitchen," he chuckles. The sound makes you smile.

"I can believe that. Have you always wanted to be a chef?"

"Yes. Ever since I was a boy. I take pride in what I do. If it's not perfect, it doesn't get served, and nothing I have ever made has never not been perfect."

You smile as he grins at you. Those are easy words to believe.

"I wish I could cook like you."

"You could if you learnt how."

"I never seem to have the time to learn," you say, softly. He glances at you, seeing a longing look in your eyes as you look at the meat in the pan.

"Would you like a go at turning them? They need to be brown on both sides."

"Uh, sure."

"Don't worry, I'll be right here."

You take over from him. Zemo stands so close next to you, eyes on the food as you turn the meat over. You're so very aware of how close he is to you. You're doing everything you can to keep focused on the cooking.

After 20 minutes pass by, he takes over again. He pushes all the meat the sides of the pan and nods over to the green beans he had prepped earlier.

"Could you pass me those, please?"

You nod and hand them over. He puts them into it the centre of the pan, right in the middle of the ring of chicken and rabbit.

He sautès them.

"I could teach you to cook. Honestly. It would be my pleasure to be your teacher."

"That's a nice offer, but I'm here with Wanda. I should spend as much time as possible with her."

"Except, you're here now," he smirks.

"Well, yeah... you asked me here."

"And I'm asking you again."

"I'll have to go back home at some point. How much could you teach me in just a few days?"

He looks you in the eye.

"A lot, but what if you didn't go home. What if you stayed here. You could find a home in Sokovia, I could see you every day."

You look away with a chuckle.

"I would say you're crazy."

"Somebody has to be. Without crazy people, nothing would get done. If you go home, I'll be left here missing you."

"You would miss me?"

"Of course I would. You're special."

He says this without looking at you, concentrating on the cooking, but you knew he meant it. It was the way he said it.

Helmut adds garlic and then butter beans.

"This already looks so good," you say, smiling at the both the look and scent of the food.

"Wait until it's finished."

It feels a shame to know this was for Tony Stark. You would love nothing more than to dig in to this paella yourself.

"Would you like the honours of adding the paprika?"

You nod and add it to his instructions. You add the crushed tomatoes and watch as he mixes everything together.

Now he adds the water. Being the professional he is, he knows exactly the ratio to add. He has very obviously done this many times before. You're almost mesmerized by him.

He lets it simmer.

"If you did move here, you wouldn't have to worry about a job. You would be very welcome in my restaurant."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" You look at him.

"Sí."

You smile softly.

"I can't just up and leave everything."

"Do you have someone waiting for you back home?" He asks, avoiding looking at you. It would make sense to him that you would have. He should have checked before hand, because now he feels a fool.

"No."

Nevermind. He's over the moon.

"Then why are you hesitating?"

"Because I don't know what I would do here. You're offering me a job, you're asking me to move out here. You don't even really know me. I'm just someone you met last year while on my holiday."

"I know enough about you to know you're special and magnificent. I know enough to like you. I would hate to say goodbye not knowing when or if you would return."

"I've really made an impact on you, haven't I?"

"Sí," he grins at you again.

"Since you're being so honest with me, then I suppose it's only fair I'm honest with you."

"Please."

"You have also made an impact on me. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met. I'm in love with your food, your restaurant. I admire everything you have done to keep your father's business alive. I love your country and want nothing more than to stay."

"So stay."

"I... I don't think I can."

He looks back at the food, lowering the heat to let it simmer some more. He thought he was so close to having you, but perhaps it's just not meant to be.

"Can't blame a man for trying."

You hate the way he sounded so defeated. It didn't suit him at all.

"Helmut..."

"Ah ah, what did I say?" He looks at you, turning that confidence back on.

"Chef, right."

"Yes. I only have one name in my kitchen, remember it."

Helmut adds the rice to perfection. He puts down the wooden spoon, that he had used to mix everything, and stands over it. Now it's all about the heat.

Zemo glances at you. You're looking at the pan. He uses your distraction as a moment to admire you.

You're so beautiful. So stunning.

He wants you to stay so badly. It's so very selfish of him, but he wants it. He's not prepared to let you go, not when he wants to see you every single day, speak to you every single day, teach you, work with you, be around you every single day.

You're something so special and this chef is so worried he will lose you.

You're looking at him. He turns his head quickly to adjust the heat.

He knows the exact moment it's done.

"This is a paella," he says, smiling down at the finished project. You smile at it. It smells wonderful.

Before you can day anything, Sam enters the kitchen.

"It's almost time."

Looking up at the clock, you hadn't noticed how much time had passed. Helmut had cute a lot of the time off by preparing the ingredients before hand, but cooking the paella took up quite a bit of time.

"You make sure the table is perfect, Sam. We will bring out the rest momentarily."

Sam nods and heads back out front. You removes your apron, placing it next to Helmut's on the counter and watch as he sorts himself out.

"How do I look?" He asks, looking at you.

"Handsome as always, chef."

He grins, winking at you. He swipes at your cheek quickly, brushing away something you couldn't see. He won't tell you there wasn't anything there, he just wanted an excuse to touch you in some way.

"Shall we?"

"You want me to come with you?" You ask, shocked me would even want you there.

"Of course. We did this together, we should see it through together."

You smile.

Helmut holds out his hand. You take it. It's bigger than yours, warm too. He leads you out front.

Tony Stark enters the building with another man. They both look around the place. You both stop to greet them near the entrance. Zemo doesn't let go of your hand as he smiles at the two men.

"Welcome to Escorpión Morado. I am Helmut Zemo, the owner and the chef," he smiles as introduces himself.

"We've met, but this Stephen Strange. He's investing in my restaurant. Who is this?" Stark turns to you.

Zemo let's go of your hand in favour of placing it on your back as he smiles at you.

"This is Y/N, a dear friend of mine who has helped me prepare your meal for the day."

Tony looks you up and down.

"This way, if you would." Sam guides the two men to the table that been set up specifically for them. With a nod from Sam, Zemo goes back into the kitchen to fetch the paella. Sam serves them drinks.

You stand there, looking between them both.

Both men a wearing expensive looking suits, and they smell expensive too. It seems strange to you that these two men are opening a restaurant. They didn't come off as the foodie types... more businessmen.

Sure, owning a restaurant is half business, but it should also be full of passion, love and life. It's more than just business.

"Does he pay you well?"

"I'm sorry?" You look at Stark.

"Does he pay well?"

"I, uh... I don't work for him. I'm just helping him today."

"Do you cook?"

"Not on this scale."

"At least you're good looking," he sighs, looking at you over the frame of his shades.

Sam clears his throat, looking at you. You find yourself moving to stand next to him. He smiles softly at you, so you smile back, silently thanking him.

Helmut returns.

Stark and Strange watch as places the paella pan on the table and stands back.

"What's this?"

You frown. How could he not recognise such an iconic dish. Even if you hadn't been travelling around Europe last year, you would know how to recognise a paella.

"Paella. A real paella. Dig in."

"From the pan?"

"No other way to eat it. This is traditionally how paella is eaten. You'll enjoy it."

Stark and Strange look at each other.

They dig in.

"Make sure to get some of the socarrat from the bottom. It's delicious!"

You smile at the way he encourages them, but neither man looks impressed.

Helmut stands with you and Sam as the two gentleman eat.

The seconds tick by incredibly slowly. The two men look at one another as they eat. There's a silent conversation taking place, you can feel Zemo becoming nervous the longer it goes on. You reach out and brush your hand with his. He looks down at your hands, taking yours in his softly.

You offer him a smile.

Both men stand from the table, you both turn to look at them, burrowing your brow at them. They dab at their mouths with their fancy handkerchiefs and turn to you.

"Well, that's something anyway. Good to know we don't have much competition around here. Thank you for your time, we shall be on our way now."

Stark drops an envelope on the table.

You can feel Zemo's hand grip yours a bit tighter now. He's angry.

Both men make their leave without saying anything more. Once they cross the threshold, Zemo storms off into the kitchen without a word.

"Helmut!"

He doesn't look back.

Glancing at Sam, he nods at you. You hurry after Zemo, but stop when you reach the door. Crashing sounds come from within. An angry yell. Things clattering to the floor.

You push open the door quickly.

Helmut pushes everything off the countertops, throwing dishes at the wall. He grips his hair with one hand, messing up the neat style it had previously been resting in.

"Mierda!"

You would find his Spanish endearing if not for the word itself, or the fact he was beyond angry.

Tony Stark had insulted him in the worst way possible.

"Helmut..."

He stops, back turned to you. He runs a hand down his face, using the other one to hold his weight as he leans against the nearest counter.

"He's wrong. You are competition. No food compares to what you make, and I'm not just saying that. He will never be able to make anything that compares to anything you make. Do you know how I know? Because you make your food with love. You enjoy every dish you put out. You make your own food in your own restaurant."

He doesn't say anything, just listens.

"Tony Stark has nothing compared to Helmut Zemo, and soon he will see that."

Zemo turns around slowly. He looks at you. All rage melts from his eyes when they land on you. He sighs softly.

"Thank you."

You smile.

He doesn't smile back, but you know he is truly grateful.

Sam enters the kitchen, the envelope from before now open in his hand. You look at him, taking in the expression on his face.

"I think you'll want to read this."

"What is it?" Helmut asks.

"An invitation."

You share a look with Zemo. Suddenly a cold sweat runs down your back. Dread fills every bone in your body.

Helmut steps forward and takes it from Sam.

You wait as he silently reads it.

He looks up at you.

"We're invited to dinner."

@namethathasnotbeentaken @belle82devart @cathrin2405 @lieutenantn @wilder-fangirl @latenightartist-author @lucky-luck-lucky @hb8301 @charistory @thatoneartgalsstuff @thesuitkovian @malkaviangirl @zemosimp420 @realremyd @the-chaotic-cow @lostghostgirl94 @zafiro-draco @lazygurl05 @pinkcutiepiee @goddessofmischief03 @whovianayesha @myybebe @awesomesauce-abbie @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @zemo-is-my-muse @nonamec0s @apparrio @scuttle-buttle @alex-the-nb @my-blood-is-maple-syrup

#helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #marvel #au #chef zemo au

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ahkaahshi · 4 years ago

Text

so good to me [akaashi keiji x reader]

pairing: akaashi keiji x fem reader

genre: smut (18+) with a hint of fluff

warning(s): explicit sexual content, quirofilia, breath play, light dumbification, swearing, fingering, dirty talk

word count: 3.2k

overview: baking cupcakes ends up being a bit more challenging than you’d originally anticipated when you keep finding yourself distracted by your handsome boyfriend’s pretty hands.

It’s almost poetic, you think: the way your boyfriend’s fingers dance along his laptop’s keyboard. Even though he’s sending a rather heated email to a coworker who’s fallen short on his work, you can’t help but find yourself mesmerized at the sight of his long, slender digits tapping away rhythmically, only pausing every now and then to find just the right word to use to purvey his displeasure in an appropriate manner. In fact, you’re so entranced by watching the tendons in his hands shift with each movement of his fingers that you don’t even realize you’ve neglected your ingredient measuring duties until his voice interrupts you.

“Sorry, do you need the recipe again?” he asks, drawing your (e/c) gaze to his slate blue one that glows behind the screen’s reflection on his glasses.

Quickly, you shake your head and brush a strand of (h/c) hair away from your face. “We can start when you’re done. It’s okay.” The small smile that graces your features has him leaning down to peck your temple gently.

“I’ll be done in a minute.”

Pleasant tingles travel down your back at feeling his lips brush against your skin as they form the gentle reassurance he speaks. To busy yourself in a productive manner while he finishes up his email, you wander around the kitchen to fetch any bakeware you see missing from the island’s wooden countertop—including a muffin pan. A glance at the time displayed in sharp, blue lines on the stove reminds you just how much earlier in the day you should’ve started baking treats for the small gathering of former Fukuroudani team members you’d offered to host. Akaashi seems to sense your concern, since he hurries to finish his message before opening the tab with the recipe you intend to follow and washing his hands.

As the two of you set to combining and mixing ingredients according to the cupcake recipe on his screen, you find it challenging to keep your daydreams at bay and your attention on your own tasks. Each time his hands dart into your workspace for another utensil, your gaze follows them and your mind floods with thoughts that quickly become less than innocent.

Every glide of his fingers along his laptop’s trackpad makes you wish they were tracing along every inch of your body instead, setting your skin ablaze with his touch. Each time they wrap around the base of the stand mixer he’s using to agitate a bowl of creamy contents, you feel your throat tighten in anticipation as your mind conjures hazy memories of his gentle pressure around your neck. His occasional—and almost curious—grazes of the veins beneath the fair skin on his arms remind you of each time you’d decorated them with small crescents as you clutched onto him while feverishly chanting his name. Watching him work is both delightful and maddening.

And it becomes even more of a challenge to slow your racing heart when you notice his fingers dip into the bowl of frosting he’s whipped up to collect some on his fingertips. Experimentally, he tastes his creation, the thoughtful expression on his features soon easing as he gives it an approving nod. Upon noticing that your full attention is on him, he gestures towards the bowl and offers, “Try some. See if you like it.”

Your heart flutters in your chest as you suggest, “Could you get some for me? My hands are all covered in flour.”

For the record, they’re not, and your observant boyfriend knows this, but entertains you anyway. It’s almost shameful, the way your mouth begins watering when his fingers drag through the fluffy, white topping to gather another dollop on the tips, but you can’t help yourself. Not when you know just how much sweeter the sample will taste when delivered to you by his digits rather than your own. He seems to understand at least a sliver of the thoughts racing through your mind, since he utters a gentle command that brings your thighs together beneath the cover of your apron.

“Open.”

Obediently, you let your jaw slacken so he can move his fingers between your soft lips to spread the sugary frosting across your tastebuds. His unwavering gaze narrows ever so slightly when you move your face closer to his knuckle, taking the entirety of his two fingers into your mouth and dragging your tongue along the smooth expanse of his skin. That quiet groan you can barely hear rumbling in his throat is both a warning and a challenge—letting you know that you’re playing with fire but also questioning just how badly you want to get burned. Solidifying your decision of wanting to play this teasing game with him, you suck on his fingers with enough pressure to create a loud pop when you remove them from your mouth by pulling away.

Judging by the low tone in his voice when he speaks, your intentions have been made crystal clear and he’s not going to let you get away with what you’ve done. “I should’ve known, huh?” You furrow your eyebrows in slight confusion at his words, but he elaborates, “With the way you’ve been watching me since before we even started baking. So simple-minded, sometimes, aren’t you, baby?” A gentle tap against your protruding lower lip brings your attention to the fact that you’re pouting, and you quickly take it between your teeth. “Can’t even do something as easy as following a recipe for cupcake batter because you’re too busy thinking about making a mess all over my fingers. Is that right?”

Your breath hitches in your throat when his palm moves to the side of your neck, just beneath your jawbone. “Keiji,” you whimper softly, feeling unbearably hot under his touch all of a sudden. His cool thumb tracing over your warm skin hardly provides any relief, and only intensifies the temperature of the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“Finish up,” he commands gently, placing his other hand on your hip to guide you back towards the bowl of ingredients you’ve yet to finish mixing. He grabs the hand mixer resting on the counter nearby that you’d taken out earlier before placing the device into the palm of your slightly quivering hand. At your hesitation, he urges, “Go on. I would hate to have to tell everyone that dessert wasn’t ready because my girlfriend was too distracted by wanting me to fuck her stupid on my fingers, of all things.”

Another pitiful whine escapes your mouth, but you turn the mixer on and place it in the bowl in front of you to complete the task you’d originally set yourself to. The sensation of his fingers ghosting along the exposed skin on your neck before making their way down to your hips and holding onto them firmly from where he stands behind you makes your core ache. His warmth against the entire backside of your body has you using every fiber of self-control to prevent yourself from abandoning your job and throwing your arms around him. However, you know that no matter how much you want him, he won’t feed into any of your desires until the contents of the bowl have been poured into the muffin pan and safely tucked away inside the warmth of the oven, so you diligently work on taking things one step at a time—since that’s all you can muster, anyway.

“Good girl,” he praises gently when you finish mixing, his breath falling on the shell of your ear, “You always work better when you’re told what to do, don’t you?” Silently, you nod. Both of you know that your intelligence is much higher than he’s currently giving you credit for, but you love the pleasure you reap from assuming the role of his dumb, little girlfriend in situations like this. Pretending as if you didn’t know better or couldn’t perform without being told what to do always gave you a bit of a thrill—which he knew all too well. He didn’t mind, since he had never been a stranger to assuming control.

“In the oven for twenty minutes. Be careful not to burn yourself, sweetheart.”

His gunmetal gaze follows your figure as you shuffle over to the oven to pull it open so you can slide the tray into its warmth. Once you’ve set it to bake for the appropriate time, you untie your apron and pull it off over your head before grabbing one of his hands and leading him towards the bedroom. However, his refusal to budge takes you by surprise, and you nearly stumble backwards when your movements are stopped.

“Keiji,” you huff, “the rest of our friends are gonna be here soon.”

In an instant that happens too quickly for you to be able to process anything, you’re being pulled towards him moments before you find your back pressed against one of the walls in the kitchen. Your (e/c) eyes are wide with shock but clouded by a thin veil of lust as you stare into his own, which you find are watching you as calmly as ever. “I know,” he states, “So why don’t we take care of things right here, then?” Though his words are phrased as a question, the intonation of his voice along with the way his hand is slowly sliding up your shirt reveal otherwise. He’s not asking.

The intensity of his gaze makes your heart pound erratically against your ribcage and draws you closer to him in spite of his strong presence keeping your back flush against the cool wall. After he brings his face down towards yours to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, it’s hard for you to keep track of everything that happens next. His fingers dancing along the expanse of bare skin from your waist to your lacy bralette beneath your shirt has you melting into his touch, and his passionate kisses are soon taking your breath away. His fingertips skimming over the dainty fabric separating them from your nipples makes you squirm and tighten your grasp around him.

“Come here,” he whispers, placing his arm around your back and guiding you into the center of the kitchen. Grabbing one of the chairs at the other side of the island, he drags it behind him so he can take a seat and beckon you to do the same. When you sit down on his lap facing him, he shakes his head and insists, “Turn around.”

With your back to him this time, you slide back onto the seat, perching between his legs. As his hands work their way up to your breasts, sliding underneath the lace so they can cup your soft, plush skin and roll your nipples between his fingers, you let out a soft moan and focus your gaze on the warm glow of the light inside the oven just a few feet away from where you’re sitting. In the faint reflection on the smooth surface of the glass, yours and Akaashi’s forms are barely visible, and you can’t help but watch as he slides one of his palms along your thighs, pausing to give them a firm squeeze every now and then.

“Please, Keiji,” you breathe, placing your hand over his and guiding it to the waistband of the lounge shorts you’re wearing, “want your fingers inside me.”

He hums, “I know you do, baby,” as he toys with the elastic before pushing it away from your hips and down your legs as far as he can reach. You hear a small chuckle bubble in his throat when you hastily rid yourself of the garment, leaving only one more layer between his long fingers and your aching core. “It’s all you’ve been thinking about. It’s all you can think about.”

You nod in agreement, desperate to do or say anything that’ll get him to move with just a bit more urgency to alleviate your discomfort. Heat spreads across your skin in a powerful wave when his other palm comes to rest on the base of your throat. His fingers slowly making their way up and around your neck, gently pulling you back against his chest while his other digits toy with the edge of your panties makes your pussy throb needily. Before you can beg for him another time, though, he’s dipping beneath the flimsy material to trail his fingertips from your already soaking entrance to your clit.

A loud moan of appreciation echoes from between your lips as Akaashi presses his to your jawline. “Take your panties off for me.” His command has your own fingers skittering down to your hips to shed the material as quickly as possible and you ignore the rush of cold air you feel between your legs at being fully exposed. The reflection in the oven’s window is too unclear for you to tell if he’s watching you the same way you’re watching yourself, but, in the bright lights of the kitchen, you can see your slick shining on his fingertips as he spreads it along your sex.

Your small whimpers and mewls begin steadily increasing in volume as he slides his index finger over your pearl in short, tantalizing strokes that leave you wanting more. And while he enjoys every sound that leaves your mouth, littering your skin with gentle kisses as encouragement, he tightens his grasp around your throat, restricting your airflow in the gentlest manner possible. It’s clear, after your countless experiences with breath play in the bedroom, that he knows exactly how much pressure to use to keep you safe and comfortable, yet make you feel restrained and excited.

As he digs his digits into the tender skin around your neck, your cries of pleasure become more labored and your chest heaves with deeper breaths. He’s careful and understanding of your body, loosening his grip slightly whenever he feels the muscles surrounding your throat straining too excessively, and tightening it again when he hears more of your desperate pleas. Safety and respect for you are always his first priorities, no matter what games you’re playing or kinks you’re experimenting with, and knowing he’ll always take care of you is what makes you melt into his arms and clutch onto him tightly as he pleasures you.

“Keiji!” Another cry of his name rolls off your tongue when he finally plunges his fingers inside of your hot core, which welcomes him with a wet squelch. Each thrust of his digits into you, edging them closer and closer to your most sensitive area has you moaning unabashedly with desire. “Faster, please!” He ignores your request and continues sliding them in and out at a controlled speed. “Please, Keiji, I wanna cum. I want you to make me cum,” you plead with an exasperated exhale.

Without warning, the hand on your neck releases so he can shove his fingers into your half-open mouth, making you squeal with surprise. “It looks like you forgot that you’re only allowed to take orders, not give them, silly girl,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth against the shell of your ear so his voice is the only thing you can hear, “Who’s in charge right now, hmm?”

With his fingers depressing your tongue and quickly filling your mouth with saliva, you slur out his name as best as you can. The proximity of his face to yours makes you hyperaware of each breath and utterance that leaves his lips, as well as the heat they send skittering across your skin.

“That’s right,” he answers, “So, be a good girl and let me make you feel good, okay? Promise I will.”

He takes a soft sigh and lack of complaints from you as a sign of you relinquishing control to him once more and pecks your temple tenderly in response. As he continues pleasuring your needy pussy with his fingers, those he has in your mouth muffle the cries you utter in response to the sensations that you’ve been craving all day. It’s not long before you notice your own saliva start trailing down his wrist, glittering in the lights above as you as it leaves a slick path along the soft ridges of his veins and tendons in its slow-moving wake. His thumb pressing against your sensitive clit as he kneads the spongy region inside of you with his index and middle fingers returns you to the moment once again, and your breathing gradually becomes more labored as you grind your hips against him, desperate for release.

Soon, a rush of euphoria overtakes your body as you finally fall apart at his fingers alone. He lightens the pressure he’s exerting on your tongue just enough for his name to be fully formed when it leaves your mouth in breathy cries, since there’s nothing he loves more than hearing it chanted like it’s the only word in your vocabulary in the heat of your orgasms. He hums with contentment into your neck, nipping gently at the skin there as he lets you use his fingers to ride out your high.

You’re barely allowed a moment of rest following your release before the timer for the oven beeps harshly, bringing you back to reality more abruptly than you would’ve liked. Slowly, you close your legs, and Akaashi keeps his hand nestled in your warmth for what feels to be a long stretch of time before pulling it away from your sensitive core. A lighthearted chuckle echoes from his mouth when he tries to move only to have you slump against him and whine with indignation.

Before he can speak, the sound of the doorbell ringing alerts both of you to the arrival of your guests, and your gaze darts to him, then to your shorts and panties strewn across the tiled floor. “Of course, they decide to be right on time today, of all days,” he growls, placing his hands on your waist to help you stand up so you can make yourself decent.

“Kou’s probably excited about the cupcakes,” you giggle as you slide the discarded clothes back up your legs while Akaashi washes his hands. Once you’re dressed, you approach your boyfriend and give him and affectionate kiss that he returns appreciatively. Another chime of the doorbell forces the two of you to pull away so that he can retrieve the cupcakes from the oven and attend to your impatient guests. “Need help with anything?”

He smiles sweetly but answers, “Not now. You can go ahead and get ready,” before giving you a gentle pat on the rear to send you off down the hall.

“Hey, Keiji?”

“Yes, my love?”

You bite your lip before suggesting, “Once everyone leaves tonight, how about I put on that cute lingerie set you got for me and wait in the bedroom for you on my knees?”

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, “I would love that.” As you prance down the hallway to the bedroom while he approaches the front door, the words you hear him add in a hushed tone make your heart flutter in your chest: “Always so good to me.”

treat me to a coffee! ⭐︎ kinktober masterlist

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya

akaashi: @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @atsunakaashi, @heyhinata

#ahkaahshi gets wild #akaashi keiji x reader #ahkaahshi's mini kinktober 2020 #haikyuu smut #akaashi smut #akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #x reader #reader insert #haikyuu fanfiction #tw breath play #tw dumbification #fran writes hq!!

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hwari-ssi · 4 years ago

Text

Floraison | 4

genre: fantasy/soulmate au

warnings: it kinda gets angsty, smut (in the future)

word count: 3.6k

pairings: ot7 x reader

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

A/N: omg omg aaaaa sorry for taking so long!! honestly, it wasn’t easy writing this one because of my insomnia. i just wrote whatever came to mind, so i hope you’ll understand (you can roast me) D: oh, and there’s a surprise at the end!! lol i hope y’all won’t hate it

Jeongguk really did end up sleeping beside you after all. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone. He held your small frame against his lean body, your quiet breaths subtly tickling his neck like a feather.

He'd been awake for some time now, but didn't want to go outside yet. Not when you were fluffy and warm, all curled up tightly next to him. He glanced at your sleeping face, lips parted slightly and breathing softly.

It made a lot of sense why the three of them already felt so attached to you. How your senses calmed within seconds when Namjoon touched the crown of your head earlier. You were their mate. Once a soul finds their other half, it was impossible not to be away from them.

That's what he felt for the others, and now, you. He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the bedroom door creaking slowly, a disheveled Taehyung peering in, still very much half asleep.

"Is our princess here?" The older asked, rubbing at his eyes which were red from fatigue. Jeongguk motioned for him to join in, wanting to stay until they had to leave the room for breakfast. The former ambled over to the bed, not hesitating to reach over and wrap his arms around you. Your scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Celestial and flowery—such a pleasant aroma.

The sudden movements brought you out of sleep, and you opened your eyes to see another stranger. Shaggy brown hair, strong eyebrows, sharp jaw, and what an adorable boxy smile he has.

"Hello, darling." His husky voice made you shiver, and the action wasn't missed by the two. Your cheeks flushed with pink, reddening even more when Taehyung brought his face closer. He held eye contact, but you couldn't do it so you turned to the other side, where Jeongguk happily opened his arms for you, caging you in when you scooted forward.

"Gguk?" His heart does a little flip at the nickname you gave him and smiles at the sight of the blush adorning your cheeks, realizing albeit too late at how you were practically attached to his hip. Had anyone else been that close, you would have felt your space was being invaded, but in this case, the faint smell of his cologne and his close proximity increased your pulse rate. Your arms were still around the boy, clinging to him like a koala, and you awkwardly clear your throat.

"Hey, no fair," Taehyung pressed his face into your hair and smiled when he heard you giggling. The three of you settled into a comfortable silence, Tae's breathing was fanning over neck, while the other's fingers danced on the small of your back, massaging the skin every now and then.

Their actions combined turned you putty in their grasp. You nuzzled your face into Jeongguk's neck, almost purring while you gave him the attention he'd been wanting to get from you all morning.

The men had smiles plastered on their faces as you continued to lavish his neck with affection. You may not know exactly what you were doing, but they did, and it made their hearts soar in happiness. You were claiming them, as your soulmates, and you were unaware of that. The feeling it gave brought you peace. At that moment, you understood each other perfectly. This is what you've always longed for. Tranquility. The stirrings of revolutionary ardour. A sort of freedom, if you will.

A gentle knock from the doorway brought the three of you from your daze."Breakfast is ready," Jin smiles at you lovingly. Taehyung almost wanted to protest, but he wouldn't want to keep you from eating. and so he forced himself up, pulled you with him and laughed at Jeongguk who was trying to fix his unkempt state.

The elder came over and took your hand, leading you out the room and down the stairs, into the dining hall. Everyone was already gathered around the table that was filled with scrumptious-looking food.

That's when the others took notice of your presence. You were indeed beautiful, just like how Jeongguk described you. Your gray eyes were what stood out to them the most. A tell-tale sign that you are one of the stars from above. Deep as the ocean, deep enough to fall in and drown, the windows to your soul were. With a simple glance, she could calm a torrid sea of heart ache. Longingly they looked at her, with the warmth of a hearth during Winter's Eve, deep in the forest wherein lovers would share the fire. Perfectly wonderful and endlessly enticing them, every blink a kiss to their soul. They almost melted at the sight.

"Jimin and Hoseok went a little overboard this time," Jin says with a chuckle. He led you to an empty chair that was next to Yoongi. He sent you a smirk, picking at your messy ponytail. "Fucking cute." You smiled shyly as he laughed softly at your reaction. Jimin took the seat alongside you and started placing food on your plate. You thanked him, and he gave you a pat on the head in response.

"These taste amazing," you said, as you happily munched on your baked cinnamon donuts. The cooking duo didn't know they were holding their breaths until they heard your affirmation. They tried not to be obvious with their staring, but both of them wanted to see how you would react to their cuisine, making a mental note to make these again for you whenever.

You took a slug of your drink, all the while glancing at the sea of new people. To your right was Yoongi, features akin to origami. Sharp edges and angles. Cute button nose, and lips carved like a doll's. For an adorable face, he has such an intimidating glare. You turned to Jimin next, whose jawline was pronounced, lips full and pillowy, and has straight eyebrows. He regarded you with warmness, like a mother would tend to their child. and Lastly, Hoseok—the boy was sunshine personified. The brightness in his eyes reminded you of home. A heart-shaped mouth with a beauty mark placed just between the cupid's bow and vermillion border. He also has dimples like Namjoon's.

"So, darling, how did you meet the youngest of our bunch?" Taehyung asks, rousing you from your reverie. You were now aware that all of them were staring at you curiously, and it made you want to bury yourself inside a hole. You tried not to let the memories resurface, but his face flashed in your mind, making you drop your utensils. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Thank you for the hospitality, it was well received, but I should go."

"Sweet one—"

"No!" Your sudden outburst surprised them. "I should leave.. I don't want to cause you any trouble.." the stare shared between everyone went unnoticed by you. Jin carefully made his way towards your chair and knelt so he was eye-level with you. Your head was pointing on the floor, eyes downcast, and he took that as a sign you were feeling dejected. He tilted your chin up, only to see tears gathering in your eyes, making Tae feel bad.

"It's okay, little one. We won't hurt you. You can be honest with us." He spoke, sincerity filling your ears. You tried to tell if he was lying, but the way he was looking at you told you otherwise. Yoongi's hand smoothed your hair down, the motion quickly lulling you into a sense of security. You gathered your courage and responded in a meek voice, "I had a previous master, and it took me so long to realize he was treating me badly.."

The word master made bile rise in each of the men's throats. They can only imagine what horrors you went through. Stars, like you, are a kind of rare breed that is gifted by the star goddess. You harness multiple powers, one of which being pyrokinesis, the ability to command and emit fire at will. However, your inability to get a handle on your newfound gifts inevitably results in tragedy. When you turned a certain age, you emitted a burst of fire so immense that it destroyed a city block, killing your entire family and everyone else in the vicinity, having no other choice but to leave your home planet, Stellaris. That's when you turned to Asteria, asking the goddess for a new life and change of scenery. She was hesitant to send you somewhere far away, so she settled for earth, where your soulmates were. Except, you ended up in the wrong hands.

A hybrid smuggler, perhaps? breeds like you cost more than an arm and a leg. Maybe the power you possessed is what drew him in. He manipulated you, used you to fight against dangerous paranormal phenomena. You knew you had to get away—you weren't even supposed to meet him. The bastard took you against your will, threatening to send you back if you didn't listen. You lost the battle because of your naivety.

"Does anyone want dessert?" Jeongguk spoke up, trying to keep everyone's mood from lowering as they learned about your life history. "We won't give you back to him, Y/N," The elder states, eyes boring into yours with determination. You wanted to speak, but the words got caught in your throat. "You needn't worry, lovely. We will do no such thing." Jimin reached for your hand and held it to his chest. Still unable to find your voice, you settled with a small nod, making the boys smile from ear to ear.

"Here," Yoongi nudges your shoulder in a gentle manner as he positioned his fork close to your mouth. It had a piece of steak and nicely cut asparagus on it. "You need protein in order to stay strong, our pretty kitten." he says, almost stuttering as the pet name escapes his tongue without realizing it, it's glossed over though.

You blushed, eyes turning into half-moons as your lips curved upward. "Thank you, yoonie." He'd get so soft after hearing you call him with a sweet endearment. Yoongi's gummy smile was showing, and you couldn't help the butterflies flittering inside your tummy after seeing him smile adorably. The man was usually pretty good at hiding his feelings but, somehow, he was horrible at doing that right now because you were currently in his radar.

"Alright. Since we're finished with dinner, why don't we clear the table?" Jin declared, while everyone lifted themselves from their seats. Taehyung piled most of the dirty dishes, placing them in the sink. You helped collect the cups and followed suit, watching Hoseok as he turned the faucet on with a sponge in hand. "Can I help?" You tugged on his sweater, your shy demeanor made him want to coo at you.

"Of course, little one. You can dry the dishes and Jeonggukie will put them away," The younger's ears perked at the mention of his name, reaching for a towel that was hanging on one of the kitchen cabinets and handed it you, caressing your cheek with his free hand in the process. The others observed the scene, tenderness painting their expressions. It seemed more evident that you fit in perfectly with every passing moment. You belonged here, with them.

"I'll be in my office. Got some digging to do," The elder mouthed at Yoongi, almost having trouble catching the words because he was deep in thought. Chances are, that son-of-a-bastard owner must be looking for you, but there was no way in hell they were going to give you back to him. Not if you didn't want to go willingly. The idea saddened him, because seeing how the younger ones had already taken such a liking to you, it made him feel protective.

"Would you like to watch a movie with us, Y/N-ie?" Jimin came up behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder as you dried the last bowl. Jeongguk takes the plate from your hands and presses a kiss to your temple.

"A movie? I've only ever seen one film though.." Hoseok beckons you over to him and holds out his hand. You let him guide you through the hallways, leading you back up the stairs and into a bathroom. Your eyes widened as you noticed it was huge and prettily decorated, you dare say it might even be bigger than your master's headquarters. He disappears for a hot minute to get something before stepping in, holding a pair of new sleepwear for you to use. You took the soft material from him, and smiled in thanks.

You eye at his arms, one pulling a rectangular, sheer-white cloth made of linen out of a cabinet, the other, a crystal bottle. he leans over the bathtub, turning the tap on and let water fill the tub before pouring the liquid. The sweet smell invaded your senses, automatically putting you in a good mood.

"You're all set. I put the clothes on the counter. We'll be waiting—" He turned his back to you, wanting to leave you to yourself but you cut him off when a whine left your lips. Immediately, he was by your side again, asking you what he possibly did wrong.

"Can't you stay, hobi? I don't want to be left alone.." You felt safe with him. His heart swells with pride. Although the idea of being with you in the same room, having nothing to cover your body made his heart race and face flush. He mentally slapped himself for thinking such vulgar thoughts. Now is not the time, you idiot, the voice in his head kept him in check, and he was grateful.

"I can help you wash your hair," He offered, high-fiving himself for not stuttering. "I'll wait outside. Just call for me, princess. okay?" You hummed in reply. You rid yourself of your dress, letting the fabric pool around your feet and stepped into the bathtub, submerging your body in the water and letting the warmth seep through your aching muscles, releasing all the tension.

You scrubbed at every part, making sure to remove the hidden grime found on your skin. Soon enough, your entire body was clean. Your natural glow was back. You reminded yourself to thank him later for making the water all sudsy because bubbles are always fun to play with."Hobi, I'm ready!" You folded your knees up to your chest just in time as Hoseok walks inside, not forgetting to shut the door behind him.

He sat at the edge of the tub, ready to lather your hair with shampoo when he sees the lines scattered across your back. The atmosphere turned gray. He stopped on his tracks. His gaze darkened. Of course he had to mask it—he didn't want to make you feel sad again, so he takes a deep breath, and decides to inform the others about this matter later. Your well-being was his first priority at present.

Silence fills the room as he massages the product on your beautiful locks. You didn't forget to thank him, mumbling as you relaxed at his touch. He looked at your small form sorrowfully, kept himself from asking for fear of you possibly running away. He only hopes that the time you'll open up to them will come in the twinkling of an eye.

"Everything's going to be fine now, sweetheart. We won't bring you back," you carefully maneuvered your body to his front, the water swishing around the tub at your movement. Your collarbones were showing, complexion looking a bit smooth, reminding him of rose-tinged ivory. You're looking better now, the pink in your cheeks much more visible compared to earlier.

"I can stay?" You bit your lower lip, shoulders shrinking. You wanted to stay here forever, but there was a strong likelihood they would change their minds. Because who would want someone broken? Someone like you?

"We all want you to stay, Y/N. Even if it means forever." Hoseok promises, running his forefinger along your jawline, tilting your head up so you were gazing into his dark orbs, slowly pulling you in like a vortex. "There's seven of us, baby doll. No matter what happens, We'll keep you safe." Why were these people so willing to help? It made you want to breakdown and cry, but you willed yourself not to."Okay, hobi." He smiled, kissing your forehead sweetly.

He pulled himself from the bathtub, the smile never leaving his face as he moved out of the room. You smiled in return as he shut the door, stretching your body in the water once more and stood, reaching for the towel, wrapping it around yourself. After getting dressed in the clothes your hobi got for you, you folded the dress and bundled it up in your arms before leaving the bathroom.

"I'll put those in the wash," Jin says as he ran into you, taking the clothes and continued his walk down the hall. You watch him disappear into another room further ahead and made your way to the living room. Upon entering, you found most of them gathered on the couch or seated on the floor, blankets covering their lower bodies.

You were glued to your spot, not quite sure where to sit. A few seconds later, The elder reappears and quietly takes your hand in his, leading you to an empty space beside Jeongguk and sat on the couch, ushering you to sit on the floor right in front of him, solving your little dilemma. You leaned back against his legs and he starts running his hands through your hair, smoothing out any tangled strands. To say you were content would be an understatement; you felt so at home. so peaceful. so cared for.

"Everyone ready?" Taehyung asks, a chorus of agreements resonating throughout the room. The boys settled into comfortable positions, while Jin's hands stayed on your locks, his nails subtly scratching your scalp. An hour later, the credits were finally rolling. Jin looked over to see both you and Jeongguk peacefully snoring, head resting on his shoulder as your quiet breaths lulled him into a deep slumber.

"We should move them, Jin. They'll wake with sore necks if we leave them be," Namjoon says, rising from his seat, gesturing at the others to clean up before lifting you from the ground. He makes his way into their shared bedroom, where four of the elders in the group sleep. He situates you on Yoongi's bed, placing an extra pillow under your head so you won't be uncomfortable whilst in dreamland.

"Sleep well, princess. You are safe here, with us." He caresses your cheek affectionately. "If he does find you, we won't let him take you."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

"He what?" Yoongi slams his fists on the table, anger flashing over his features. He couldn't understand. He did not want to understand either. How heartless would a human have to be to actually inflict injuries upon such precious beings like you? Just across from him was where Namjoon and Jin were seated, the former tonguing at his cheek as he tried to control his raging emotions. He was fuming. On the other hand, Jin and the rest remained dead silent. The atmosphere thickens with visible tension, each of the men taken aback by the information as Hoseok relayed it.

"Shouldn't we report this to the peacemakers?" Jeongguk turns to his elders, eyes pleading for justice. But the younger knew they possibly couldn't let this matter fall into their hands. The uproar it would cause would surely put different worlds to engage in a war. Everyone knew not to mess with Asteria's children. Because to hurt them, would mean facing one's immediate death.

"We can't, young one." Jin reaches for the younger's hand, looking a little crestfallen. "Besides, I heard the bastard got beaten to a pulp by his own shields because they simply couldn't let him step over them anymore," The elder says bitterly.

"Serves that fucker right," Yoongi scoffs, smirking triumphantly. The man must be trying to escape from the consequences of his actions, he thinks to himself, leaning back against his chair, one leg crossing over the other. At least you can live a peaceful life now, without having to worry about anything or anyone else but yourself. That's what mattered to them the most.

The soft padding of your feet down the stairs alerted the men that you have risen, your soft sobs reaching their ears as you were getting nearer. Namjoon didn't hesitate to meet you halfway, scooping you up into his arms and hugged you for the longest time. “Did you have a bad dream, sweetheart?” He wipes your tears away with his thumb, all the while placing lots of kisses on your forehead, nose, and temples.

He walks back to the dining room, refusing to place you back down on the floor, your face buried into his neck because you were too shy to face the others. Tears continue to fall from your eyes. You’re scared, the nightmares made you terrified. “Hey, it’s okay, baby girl,” Yoongi saunters over to your side and holds your face, brushing the tears on your cheeks and gives you another set of kisses on your eyelids, the rest joining in to surround you with worried looks. “It’s okay. We’re right here, princess. You’re alright. You have us. You're okay."

You cried on Namjoon's chest, sobs turning into sniffles after a period of time. You eventually fell back asleep, with them giving you all of their soft reassurances, and Namjoon's hand stroking your hair gently. You looked so vulnerable and so lovely that it made him want to shun you from the world. Oh, what a dangerous world earth was.

But the thing is, you didn’t know you were lucky to have seven, powerful gods disguised as humans, as your soulmates.

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elysianslove · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Could I ask for Oikawa with his s/o where they are babysitting his nephew and his s/o's niece? I just think it'd be cute

this man is so precious i want to kith his cheeks and tell him he’s loved

also the first female japanese name i thought of was “mai” so i used that for the s/o’s niece. i hope that’s okay!

━ your lover is the most understanding person you know, and you mean it genuinely. whenever you unexpectedly reschedule your dates, miss any of his games, invite him over to cry in chest, he never once complains. he takes you as you are, with all the good and the bad, because the same you cancel dates suddenly, you also plan the most thoughtful ones; and even if you miss a few of his games, you’re there the next day, in his jersey, cheering the loudest; and the same way you call him over at the most ungodly hours to vent and keep him up with endless tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re there in seconds if the roles are reversed.

he entire relationship is fifty fifty. he never expects too much, never too little. just enough.

and although guilt still drowns your heart whenever you send him a text notifying him that you’ll have to change your date, again, you remind yourself he’s understanding, and that it’s fine.

of course, your boyfriend’s not only understanding. he’s also, quite frankly, a genius, and it’s evident in the text response he sends you directly after you message him.

i’m on babysitting duty too! come over so we can fulfill our duties as guardians of these children together

also i’d get to see u ;)

a dork, but still, a genius.

after quickly returning the text by agreeing to meet him, you greet your niece in the hallway outside, and, anticipation guiding you, you lead her quickly into the bathroom, helping her freshen up before helping her pick an outfit.

you arrive at around one pm, give or take a few minutes, and having expected oikawa at the door, you’re pleasantly surprised to find a much smaller boy at the door, frowning suspiciously. in record time, oikawa appears, rushing towards his, supposedly, nephew.

“takeru, your mother will ki— yell at me if she finds out you’re opening doors alone,” your boyfriend huffs, hands on his hips, chest pushed out, and chin raised dramatically as he attempts to scold the child.

takeru crosses his arms defiantly and sticks his tongue out at his uncle. “maybe i want her to,” he retorts, and you don’t attempt to hide the laugh that bubbles at your chest and spills out your lips.

at the sound of your laughter, oikawa’s attention turns to you, and the approaching frown on his expression disappears, fading into a bright smile. his eyes immediately soften, and he reaches forward, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the house, grouping you into a hug. easily, you fit in his arms, your head resting on his chest as he embraces you tightly, yet softly. with a light kiss pressed to your head, then another to your lips when you pull back, you both turn your attention to the two kids before you.

as oikawa shuts the front door, you kneel by your niece, grabbing her hand softly as the two of you face the young boy. they both seem entranced, like they’re never seen another kid their age before, and this time, you do stop yourself from laughing, opting to smile sweetly. oikawa soon joins you by takeru’s side, nudging the young boy and encouragingly whispering, “introduce yourself.”

almost as if shaken awake, takeru jumps slightly and grins, lifting a hand to wave at your niece. “i’m takeru!”

from next to you, the young girl squares her shoulders, and waves back, responding, “i’m mai!” just as loudly.

“you’re pretty, mai,” takeru says confidently.

oikawa’s eyebrows shoot up in both amusement and shock, and he whispers lightly, “who taught you that?”

right after, mai adds, after an encouraging squeeze of your hand around hers, “thank you! you’re pretty too!”

takeru cocks his head to the side in slight confusion, turning to his uncle as he asks, “boys can be pretty?” when oikawa hums in confirmation, nodding his head, takeru shrugs, lifting a thumbs up and mumbling, “okay,” before reaching forward and grabbing mai’s wrist, proceeding to drag her deeper into the house, their feet tapping loudly against the floor.

oikawa sighs loudly as he stands, stretching slightly before wrapping an arm around your shoulder, his turn to guide you into his home. against your temple, he mumbles, “date successfully saved,” sounding way too proud of himself. but you let him lead you to the couch, let him wear that smug smile on his lips, because you’re quick to kiss away at it anyways. he melts against you, his body relaxing as your hands settle on his cheeks, pulling his lips harder against yours. his own hands find their way around your waist, slipping beneath the jacket you had on, gripping tightly at the shirt beneath.

“ewwww!” it’s a continuous, relentless chorus of it that the two of you break apart to, looking before you to find two scrunched up faces and little fingers pointing at you. how have they gotten so acquainted already that they’re ganging up on the two of you?

“don’t do that on the couch or i’ll tell mom,” takeru threatens, and oikawa scrunches up his nose distastefully. he looks way too cute for his own good.

“anyone ever tell you you’re a brat?” oikawa retorts, sticking his tongue out at the kid. with a smack landed to his arm, you scold him lightly, and although your eyes are wide, they hold no fire within them. you hear mai laugh gleefully at the interaction, and you roll your eyes, slipping off your jacket and settling into the couch. “you two hungry?” oikawa then asks, before turning his attention to you, and adding, “sorry, you three?”

you fix him with a playful smile and shrug, “sure.”

you’d expected lunch to go a lot less smoother than it had, but you decided quickly that your harsh judgement had been misplaced. although you knew mai was very polite while eating, and you didn’t doubt oikawa’s sister’s raising abilities with her own son, you hadn’t expected that combined, they’d still be just as polite and well mannered.

they bite away at the food slowly, avoiding making a mess, their legs swinging on the high stools as they make idle chat with each other, you don’t entirely understand the conversation, it doesn’t sound very intelligent, but judging from their faces it seemed important or serious. opting not to interrupt them, you join oikawa at the sink, taking the now clean but wet dishes from his hands and drying them.

“hey no, you don’t have to do that,” he scolds, but you shush him, placing the dry plate aside and taking another one to dry.

“i want to,” you reassure. “i like — i like doing these things with you.”

he grins teasingly at you, scrubbing diligently at the mug in his hands. “you like playing house?”

you roll your eyes, snatching the mug from his hands. “don’t push it or i’ll leave you stranded with dirty and wet dishes,” you threaten, but he only laughs, leaning closer to you until your shoulders touch. you lean into his touch with subtlety, following this small routine you’d made in the moment, feeling every little tug of his muscles as he cleans and hands you the utensils, while the two children behind you laugh and chat eagerly. it feels — nice. warm. soft. it feels right. and when the image of a future just like this one fills your mind, you don’t push it away.

end note; im sorry if i didn’t go into too much detail but i hope this was okay!!! i love any and all oikawa content honestly, and i loved writing this 🥺

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa toru imagine #uncle!oikawa #oikawa fluff #oikawa toru fluff #oikawa tooru x reader

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tinisprout · 3 years ago

Text

No Doubt in Us

Chapter Twelve - What I Want *written section below*

Fiance!Haknyeon x Fem!reader

Masterlist | Prev | Next

a/n: first time writting a make out scene so sorry if it sucks

Synopsis: Life is great, you have your dream job, you finally got your first big break, and you are now engaged to the love of your life. Happier than you’ve ever been, you live life one day at a time. Then one day a terrible accident happens leaving you in a coma. Where you finally awake, everything is not as you remember. Amnesia takes away 3 years of your memory, forgetting your beloved Fiance. Faced with a reality that seems unreal, as your mind is stuck in a past with uncomfortable memories, your future with him is uncertain.

Send me an ask if you want to be put on the taglist for this series

Taglist:@my-summer-night @deputyjuyeon @juhaktheoneforme @sunqnew @givememunjang

Word count: 2.9k+

Warnings: make out session, Hak gets blue balled :)

Things have been going pretty smoothly between you and Haknyeon since the date. You even had a small in-home date the week after, you were content but not satisfied. The romantic tension has been building up in the house, for you at least. You couldn’t tell what exactly Haknyeon was thinking or feeling. There were a collection of moments where something could have happened between the two of you, but Haknyeon always backed away first.

You figured he was just trying to be respectful towards your feelings, except you were feeling that you two should have at least kissed a long time ago. Your attraction towards Haknyeon grew each day, finding out more about him and his little oddities. You found out while going through your recent books how much Haknyeon influenced your writing, you could see it wasn’t a coincidence that the male lead in your sixth book was so similar to him. This only made you feel more drawn to him. The most you had done was hold hands, and that was on the first date, at this rate if you didn’t do or say something kissing would be about six months away.

You sighed as you were trying to work on your latest work, it would go smoothly till your mind drifted to Haknyeon. You get up from your desk seat stretching your body, you go grab your phone from the bed. You send a message to him asking when he is coming home. He responds quickly and you smile. After finding out he’ll be home soon you think about how to move things along.

Going back to your laptop you save the document you were working on, deciding that you did enough for today. You walk downstairs to the kitchen looking for what you can make for dinner. You realize out of all the times you cooked it never seemed to be enough for Haknyeon. When he cooked there was considerably more food compared to your meals, he never complained, but you could tell he was used to eating more than what you made. You decided to try making more food from now on.

Almost an hour has passed and the food is almost done. You just let it simmer. You cleaned up the mess you made while you waited, it was all short work now so you also set the table while you waited. Just in time, you hear the door unlocking and opening as you set the bowls down.

“I’m home!” Haknyeon calls out from the entranceway while taking off his shoes. You came to greet him, poking your head into the entranceway.

“Welcome back.” Haknyeon smiles at your greeting. “You’re just in time, I just finished making dinner, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“I always have room for food.” He follows you back to the kitchen, watching you turn off the burner.

“You can put your stuff away first, I’m still setting up.” Haknyeon just drops his duffle bag in the living room before coming back to you looking eager to help.

“I can help too.” Add that to the list of things you find attractive about him, always so helpful and caring.

“Okay, take these to the table then,” you hand him the rice bowls and he happily complies. Dinner starts as it normally does and you ask each other the usual question of how was your day. He compliments the food joyfully eating to his heart’s content, which makes you happy. There wasn’t much to say, but it was very natural for the two of you to fall into silence while eating, focusing on the food.

You finished eating before Haknyeon, but you still sat at the table letting the food settle a little. You were glad that you made more seeing how well he is eating everything.

“You are really cute, you know that?” You suddenly speak up and he freezes at your statement.

“...Thank you?” He was flattered but confused as to why you said that out of the blue.

“I just wanted you to know what I think.” He nods accepting your answer and continues to eat for a bit more trying to play it cool while having a freak out on the inside. When he finally sets his utensils down you speak once more. “Now that you’re done, there is something I want to talk to you about.”

“Is that what your texts were about?”

“Yes, but like I said it’s nothing bad, actually it should be pretty good for the both of us.” he gives you a curious look.

“I’m all ears.”

“So you know how we’ve been sleeping downstairs since that one time? Well, I’m kinda tired of sleeping on the floor.”

“I already told you, you didn’t have to stay with me. You can go back.”

“I know, I thought instead of going back by myself you could join me back.” You wait for his reaction which seemed delayed.

“...You mean you want to sleep in our bed, together,” Haknyeon says, putting emphasis on the last word.

“Yeah, I don’t see the problem. You have my full trust that you won’t try anything if I’m not ready.”

“I didn’t say it was a problem, just… are you sure? You’re not saying this because you feel bad or something?”

“Honestly I do feel a bit bad, but this is something that I want to do as well,” you place a hand over your heart showing your sincerity. Haknyeon is silent for a moment searching you for any hint of hesitation, but there is none.

“Okay then, thank you for trusting me.” You both smile at each other and start to clean up the table together. Very slowly, the two of you were making progress in your relationship. After the clean-up was done, Haknyeon went to properly put his duffle bag away and you went to do your evening ritual of watering the plants in your yard. Although it wasn’t much of a yard to speak of seeing how small the space was, it was still enough for you to have a variety of potted plants large and small.

You took your time caring for each plant and cleaning the fallen leaves and petals off the ground from the flowering tree that was in between yours and your neighbor’s house. You finally get to the hydrangea plant and see that there is a small odd-looking cluster, you realize that it's the bud and get excited. Looking around the hydrangea you see a few other buds, you crouch next to it, praising the plant and asking it to continue growing well. You were excited to see them bloom, you had asked Haknyeon before if you had grown these flowers before and he answered that you tried last year but they didn’t bloom at all. This made you more excited to see them, it wasn’t like you had never seen Hydrangea before, but it was different when you grow the plant yourself.

“Haknyeon?!” you call out to him hoping he can hear you through the small crack you left in the sliding door.

“Did you call me?” you hear his voice shout from in the house.

“Yeah. Can you come out here and look at this, please?”

“I’m coming.” He comes out soon after and slips on his outdoor slippers walking next to you, raising his eyebrows asking what’s up.

“Look, they have started to bud.” You beam a smile at him while pointing at one of the buds. He looks at it, noticing all the buds giving it a curious glance crouching next to you.

“I’ve never seen them as buds before…,” he smirks. “It looks a little weird.” you chuckle nodding in agreement.

“What color do you think they’ll be?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I think blue would be a nice color though.”

“I hope it’s purple. Maybe it will have both colors.”

“Fingers crossed,” you say and the both of you cross your fingers. The wind blows a particularly strong breeze knocking off dozens of petals off the tree, annoyingly landing into your yard again making you sigh, which Haknyeon laughed at. You decided to look at the bigger picture, at least it made a beautiful scene like in those anime. “Well, at least it's pretty.” Your back faced the setting sun while streaks of light shone on Haknyeon's face painting him an alluring golden color.

Haknyeon's eyes that were focused on the tree switch to you realizing you are looking at him. His eyes squint a little at the sun, he notices a couple of petals had landed on your head.

“Very pretty.” He reaches out, plucking one of them off your head and gently brushing the other ones away. He showed you the petal in his hand, tittering. For a second you thought he was talking about you and then felt mortified to realize that wasn't the case. He blows the petal away oblivious to your current emotions.

“That… were you trying to be romantic?”

“Huh?” Haknyeon questions you but then realizes what you mean. “Oh, no. Sorry, I didn’t even realize. I meant the flower. Wait no, I’m not saying you aren’t pretty. The flower is pretty, but you are prettier.” You felt a little down at first knowing he meant nothing by it, but seeing him trying hard to appease you made you laugh out loud. Hearing you he groans and mutters, “What am I even saying?”

“You’re good, I understand,” you say while trying to stifle your laughter. Now it was Haknyeon’s turn to feel mortified.

“Haha, yes, very funny.” He dramatically rolls his eyes and then stands up. He offers you a hand up, which you take, standing up as well.

“Sorry sorry. You really are cute though….”

“I won’t be able to take much more if you keep complimenting me like that,” he grabs at his heart playing up the act.

“And what would you do?” You cross your arms, tilting your head in question.

“Hmm, probably die,” he clasps his hands together over his stomach acting like he’s dead. Then I would wait for my true love to kiss me back to life.” He peeks one eye open, smirking, looking for your reaction.

“Okay, prince charming. Back into the house with you,” you say, trying to hold back your smile. You wondered what you were going to do with yourself if he kept joking like that, you might actually lose it and just kiss him. Your answer to him would have been different if you knew at the moment he was seriously testing the water to see how you felt about kissing. Haknyeon thought he had a chance of a positive answer considering how flirty you were today, but he doesn’t take your answer to heart.

“Yes ma’am.” He told himself he would try again another day. As Haknyeon went back into the house, you continued your work in the yard.

***

The rest of the evening continued as per usual. Though the real trial to come for both of you was going to sleep. After you finished preparing for bed, while you were waiting in bed for Haknyeon you made a tweet wondering if moving to the bed would have been too sudden, still, you don’t regret your decision. You see that Haknyeon replied to the tweet and you smile since he was less than 15 feet away in the bathroom. He came out of the bathroom soon after and casually took up his old spot.

“Welcome back to the room,” you say, facing him. He turns his body to the side facing you.

“Good to be back,” there is a pause with nothing much else to say.

“Goodnight, Haknyeon.”

“Goodnight, y/n.” You turn your back to him pretending the reason was to get comfortable, but really you were nervous because of how close you were this time around. Before you could sleep at the edge of the blanket but now the edges hung off the side of the bed so there was less surface area to lay on. You try to calm your mind, It’s whatever. This isn’t the first time we slept together anyway.

Your mind drifts to earlier in the evening, when Haknyeon had mentioned kissing, That was my chance, wasn’t it. Stupid. You chastise yourself for unknowingly hindering yourself. I can fix this, I just have to make the first move. I don't think I can wait for Haknyeon… forgive me for being greedy.

“Haknyeon?” You say while turning back to face him again.

“Hmm?” He hums in response, eyes still closed.

“Can the heroine revive you?” his eyebrows knit together unsure of what you are trying to say and then opens his eyes to see your sincere ones staring into him.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking for a while now that maybe we should move things along.... I don’t know about you but I’ve been feeling some romantic tension between us for a while now and I think I might go crazy if it stays like this, and nothing happens.” Or maybe I'm already crazy for even saying all this. “Can we kiss?” He finally realizes you were referring to what he said about needing a kiss to come back to life.

“Seriously?” To Haknyeon this proposal seemed out of the blue since he thought he was rejected earlier today.

“Very serious.”

“That’s what you want?”

“Mhm.” He lifts his body, propping himself up with his forearm and you scoot a little closer to him. He cups your cheek with his other hand caressing you for a while. Your heart pounds hard then you feel his breath tickle your face as he draws closer and you close your eyes thinking this is finally it. You feel his lips press against your cheek and open your eyes when it wasn’t what you expected.

You saw his warm gaze on you before you closed your eyes again as he went back in for another kiss on your other cheek and then another. You opened your eyes once more when he pulled away once more cheeks pink, apologizing.

“Sorry, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Haknyeon, I need you to trust me when I say, you aren’t taking advantage of me. I know what I want. You aren’t forcing me,” you say while you reposition yourself to sit up moving closer to him again, placing your hand behind his neck. “You can’t say ‘you can’t’ after teasing me with those kisses when you knew I wanted something like this. With those words, you lean into him and he closes his eyes this time, giving him a small experimental open mouth kiss.

His lips feel soft against yours and you find yourself wanting more of the softness. You pulled away and just as quickly kissed him again, you could feel this time his hand on your cheek moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Slow and gentle, you feel how he was caring for you, this only riled you up, wanting more. Your fingers found their way to his silky locks, nails scratching his scalp. A groan came from Haknyeon’s throat in response but he didn’t pull away so you pushed further.

You traced his lips agonizingly slowly seeing how far he would let you go. His eyes flew open when he felt an acute pain on his lips. You both lock eyes as you lightly pull on his lower lip with your teeth, making him let out a small gasp. You pulled away unsure if you hurt him. He fully sat up and then leaned over you, grabbing your chin.

“Be careful. I’m the type that bites back harder.” His words sent shivers down your spine. This time he moves first, pulling your shoulders, bringing you back to him. True to his words he bites your lip and you jump letting out a whimper at the sensation. As if to quell your pain he runs his tongue along your bottom lip, instinctively you open your mouth to let him.

As his tongue pushed past your lips you could feel your body get increasingly hotter by the second, slow and gentle turned into feverish and greedy as his tongue dominated your mouth. Haknyeon had to constantly remind himself to not move his hands from your shoulders. It’s just a kiss, just a kiss, he tells himself. Your hands rested on his forearms, squeezing them as you whimpered into the kiss. I’m so fucked.

Haknyeon pulled you away and pushed you down on the bed firmly. You can hear each other’s labored breathing, trying to catch your breath. He lowered his head and kissed your lips once more, but just as quickly pulled away as if that is all he would allow himself.

“Haknyeon?”

“That should be enough, for now.” you nod your head in agreement. You weren’t sure what possessed you to lose yourself like that. It was taken farther than you thought it would be, but it wasn’t bad. Actually, you really enjoyed yourself, so much so that you felt sleepiness follow after the excitement.

“I’m a little tired now.”

“That’s okay. You can go to sleep.” you move into a comfortable position facing him this time.

“Can I hold your hand?” Haknyeon was in distress but aided your request. You closed your eyes peacefully with his hand in yours. Meanwhile, Haknyeon wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t think he would end up blue balled tonight. Would it settle itself before you fell asleep or would he suffer till you fell asleep so he could take care of himself in the bathroom?

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damn-stark · 4 years ago

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Different Light

Different light ch.1

A/N- First chapter!! I hope you all like it!! I loved writing this and can’t wait to write more :) let me know what you thought?!

Warning- slight angst, nice Draco (slight...you’ll see), slow burn

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader, Fred Weasley x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

Dear Ms. Malfoy

We are pleased to inform you that you have been re-accepted at the Durmstrang institute of Magic—

You scoff, “Yeah right.” As you crumble the letter in your hand and toss it into the fire, proceeding to stand up straight and look over your shoulders to check if anyone is around. Misfortunately catching no one other than Draco coming out of the shadows with a smug smile on his lips.

“What have you done?” He questions as he buttons his new black blazer.

You turn to face him and sigh, “nothing you’re going to tell father that’s for sure.” You walk off to take your seat around the dinner table and hear the heels of Draco’s shoes follow behind you and then walk around to sit across from you with the same stupid grin glued to his face. “You’re not going to tell father, Draco. I’ve told you I don’t wish to attend Durmstrang anymore.” You say sternly.

Just before Draco could give his answer another letter popped out of thin air and began to fall towards you, causing Draco to be quicker than you were and snatch the letter from the air. Beginning to tease you with it as he waved it around and added a comment. “Then tell him you want to go to Hogwarts today during dinner or I’ll show him even if he already knows.”

You narrow your gaze on him and huff out, “fine.” And as if your thought had summoned him, in walked your father with Narcissa in tow. Both their presences increase to the anxiety already building up in the pit of your stomach; more his than hers, or rather what you needed to tell him. The feeling made you rather quieter than usual, no usual greeting or simple smile before sitting around the table to await for your meal. No, this time you sat and watched your fidgeting hands under the table, feeling as if your heartbeat was some sort of jackhammer on how fast it was currently beating.

Draco noticed your silence and discreetly kicked you under the table, while Narcissa noticed your strange behavior and questioned you. “Is everything alright, y/n?”

Your eyes flicker up to her and you nod, replying with a shaky, “yes,” pausing to take a deep breath and turning to your father who’s attention was already on you.

“Have you already packed to leave for Durmstrang?”

“About that,” you mumble, pausing again as they set your food down, wishing now that you didn’t have to say a word. But you knew you did if you wanted to get what you wanted, “I don’t want to go back to Durmstrang.” Immediately your father shoots you a narrowed look, but let’s you continue, “it’s too far from home and I just simply hate it there. Not only that but I did get expelled or did you forget?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your father answered as he picked up the utensils he needed to eat dinner, “Durmstrang is the best school, I’ve talked with the Headmaster and he’ll allow you to return. You’ll come back for the holidays as you always do.”

A sigh leaves your lips and your gaze lowers to the food on your plate for a brief moment before Draco kicks you again, bringing your attention to his hand reaching for the letter inside his pocket. Threatening you and causing you to roll your eyes and try again. “Please father don’t make me go back, the school is horrible and the students more so. It’s too cold and dark. I hate it there.” He stays quiet and you continue adding to your explanation, hoping something would get to him. “At Hogwarts I’ll be closer to home and closer to Draco. I’ll do better there I promise.” He sighs and sets his utensils down, looking between you, Draco and then his wife; who showed him a gentle smile and look that spoke hundreds of words. That gesture luckily for you winning him over.

“Fine,” he finally agrees, making your smile finally grow. “But if I hear that you’re misbehaving or you’re doing bad in classes I’ll send you back to Durmstrang.”

Looking to Narcissa before turning back to your father, you offer her a warm smile that she’s quick to mirror—“thank you father. I promise I’ll do good.”

He hums and then adds one last thing before the dinner is enjoyed in silence, “since you’re staying home longer now then, you’ll come with Draco and I to the Quidditch World Cup. No excuses.”

You grin brightly. “Alright.”

——

For a moment when they said to come with them to the Quidditch World Cup, you thought you were going to get the full experience like staying in a tent like the rest of witches and wizards attending the game, be like the crowd and enjoy the moment, enjoy every aspect. But, no you were mistaken. Heavily. Apparently being with the rest of the crowd wasn't right, not only because your father said they looked like wild animals in a field, but because there was a mixture, half bloods and muggle born families. It wasn’t right, he said. We should be with “our” people, he said.

What you wouldn’t give to have your parents and Draco not hate being like the rest or like the Weasleys, or as most of the people your family associated with (including your family) called them “blood-traitors”; they didn’t care what others thought of them, they lived freely and without being so uptight, they didn’t care of the status of others or themselves. They simply were genuine. People you wish your family was like.

Not that you would trade your family for them because you loved your family, but you did on occasion wish they were more like the Weasleys—like now. It would be much more fun to be like them now, here. But no. You were stuck with the rest of the uptight people who didn’t have the slightest idea how to have fun in a game! The shame.

“Look, y/n.” Draco said as he hit your arm to point further up the platforms, pulling your attention away from your thoughts to notice the familiar redhead family a couple floors higher up then you were. Noting that if Draco pointed them out with that mischievous little sly grin of his then it wouldn’t lead to anything good.

“Blimey dad, how high are we?!”

“Well put it this way!” Your father butt in, walking you closer to the railing as you had your arm locked around his, your own attention on the family above. Noticing right away all the kids they had, the twins who seemed to be better cuter in person than in the newspaper, much older too. Then there was a boy who was beside Mr. Weasley and basing on the glare he was shooting Draco, the boy was Ron Weasley. Yeah him you did know by name, only because your brother never shut up about him—“If it rains you’ll be the first to know.” Your father continued, making Draco laugh and for your frown to deepen, looking away from Mr. Weasley and his disapproving look as your attention was captivated by someone else. A dark haired boy that seemed about the age of Draco, with very blue eyes, a frown of his own and a curious stare as he caught your gaze. He was cute, cuter than most boys you knew. He also seemed familiar….but you just couldn’t place a name to his face...

Before you could think too much of it, your eyes traveled further down to see a pretty girl with her hair picked up, her skin pale and her face expressing nothing but annoyance; and noticing that she didn’t have red hair like the girl next to her then you knew she wasn’t the youngest Weasley, but rather the “Mud-blood” your brother also ranted about. And...the boy in the glasses was Harry Potter. The famous “chosen one” and another one of your brother’s rivals. How cluessless and dumb could you be...

“Father, y/n and I are in the Minister's box by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself.” Draco gloated as the three of you continued moving along, with you still rather much glued to your father's side and just staying quiet as you discreetly rolled your eyes at Dracos comment.

Only completely looking over to Draco with a shocked expression as your father countered his comment whilst also hitting him with his cane. “Don’t boast, Draco. There's no need with these people.” Before the family could leave, your father stepped forward and stopped Harry Potter with the handle of his cane and added feignedly and with not such a good intention. “Do enjoy yourself won’t you? While you can.” With nothing else they turned to leave and your father tapped your hand as Harry Potter and you shared one last glance before he left along with the rest. “Come on y/n, let’s go.”

The three of you continued moving until you reached the box Draco had just so smugly boasted about, finding it hard to concentrate on the people around as your mind was still on the family from before, mainly on the boy with them. It was a thought you needed to speak out loud. “That was Harry Potter, right? The boy that is supposed to be the chosen one? The one in your year, Draco?”

Draco nods and leans in closer to you to sharply whisper his comment, “filthy half-blood doesn’t know who real people are. He would rather be alongside traitors…” he pauses and some sort of amusement and distaste is heard in his voice, “but then again those are his kind of people, right?”

You hum as a response, but not to really agree with his comment, just to not ignore him, getting lucky and using the cheering that got louder as the players zoomed in the stadium as a distraction not to answer. Getting up seconds later alongside Draco to join in the cheering and clapping as the Irish players flew in, followed by the Bulgarian in their red suits. Grinning and whooping as some did tricks on their brooms, clapping harder as the one player you knew flew in, the best seeker in the world, Krum. Now you might’ve hated Durmstrang and most of the students there, but there was something about knowing that you went to school with Krum and seeing him here now at such an important sporting event that made you happy. It might be only short lived, at the moment type of thing, or simply just a form boasting yourself, but it did get you excited for the moment.

The feeling made you forget your previous thoughts and the past events that happened moments before and fully engage in the game and the announcement being said before it all began. “Good evening! As Minister for Magic it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and everyone of you to the final four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup, let the match begin!”

——

“Did you see that dive, Krum did!” Draco said excitedly as he mimicked the move with his hand, showing the fun and at ease side of himself that he only seemed to show with you and his mother. Never really with father. He always wanted to act composed like him. Just as uptight as the rest, but with you he let out the kid still inside, it was something that made you grin brightly and be even more excited. “At the very last second! Before he just spiraled off and Lynch hit the ground! That’s a move I’m doing when I play.”

“You better!” You respond happily, as the both of you walk under the dark of night, going ignorant to the commotion in the distance, distracting yourself as you wait for your father to finish what he went off to do in the crowd of people he had only made fun of before. “I can’t wait to finally go to one of your games.”

“I’m the best on my team, I guarantee you that.” He said smugly.

You shake your head but still contain your smile, parting your lips to reply but instantly stopping as a strange light suddenly caught your eye. It was something vast and green, seen past the trees and from where Draco and you were in the forest, it shone brighter than the stars in the sky and looked like a cloud of green smoke. A cloud of smoke that began to form into a big skull with a serpent coming out of its mouth like a tongue would. A mark. His mark.

“Quickly, we have to find father.” You stressed, not having to do much more before Draco and you hurried to the crowd of tents and pushed past the crowd of people that ran away in a panic, almost running over you in the panicked state they were, making it harder to identify anyone in the crowd, causing trouble to keep Draco in front of you as they shoved past you. It was beginning to raise your fear and panic, making your breathing much quicker just like the heart inside your chest. It made you stressed to the point you couldn’t find the man you were looking for in the field—that or you were just too overwhelmed to look good.

“Y/N! There he is! Come on!” Draco ushered you, pointing to the tall familiar man that finally brought some sort of comfort to your panic.

“Quickly!” He bellowed, rushing Draco and you towards him, looking paler than usual and as afraid as Draco and you. And before either Draco or you could question the mark in the dark sky, he grabbed your hands and the three of you disapparated from the scene. Forgetting the mark in the sky. Not by your choice, but by your fathers. The questions you had, left back in the place you were last standing to never be answered. Simply avoided and being left with nothing but wonder.

——

“I’ll try and send letters as soon as I can, okay?” Narcissa said as she waved at both Draco and you.

You nod and wave goodbye, thinking to yourself how someone who wasn’t your biological parent cared more to be here than your actual father. She always did, she never cared that your mother had been someone else, she treated you exactly as she treated Draco, no exceptions.

“Okay.” You nod with a small smile decorating your lips, ignoring the way Draco only offered her a short stiff wave before he disappeared inside the famous scarlet train. “Bye, I’ll write as soon as we’re settled in school!” With one last goodbye you disappear inside too, following Draco down the hall until he reaches his compartment, stopping by the door and letting you go in first before he and his other friends follow suit. Two friends you knew, Crabbe and Goyle; and also didn’t like as they were both annoying and rude. The only good thing about them was that they left you alone, and continued doing so as the train left the station and began to travel further north towards the school that at the simple thought began to make you feel nervous, made you feel like your heart was slowly dropping to your stomach the closer you knew you were getting.

The only thing that eased your mind was seeing as rain drops ran down the window of your compartment, as more rain fell on harder and the clouds grew darker; straining your eyes to see the passing scenery out the window that was covered by the steam caused by the rain. But like usual your peace was disturbed as per usual Draco and his annoying friends were causing a scene.

At first you were going to let it just pass and stay seated but you heard what Draco was saying and you quickly dragged yourself off your seat and walked up behind him. “...but then, fathers always associated with the top people at the Ministry...maybe your fathers too junior to know about it, Weasley...yes...they probably don’t talk important stuff in front of him—”

“Draco.” You cut him off with a tight lipped smile, “that’s enough, leave them alone.”

Goyle was about to snap back, but before he could you caught his intentions and shot him a glare that made him shut up immediately.

“Let’s head back to the compartment,” You sigh and force the words you speak to convince Draco to leave. “They...aren’t worth it let’s go.”

“You’re right.” Draco responded smugly, “of course.” Before he could leave completely he looks at you with the same smug look before looking at the group he was just being mean too. “My sister personally knows the player you can only admire as a toy, Weasley. She went to school with him you see.” He boasted and continued doing so with no fault in his pride, “and I’m sure she’s going to sign up too and take that glory you crave so much, Potter.” With that being said, he turned back and walked back to the compartment laughing with his friends as they kept poking fun at the students they had just left, leaving you back alone to offer them a small smile and a genuine apology.

“I’m sorry for him and his annoying friends.”

They answered with silence and annoyed pointed glares, making you offer them one last apologetic smile before you turned away and walked back into the compartment. Enjoying the rest of the ride to your new school with just the sound of the raindrops to keep you company and at ease.

As time passed, everything you were nervous to see finally came to view. You arrived at the train station and expected to travel to the castle in the boats, but that form of travel you knew was for first years; but if you thought of it you practically were like the first years, you were a couple years above them and it was your first time coming to this school like them. But as you saw them all leave with the giant man you came to the conclusion that you weren’t like them.

The only thing you could do was go up to the school alongside the rest of the students, climbing onto horseless carriages. The fact that you wouldn’t get the full first day experience kind of brought your mood down at first, but as you passed the gates and the carriages miraculously landed on the ground without getting destroyed in the sky by the lightning, your mood was once again nervous and excited.

The anxiety was short-lived for the moment however as you saw the huge old dark castle and climbed up the flight of big stone stairs to get inside the castle, being in awe as your eyes slowly took everything in. Noticing the torch lit hall that brought a warm welcome, the marble staircases that made everything much fancier, and before you could notice more, a tall older thin woman with a big pointed hat walked towards you and the rest of the students. Draco standing by you, revealed her name you had only been wanting to know, Professor McGonagall.

She gave no speech or attention your way specifically, just ushered all you into the great hall where you knew the inevitable was coming, the sorting you had been all too nervous to get to was going to finally happen.

——

“A thousand years or more ago, when I was newly sewn, there lived four wizards of renown, whose names are still well known: Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fen. They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, they hatched a daring plan to educate young sorcerers thus Hogwarts School began. Now each of these four founders formed their own house, for each did value different virtues In the ones they had to teach. By Gryffindor, the bravest were prized far beyond the rest; For Ravenclaw, the cleverest would always be the best; For Hufflepuff, hard workers were most worthy of admission; And power-hungry Slytherin loved those of great ambition. While still alive they did divide their favorites from the throng, yet how to pick the worthy ones when they were dead and gone? 'Twas Gryffindor who found the way, he whipped me off his head the founders put some brains in me so I could choose instead! Now slip me snug about your ears, I've never yet been wrong, I'll have a look inside your mind and tell where you belong!” The hat sings, making everyone clap and cheer.

You clap lazily before letting out a nervous sigh and keep bouncing your leg under the table, rubbing your wrists as you rest your arms on the table top. Not being able to keep your eyes from drifting to the Gryffindor table, spotting Harry Potter talking amongst his friends, wondering to yourself what would happen if you got put into Gryffindor and ended up becoming friends with the trio Draco always ranted about. Would such a drastic choice, drift you from your family? What would everyone think? Having a Malfoy be part of a different house that wasn’t Slytherin?

For one you wouldn’t mind….that much...it would be a change. A weird one, but one that would stop people from viewing you like the enemy. But two it would definitely cause a drift now that you really thought of it, maybe not between you and Narcissa but between your loving father and Draco.

“I know you’ll get Slytherin.” Draco suddenly said to you, ignoring Dumbledore's speech and breaking you from your thoughts.

You blink and turn your head to look at him, raising your eyebrow to question, “you think so?”

“You’re a Malfoy it’s obvious isn’t?”

You hum and nod still all kinds of unsure, “you’re right.” Your eyes then dart to Dumbledore as you hear the words you’d been dreading to hear.

“Before we sort the first years I'd like to bring up a new transfer from Durmatrang to get sorted first, Y/N Malfoy!” The crowd goes completely silent, the only sound was the sound of people shifting as they turn their bodies and heads to look at you as you stand from your seat to slowly head towards the stool where the sorting hat was waiting to sort you in a house, and tell you a choice that would or wouldn’t change many things. It was all nerve wracking especially with all the eyes watching you intently, you could feel your heart beat wildly in your chest and swore others could hear it too, especially dumbledore who you now stood before, glancing only once at him before he motioned you to sit, lifting the brown hat over your head and carefully placing it on top.

At first you’d thought it would be a quick choice without having to do much thinking like Draco said it did with him, but it wasn’t, for you he hummed to ponder; “hmm….another Malfoy...as easy it was to place the one before, with you it’s difficult.” It stayed silent and since you couldn’t see it’s facial expression as it spoke, you had to go off the wide eyed expressions and the whisperings from the other students.

“I sense that there’s a thirst to prove yourself as well as great ambition…” he continues to say loudly, “...hmm, ruthless as well as passionate. Should I put you in Gryffindor where dwell the brave of heart, or perhaps Slytherin where there are cunning folk that use any means to achieve their ends.” It goes silent again and this time you look to Draco who’s listening with much intent, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were the one having trouble.

You dig your nails into the wood of the stool and notice the murmuring crowd all going silent as the hat speaks to finish. “Oh, I see now, better be...”

Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog

#harry Potter #Harry Potter #Harry Potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter x malfoy!reader #harry potter x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x y/n #harry potter imagines #Harry Potter imagine #different light #Draco Malfoy #Lucius Malfoy #Ron Weasley #the twins #hermione granger #narcissa malfoy #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x malfoy!reader #fred weasley x y/n

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fafulous · 4 years ago

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Take Me Home (1/5)

Andy Barber x Reader (Post!Defending Jacob)

Summary: After the unfortunate events of the trial and after, a depressed Andy Barber decides to call it quits and start a mundane life far away from Newton. He decides it is best to have a fresh start away from prying eyes and alone, but he never thought his caring neighbor (and her son) would change all of that.

Themes: MAJOR D.J. SPOILERS ((The series is following the BOOK ENDING and not Show)), Sad and soft Andy Barber, Single Mother Reader. Cursing.

a/n: I hope you guys like it. We all know Andy deserves some softness :’)

The one thing you cherished about your neighbourhood was its calming silence.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the 21st century fast pacers. It did not give you any force to lead a rush life. No matter how hard life was you enjoyed this serenity, just like your neighbours.

You were the only one relatively younger in your neighbourhood, for this place was normally owned by retired elderly after experiencing everything life had to offer. But for you and your three-year-old little son, it was a second chance at life. All your neighbours except for that one loner house beside you was occupied by retired veterans and war heroes.

But that soon changed.

A man by the name Andrew Barber had moved to the house beside you. You got to know one day when you saw a huge truck with people going in and out of the house with clean and neat furniture.

Seeing all that, your vivid imagination went running and tried to picture how this man would look. Judging by the furniture (which made no sense), you thought your new neighbour was someone who would be simple and felt it wasn’t going to be someone who was, you know, old.

Oh boy were you right.

Once those packers went by, you saw him.

Andrew Barber was nothing what you thought out to be. Tall and broad, his back muscles would tell you its own tale. From afar you noticed his biceps never failed him too, for his arms screamed whenever he went in and out with a huge piece of cardboard boxes. His facial hair was a bit messy, like he is just moving into his new abode right after a sloth nap. You weren’t sure but his blue eyes had a dull finish that were deep embedded in his sunken face.

You also took notice of his sleek black Audi A6 which was parked by his driveway; It was not easy to peel your eyes away from its beauty.

This was wrong. You’re a single mother with the most adorable kid you could’ve ever asked for. After a struggle of six months your son Nikolai and you have found a hint of stability; single parenting is never easy unless you get the hang of it.

And you did.

Before you could offer any refreshments, your neighbours beat you to it. They were too kind. They were the elderly parents whose snobbish kids only visited once a year. Hence you decided to fill the gap in their lives. They loved you and you loved them back.

So now you decided that maybe when the time is right, you could meet him in a day or two and get to know each other.

Right?

—

This was new for Andy. Very foreign too.

To live a life without Laurie and Jacob was something he never expected to happen after the trial. It’s been a good handful of weeks since it happened. He did not even have the heart to think more about his son. His eyes would cloud with tears and the whole day would go wasted in drowning himself in sorrow and liquor.

He was still mourning after all.

So he decided to move. Move away from his house that reminded of his 17 years of a marriage that only seemed successful, only for it go wrong in an impulse. Move away from all of the local tabloids that hinted at himself being a next murderer.

Move away from his unsuccessful lineage.

Scattered around him were boxes of his stuff at his new house, his stuff alone. Laurie’s stuff was nearly packed and sent away to her parents’ home, the last time he’ll ever associate himself with her family.

Yes, her family.

Andy did file for a divorce while she was in prison, but that was a long procedure until it became official. However hard it was to sign those papers; it was as hard to let go of Laurie. Because if he lets her go, he has nobody.

A lone sunken soul.

The packers truck got in half of his belongings, the remaining which will come tomorrow. It was difficult moving especially with one single person. His neighbours were all elderly, so surely, he could not ask anyone for help. Also, it was another reason he chose this locality, he could be alone while he knew he lived in a tightly knitted community filled with respected war veterans.

He was extremely taken aback when many of his neighbours offered him freshly cooked food and refreshments to get over the day. He was thankful. They knew about his past and still they accepted him and asked him to reach out if any help was needed.

Andy’s day went ahead unpacking his clothes first, which took his time. He wondered if he’d ever need the fashionable suits and ties, he wore to work. There was a job opening at a swimming instructor at the local community gym; all he needs are those Speedos. But nevertheless, he kept then all back, trying to keep his mind preoccupied in cleaning.

But all that effort seemed futile for every memory crashed down when he unpacked his wedding tux.

He felt too claustrophobic, buried his hand in his face. He no longer had a marriage. He no longer had anyone to look after.

He no longer had anyone to look after him.

But amidst all this chaos in his foggy mind, he hears a lovely toothy giggle of a child.

He peeks out of his window to see a young mother and her small son sitting in their backyard with a picnic spread in front of them, while the little boy kept tripping over the grass purposefully just so he could laugh and make his mother laugh too. Andy had no idea he had a middle-aged family living nearby.

Seeing you and the son spread this familiar warmth inside Andy, reminiscing how he had this. It reminded Andy of a happier time.

Soon to be replaced with anguish. He would never have that again. He missed feeling the warmth of family, the love of a wife. Life never really gave second chances he believed.

He noticed you, a caring mother placing the little one on your lap while you fed him all the scrumptious food. He didn’t fail to miss how your eyes shined with happiness. A happy woman is always a pretty woman at heart; it is something he used to tell himself. A soft chuckle left out of Andy’s lips as he saw the boy eat the food messily, but you seemed to be patient, responding lovingly towards his naughty antics.

Her husband is one lucky son of a bitch.

He could watch you two all day, but that would be extremely inappropriate. Right now, Andy wanted his newfound house to look like a home.

Next day went by and it didn’t seem like he was getting anywhere near getting his house ready. He was waiting for another truck to get more of his stuff while he sipped on some bear till the movers arrived. They unloaded most of his stuff at his lawn and went away.

“Need a hand moving those boxes?”

Andy turned around to a gentle voice of the same woman who had he had seen yesterday with the small child.

You.

A chilly afternoon, he wasn’t surprised you sporting a loose, fluffy knitted woollen pullover with black leggings. Your hair was tied up in a bun and then noticed that he was probably staring at you for a long time.

“Uh- No. I’m fine, thank you.”

But you kept standing there looking at him smirking. He was literally struggling to carry all those boxes “Your body language says something else.”

When he looked up you saw his sunken eyes with even more detail as though the man hasn’t slept in days, “Would I be desperate man if I said yes?”

You chuckled, “Not at all. I’m Y/N Y/LN.”

“Andrew Barber”, he stretched out his hand for a warm greeting with a firm handshake. The feeling of his rough palms sends small jitters to you, but you ignored it; and just like that you resumed.

You helped him lift the bigger boxes to his house even though you knew he carried most of the weight. Two could always get the work done sooner. Both of you didn’t talk much for these 20 minutes but it was a comfortable silence while both of you took sneaky glances at each other’s features.

When you neared him, you realized he was lot more than just handsome. Sunken face was holding two blue eyes that would be enticing if he had put any effort to put any life in them. His beard was neatly trimmed although scruffy, just like you saw yesterday.

Andy on the other hand was just too despondent to, you know, check you out. He thought you to be a beautiful woman with a kind heart, especially after seeing you and your son yesterday.

He even thought of asking you about your son and family, but that would be too intrusive he wondered.

Andy thought you’d leave after moving the boxes but you insisted you’d stay to help unpack his stuff and maybe cook some lunch for him since he didn’t even unpack his kitchen utensils out. He was ready to accept the help only for a second.

The Andrew Barber he knew before the events of the trial would have gladly accepted, maybe even made lunch for the beautiful lady, instead of you, who graciously offered him help. He was divorced now so there was nothing stopping him.

But do you really deserve a fresh start with a lady Andy?

Would she be here if she knew who you really were?

His mind was plagued. He moved here with the intention of a fresh start but, he wondered if anyone would actually accept him. He decided for himself that they wouldn’t.

“It’s alright Y/N. Thanks for your help.”

There was no way a man could set up his home all alone you thought. “Mr. Barber, are you sure? I really have no problem. I’m completely unoccupied at the moment. Besides Nikolai-”

“No.”

You blinked at his curt reply.

“I’m good Y/N. I can take care of the remaining stuff here. You can go now.”

Looking at him made you realise how conflicted he was. His words likely meant that he didn’t require your presence but his whole demeanour looked like just wanted some god damn company. He didn’t mind your help at first, but at the same time now he was pushing you away. What changed?

So much for making acquaintances with the new neighbour, you thought.

Without saying anything you stiffly nodded, Andy realizing the offence written all over your face, and saw you walk away from his abode closing his door politely.

It was probably for the best to keep distance from a kind woman like you. He knew you were trying to get acquainted with him like any normal person would, but Andy was firmly grounded that he and normalcy would never go back again.

The minute you left he opened another beer bottle to sink himself. This fresh start for Andy was just bullshit.

–

You rushed back the minute you closed Mr. Grumpy Cat’s door and made a beeline to your home, only to see your son playing on the countertop with one your elderly neighbour.

“Thank you, Mr. Arthur, for taking care of Nikolai. I hope he didn’t cause much trouble.”

“I’d do anything for you sweet pea, Nikolai was a sweetheart.” The old man chuckled and turned to leave, “By the way last weekend’s pot pie was delicious. I had to make it up to you.”

Returning a hug, you thanked your neighbour again and leaped your son in your arms, attacking him with kissed while he spurted giggles. “Mommy it tickles!”

“Guess what happened peaches? I met our new neighbour”

Nikolai clapped his hand “Mista Wandew Bahhba?”

Your son was hell bent on knowing the name of the newcomer after he laid his eyes on the stylish black Audi. Boys always know their toys.

You nodded, “He’s a grumpy man peaches. I have no idea what to do with him.” And just like that you began speaking with Nikolai. He was your only company to talk. He never really understood anything, but your talented son did a fairly good job of putting up a pretense to hear.

“I offered him help and he says yes. Then I kindly ask him if I can help him more, you know like cook homemade spaghetti. But instead he becomes snippy with me?”

“Woh no,” your son whispered to your exclamation, which in reality was for his superhero figurines falling on to the floor. “I like his cahr mommy.”

“So do I Niko, but I so do not like him,” you paused and gave him a kiss on the forehead, “Guess we’re the only sunshine in this neighbourhood peaches.”

—

Days went by and you rarely interacted with your new neighbour.

Oh and when it did, it really never went well for you.

The first time was when a few standard posts under the name of Mr. Barber arrived at your doorstep, since he wasn’t available at his house. Like any other hospitable neighbour, you signed the post and made sure to drop it by him when he gets back.

"Uh Mr. Barber the post man dropped this by at our doorstep since you weren’t available. I thought I should give it to you.”

Andy opened the door with a few knocks and saw you standing with a few posts in a fluffy cable knit sweater. He took the posts from you, gently brushing over your hands. He perused through them quickly and gave you that conflicted stern look.

“I appreciate it Mrs. Y/L/N, but next time I’d like to collect my own posts irrespective of its nature. You can tell them I can collect it from the post office”

Was this man for real?

You crossed your arms and gave him back that stern look too. He wasn’t going to get away without you throwing shade. “Oh you know Mr. Barber I was just trying to be a good neighbour. It’s not like I’m dying here to get associated with you.”

He gave you a nasty grin which triggered you to make you leave away from his threshold.

Andy thought for a moment that he already crossed the line with the wrong woman.

The next time you met him was probably the last time you would ever meet him.

Your shift at the library got too late, for you were the Librarian of the local Library. You didn’t have to worry much about picking up your son late for he was at Mr. Arthur’s.

But coming home realising that he was sitting on the front porch of Andrew’s house made you park your car haphazardly in your driveway and run up to your child, ignoring Andrew’s presence.

“I’m so sorry sweetie. What are you doing here Niko?”

Andy interrupted, “Mr. Arthur had to visit the hospital. He was catching the flu and he didn’t want to give it to Nikolai here.”

You didn’t want to meet his gaze, but you forced yourself for you were grateful for this kind gesture. Maybe this Grumpy Cat has a kind heart after all.

“Mr. Barber, thank you so much for taking care of Niko. My phone must’ve been on silent if Arthur wanted to contact me.”

“Oh, don’t thank me Mrs. Y/L/N. I am just filling in the gaps of irresponsible parenting.”

It felt like a blunt hit to your heart. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you heard me.” he whispered so closely that you could smell his musky deodorant with a hint of beer. Your son was out of earshot, sipping on a glass of lemonade that was probably offered by this man. “Trust me I know what happens to a child that is always kept away from their caretakers.”

He quickly went on to say how Nikolai was a special child when your son came near you both and how your family should take more care in your child. You never really listened for your eyes threatened to pierce with tears. No way were you going to cry in front of this man.

“Thank you Mista Wandi.”

“Anytime buddy.”

He went up and shut the door, like it was a personal aimed at you.

And you just stood there feeling numb while Niko tugged on your work coat.

“Let’s go home Mommi.”

The audacity to tell you how to be a parent. Did he even have a child? Does he even know how to it is to take care of a child single handed?

But those questions never mattered. No matter how positive you are in life, its never nice to hear someone spew your flaws on to your face.

Meanwhile minutes passed when Andy soon realised how he had royally fucked up. Everyday around 5pm you and your child would come along to the backyard and have a snack ritual while both of you played or read story books. For Andy, though he chided himself for his stalking behaviour, it brought him a sense of peace to see your son scream with shrills of laughter when he ran around the lawn.

He had nothing against you, yet he was being selfish.

I be mean to her; I stay away from here. Simple.

Today however, Nikolai sat facing away from his ypu munching on freshly baked cookies while you sported a tear stained face. He felt a twinge when he saw you staring straight ahead with a blank stare while tears rolled down. His heart successfully sunked when he saw Nikolai trying to wipe your tears and hug you. Andrew then sat down dramatically on his chair when he saw you breakdown into your son’s fragile shoulders.

Apologies wouldn’t fix this. It would, but Andrew Barber the resilient thought that being obnoxiously rude to someone he wants to be close to will make them hate him.

He never thought it would hurt you.

He decided not to take any efforts in an apology; or it could take more than an apology.

—

A few weeks passed by and you tried your level best and succeeded in avoiding banters with Mr. Grumpy Cat. Whenever you saw him, a flurry of rage fell over you. Was it your mistake you were trying to be friendly to your only attractive neighbour?

Strike out attractive. A mean soul was never attractive.

Andrew Barber on the other hand dreaded what had happened; he was a little too late to the party to realise that your house had no male inhabitant, except for that one man who had made a visit.

He soon deduced that you were a single mother.

Too late rather Andy.

And when he recalled what he had said to you, he wanted you to slap him in the face. Hard enough to have a bruise that lasted for a year.

Nikolai and you always woke up late on a weekend morning. Both of you always shared and slept in the same room for Nikolai had regularly occurring nightmares.

You never realised but you and Niko woke up a small commotion outside your house, or probably his house.

Plus, the other day it so happened Nikolai’s father paid a terribly long visit, pleading you to take him back into your life. He felt apologetic for what he did. But that lingering memory was soon cut off by Grumpy Cat’s voice.

Knowing his tendencies to irate his neighbours, (or maybe just you exclusively) you ignored it and began serving late breakfast pancakes for your son. But you soon stopped when you heard a loud, hoarse bellow.

“GET OFF MY LAWN!”

You looked outside of your window to see a bunch of vans and the reporters standing outside Andy’s lawn. Niko ran up to you and carried him over your hip for the little one heard the scary yell too.

Andy’s car was parked haphazardly on the pavement. A pair or more of reporters were taking pictures of him and his vandalised garage door.

“Oh my god.”

You put down Niko and asked him to play with his toys. Yes, you hated Andrew but what you saw on his now tainted garage door made you want to retch. It was such a distasteful thing to do. It appeared as if a spray can paint was used to write whatever it was on the door:

MURDERER, YOU WILL ROT IN HELL TOO.

Andy crouched down on his knees, his hands covering his face and ruggedly running his hands through his hair, while he kneeled down in front of the vandalism.

The very reason he moved away from Newton was now on his garage door.

You wanted to go out and help him, but your ego wouldn’t let you. Why should you help a man who was nothing but mean to you all this while?

Luckily enough you saw Mr. Arthur and a couple of his old friends admonishing the press. They threatened that this community was filled with retired war veterans and that they would charge them for community trespassing and disrupting the lives of people who have lost a limb and more for this country.

Hearing that threat made the desperate amateur reporters leave from the vicinity as soon as possible.

Andy stood up and tried to process this whole situation, looking around for any sort of help, only to lay his eyes on the faint image you from your window.

You expected him to shout and rage and ask you to fuck off from staring at his pitiful state. But he didn’t. You would never forget those embarrassed sunken eyes, silently pleading for help.

He didn’t deserve this. You have no idea about his past or who he was to garner such attention, but this was just cruel. He soon averted from your gaze and went on to thank his fellow elderly friends and made his way inside home.

Later in the evening, you caught Andy scrubbing the ugly writings with cloth and soap water. After a while, he took a few steps behind and saw that they words were still there but faded.

“I had some grey paint for Nikolai’s nursery, but never got the chance to do it.”

Andy turned to that sweet voice of yours and hesitated in meeting your gaze. He was embarrassed, for you stood there, giving out an arm to help him again despite his foul behaviour. He saw little Nikolai standing behind you with his shabby brown hair that reminded him of Jacob, clutching onto your legs while he peaked at him. He didn’t understand what you mean by the whole nursery thing, but he stood up and finally, both of you took in each other’s gaze.

Andy’s eyes were even more sunken than he had when he arrived, his blue orbs sunk in a sea of red. He must have been crying. He saw you were missing your feisty eyes that you always sported. Maybe it’s because you despised him so much.

“It’s not the exact colour of your garage door but it can do the trick I suppose.”

The second you handed over the paint to him, you quickly turned around to head towards your home. But Andy didn’t want to push you further anymore by being a dick. He was ready to apologise.

“Hey please listen up! I really am s- “

“No no no,” your voice trembled; this habit of crying while you were angry was just exasperating you wondered, “I think its best we don’t hold conversation Mr. Barber. This will be probably my last interaction with you; what happened to you was horrid and ugly. You don’t deserve that. That much I know”

Andy was hesitant, embarrassed. “Mrs. Y/L/N- “

“Quit calling me a missus! I am not even fucking married anymore-” you said drawing quotes in the air, to be interrupted by a little tug at your coat. You realised that your kid was standing next to you. And you swore in front of him. Great parenting.

“Oh Niko,” you picked him up and peppered him with a few kisses, “Sorry for that language. Mommy won’t swear again okay. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah”, the kid nodded and buried his head into your neck and hugging you tightly.

"Let’s go, sweetie. I’m done with this man.”

As you went away the little boy who was wrapped around over your shoulder waved with his short hands to Andy. To Nikolai, Andy was the one who had the coolest car and made the best lemonade (which he had when he was made to wait for his mom). He never really understood the intensity of adults’ arguments. He was just a grateful child.

It was only then Andy realised he had to make it up to you by any means for he stood there alone feeling like a real douchebag with a paint can in his hands.

—

Part 2

—

Taglist (IS OPEN): @sinner-as-saint @captainscanadian, @kakakatey @bluevelvetsam

@mrsbarneswillseeyounow

@anqelicstarc @lcandothisallday @https-bucky @readermia @chrisevansforever @ruthyalva96 @thedarkplume @sammyfresh @bloglovelylady @stuckys-dirty-girl @rindaastridfreakinreign @buckys-plums3 @marvelouspottering @sweetlittlegingy @emilykjhgsj @poppunkdork @bval-1lovepeacefood

@captainchrisstan @hista-girl @xlanawriter

@denisemarieangelina @xoxabs88xox @adreamemporium @yoncevans @oceanlenny @ididntchoosethislife @evansinlove @ninaminaromina @sodonutnutnut @nickysurfer28 @captainchrisstan @charmed-asylum @lovepeacefood @trashboggart

#Andy Barber #defending jacob #Andy Barber x Reader #Andy Barber Imagines #Chris evans x reader #chris evans imagines #defending jacob spoilers #andy barber smut #andy barber fluff #chris evans #chris evans x you #andy barber imagine #andy barber angst #defending jacob finale #jacob barber #andrew barber

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timextoxhajima · 4 years ago

Text

HOSTIS SPECIAL

Member: Lee Hyunjae

Genre: fluff and smut (because what’s a hostis special without smut)

Playlist: Literally a sex-playlist sigh

A/N: for vin, who feeds me with the ideas i need to write. the one who told me to write this piece and also told me what to include. so, though you already know what’s going to happen in this piece, i hope it curbs your hyunjae thirst ;) happy birthday love <3

Familiar fingers brush across your collarbone, tracing it as his lips are attached to the surface. The contact sends a harsh shiver through your body, but a smile of content parts your lips just as a soft sigh runs off your tongue.

He doesn’t say anything when your hands travel up his spine from his lower back, feeling his muscles shift under his skin. His shoulder blade protrudes out from his back as he repositions himself, giving him easier access to your neck and jaw. Your hand travels up further, thumb stroking the line where his hair goes under his scalp, then tangling your fingers through his brown locks on the back of his head.

The treatment on your neck is more than adequate when you feel yourself getting hotter; more uncomfortable, in your home shorts. Shorts that you’d think Hyunjae wouldn’t give a second thought about but all he’s done the entire day was stare and grope at the flesh peeking out from beneath.

Hyunjae’s pressing on your hip bone pulls you back to present; he’s keeping you from squirming too much.

“Hyunjae--”

“Mm? What do you need, kitten?” The whisper hits your skin in the form of a soft breath just before he starts trailing more kisses under your ear and along your jaw.

“I just-- I don’t think I want to look like I just got fucked out at dinner--”

He finishes with a few more kisses and pulls away, eyes still refusing to shift away from the little, though not obvious, marks he’s left under your ear.

Pushing himself off you, he lets his torso loom over yours, but puts tension on his upper arms and shoulders. HIs hair dangles off his forehead, eyes obviously clouded with some sense of lust but not enough for him to shut you up so he can finish whatever he wanted to do. “Aw, why not? Would be a fun story to tell.”

“Really?” You snort sarcastically, digging your thumb and index finger into his cheeks on either side of his face, trying to rid the desire in the air. “You really want me to tell Juyeon, your very hot pilot friend, that I was just screwed over--”

“Maybe I do,” An eyebrow raises itself. Something flips in your stomach, because no matter now many times Hyunjae does it, he’d still be able to push some button inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

Definitely doesn’t help that his upper body was on display for you to gawk at, and just a minute ago, was pressed against yours, shirt already strewn on the floor.

“Maybe...” He lowers himself, knees now on either sides of your hips, and traces your chin. His touch oozes with an unhealthy amount of disciplined desire, and it puts you on edge since it places you at a more disadvantageous position. “I want you to tell him that so he’d know I’m the only one who can make you feel the way you do.”

Then he presses his lips into yours. A gentle, yet somehow claiming kiss.

“But sure, I’ll let you have your way. I’m in a good mood today, thanks to those shorts of yours,” He smirks and tucks your hair behind your ear lightly. After kissing you on the cheek, he removes himself from the bed and pulls his shirt off the edge, leaving you against the pillows and admiring the shape of his hip hiding under the joggers he was wearing.

The lines by the side of his abdominal muscles would disappear under the rim, leading to where his--

“Hey,” The shirt covers your view as he calls out to you. “You have an hour to get ready, don’t go back on your word now. We do what you want to do, so you better make it worth it and not make me wait.”

Hyunjae disappears out of the room, leaving you lying with your stomach and chest exposed to the cool air of his room.

The restaurant was beautiful, with a helipad just right out the door to the side and you had the honor of watching some rich director walk out of a helicopter, and be escorted to a table nearby.

Juyeon thanks the person waiting on your table, who happened to be the outlet manager, leaving you in absolute awe at the food and at Juyeon.

“So, why isn’t the Missus here with us?” Hyunjae starts the conversation just after Juyeon hands the two of you the utensils you needed.

“’Missus’?” He snorts. “We’ve been dating for a year, unlike some people, who’ve spent half their lives fighting with one another.”

Juyeon was wearing a white button up top with a dark blue, almost black, blazer with matching pants. His hair was done up and it’d be a lie if you said he wasn’t one of the most attractive people you’ve seen in your life.

“To each their own; I didn’t pick her up from some random bar.”

“Ooh,” Juyeon squints. He knows it’s a joke. “Low blow.”

Hyunjae receives a smack from you on his arm, shooting him a look of disapproval.

“It’s fine, he’s only being such an ass because you’re around. Otherwise, he’s the sweetest guy you’d ever know,” Juyeon’s defense in favour of Hyunjae surprises you a little, then you realise you’ve never really seen him with his friends. Maybe with Younghoon back in college, but otherwise, you’ve just been too busy avoiding him or plotting his murder.

“Then again, you of all people would know how sweet he is.”

“Do I?” You turn to Hyunjae, wine glass in your hand as you take a sip. “Last time he was sweet to me, he was on one knee.”

Juyeon smiles, but you are only looking at Hyunjae, who has his lips pursed when he almost throws his napkin across the table.

“Don’t you dare--”

“Hyunjae spent a week looking for the ring. He looked online, in physical stores... he even asked me if I could give him a plane ride to India.”

“Will you shut up--”

You are at a loss of words, for it is not like Hyunjae to ask anybody for a favour. It meant putting down his pride and asking for help, which he, of all people, isn’t accustomed to.

“I wish I could stuff that chicken thigh down your throat.”

“He flew in this ring he’s been staring at for so long -- well, not that long, since it took him like five months to decide he wanted to propose to you--”

“Flew in?” Your eyes travel down to the ring on your right, middle finger.

“From Paris.”

Hyunjae winces and presses his forehead into his palm, refusing to look at you but definitely shooting daggers through Juyeon.

“You flew in this ring from Paris?”

“We do not talk about this here.”

“Aww,” You coo and hug Hyunjae’s arm, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You are sweet.”

Hyunjae rolls his eyes, using his teeth to jab the inner side of his cheek. His eyes travel from the food to yours, now soft and all gooey after finding out the effort he put in into finding you the gorgeous silver ring with a crystal sitting in a floral wrap.

Then Hyunjae leans forward and kisses you infront of Juyeon, stunning you because most of the time, he’d be into little ministrations under the table-- but this? This was just for display.

Juyeon groans and scoffs, obviously looking embarrassed and slightly annoyed that the dinner he’s hosted has turned him into more of a third-party. Hyunjae pulls away and kisses your forehead before turning to Juyeon, knife in the air.

“I’m gonna kill you, just so you know.”

“You can try but I’m sure she won’t let you.”

You smile, eyes definitely shimmering with all the love you’ve grown to embrace for Hyunjae as you plant a kiss on his cheek.

The night grows fondly, with the sun setting then the night sky being lit up with the city lights you see in the distance from your table. By the time Juyeon has walked you both to the carpark, he is well aware of the mutual, simmering, warm affection between you and Hyunjae.

He would’ve said it’s disgusting to watch, especially after watching your duet fight till death so many times over, but he didn’t want ruin his own view of Hyunjae being so happy.

He’d smile every time he looked at you, even if you weren’t looking back at him.

“So,” Juyeon stops before Hyunjae’s car as the headlights beeped on. “When am I seeing the both of you again? Or am I expecting a call to be your best man?”

The car door unlocks just before you pull it open. You snort, knowing that Hyunjae’s idea of a wedding was too far away; both of you were too busy with work to even start planning one.

“Doubt it’d be anytime soon,” Hyunjae gets the driver’s door open. “But I’ll see you again, that’s for sure.”

Juyeon grins and shoves his hands into his pockets, nodding. “Bye, safe trip home.”

“Bye, Juyeon.”

Your fiance glances across the roof of the car upon your bidding goodbye, flashing you a tiny look of disapproval when he notices how your voice went up a few pitches.

You help yourself into the car and Hyunjae shortly after, Juyeon moving away for him to drive out and waves goodbye to the both of you.

When the car hits the streets and the lights alternate themselves, your eyes are so accustomed to having them plastered to the outside world, taking all the sights in. It wasn’t a usual drive to the tower you just had dinner at, so all the views were different.

The buildings were taller, brighter, no hospital in sight.

But old habits die hard and Hyunjae decides to disrupt your peace, albeit already used to it.

“This is your first proper meeting with Juyeon, right? How was it?”

You notice him turning to your in the window, and it wasn’t tough to read the look in his eyes.

He’s scared you saw something in Juyeon that he doesn’t have.

But Hyunjae will not cower and admit, he’d put up a fight to protect his pride even if you did assure him otherwise.

“He’s alright,” You pause. “A sight to behold.”

“I was worried I was imagining things when I noticed the way you looked at him.”

It snaps it into your head that this insecurity is turning into jealousy, and Hyunjae’s jealousy is a force to be reckoned with.

“He is gorgeous, you can’t deny that.”

“I’ll deny it because I’m straight and he’s got enough going on for him.”

Hyunjae’s now slightly-harsh tone surprises you, though not alarmingly.

“Just because you’re straight doesn’t mean you can’t say he’s gorgeous.”

“Is that the only thing you can say about Juyeon?” He turns to you, eyebrow raised as the car comes to a stop at a red light. “‘Gorgeous’?”

Leaning your head back onto the car seat, you eye him from the corner of your vision, a soft smirk coming on your lips.

“You’re jealous and you’re not even trying to hide it.”

The arrogant scoff that tears through the air with a roll of his eyes back to the road is an enticing sound to your ears. With his right arm on the steering wheel, he displays all the strained veins on his arm, because that’s just how hard he’s gripping it.

“Surely I have some credit for feeling jealous over my fiancé calling my best friend ‘gorgeous’?”

It is seething out from him pore to pore, and there isn’t a single strand of hair on Hyunjae that’s trying to hide it.

No longer surprising the way Hyunjae handles you -- careful but harsh and claiming -- he doesn’t hesitate to cup your jaw and cheeks in his hands while using your body to shut the front door of his house.

“My God,” He breathes against your lips, pulling away only to speak, otherwise his lips are attached to yours. “You’re already mine but I can’t stand the way you call someone else ‘gorgeous’.”

His blatant admittance draws a thick chuckle from your gut, motivating you to wrap your arms around him to tighten the gap between your torsos.

“I know you don’t like it, but it’s never boring to see your reaction.”

Hyunjae doesn’t stop, only allowing the kisses to get harsher according to his needs and the desires filling his veins. He picks you up by your thighs, one arm supporting your rear while he pushes both your shoes off and removing his own with just his feet.

It doesn’t take too long for him to get the both of you to his bedroom, clothes already pulled out from under your skirt and his pants and on the brink of coming off your skin altogether.

Hyunjae dips his nose into your neck, shutting your eyes despite your fingers desperately trying to find the buttons of his formal wear. His skin feels stretched and feeling his muscles shift under your fingerpads alleviates all your senses.

Never gets old.

He pulls away only to remove his shirt, returning to your gown and holding you up to pull down the zipper on the back and letting the straps fall down your arms to your elbows. Distracting you by returning to your lips, he gives himself space to remove your clothes, letting the cool (but now slightly warm) air kiss your exposed skin.

Every breath he leaves on you is light but needy, and every kiss feels like it was timed; like it was meant to happen. It doesn’t show the ten years of fighting you’ve been through with him.

Hyunjae loves your body the way he said he would, and even if he would never admit it or write it out explicitly in words, he would never hurt you more than he intended.

He doesn’t remove any of your lingerie besides your underwear, which is strange because he usually likes to see all of you, for he likes to revel in the fact that you are his and his only.

So when he reaches under the bed and pulls out a small, newly opened package, your attention is being sought after by that mysterious box.

“What the Hell is that?”

Then that smirk returns from the depths of Hell, just like you asked.

“Why in the world do you-- no, wait--”

“Come on, kitten,” That devious smile makes you wetter, against your liking, but your brain is yelling ‘no’ because you know this is just another way he can snap you like a twig. “You’ve had your fun, now let me have mine.”

You watch with a mixture of terror and lust as he removes the device from the package, and it is almost embarrassing to watch him turn it on without even checking for the batteries.

He’s planned this.

“Hyunjae--”

“Trust me, kitten,” His warmth breath hits your neediness, clenching your jaw to prevent the moan from escaping your mouth. Then, he presses the device to your skin, the most sensitive point on your body, and it sends you over an edge you didn’t even know existed.

Your back archs off the bed, head thrown back into the pillows when you feel the vibrations pulse through your abdomen and then throughout your entire body. Hyunjae slides two digits in with ease, tongue also busy flicking all the space where the device wasn’t being ruthlessly pressed against.

The blanket gets tangled in your right hand, and your left finds your teeth to bite.

His fingers increase their speed while the dangerous, circular device still running innocent, yet gut-clenching sensations through your nerves.

It was a mistake to look down, for Hyunjae looks up at your through his lashes and his slightly sweaty fringe, eyes clouded with lust and desire to ensure you were getting all the pleasure he could offer.

And the eye contact flips a switch somewhere inside, and his finger finds the spot alongside the constant vibrations from the device.

“Oh-- fucking Hell-- Hyunjae--”

The silence is painful, and he lets you near your climax, fingers coated with your lust and whimsical whines.

Then just before you release, he removes the device and his fingers, causing a frustrated groan to erupt from your chest and your bloodshot eyes ready to shoot daggers through him.

You sit up, forgetting about your needs and only wanting to choke him to death. But Hyunjae beats you to it, hand flying out to hold you back down to the bed by your throat, and silencing you with a harsh, messy kiss.

“I know you don’t like it, but it’s never boring to see your reaction.”

The words boil and fuel your love for him, for this is why you are his and he is yours.

You are half of Ares, and he completes you the same way you complete him.

He captures you by the lips again, allowing your hands to undo his belt and remove his pants all too impatiently before he gets rid of it with your aggressive pushing.

You can feel his smile against your lips, and it makes the kiss all the more sweeter. Knowing that he breathes and sighs into you, giving you all that he is makes you yearn for more.

His uneven shifting tells you he’s gotten rid of his underwear, then you feel him prodding at your entrance as he’s removing your bra.

“I love you so much.”

He stares into your eyes, not a spark of hatred or resentment the way he’d look at you just months ago, and it feels like the Hell you’ve promised to live with him, if not better.

“I love you too.”

The bliss when he fills you perfectly erupts goosebumps all over your skin, and his nose dips into your neck while your palms find his shoulder blades, nails ready to dig into his skin. His scent is toxicatingly addictive, where the mixture of his sweat and leftover cologne from the dinner appointment forces you to drink all of the pleasure he’s offering you as he grinds his hips into yours.

The remnants from the vibrator has already given him some leeway, so it doesn’t take long for him to find that spot again, above all the nibbling he was doing to your neck and collarbone.

Your nails must’ve left a mark on his back, though you were too pre-occupied with the violent spasming from your climax.

Hyunjae helps you ride out yours while chasing his, and his breathy growls in the back of his throat tells you he was nearing his as well.

“Don’t pull out.”

“What?” His hair sticks to his forehead, and the view of his pelvis ramming against your already max-ed out core turns you on again. “Are you-- sure?”

“Do it before I change my mind.”

The veins on his arms by your head were about to explode, and the view of him above you becomes too much for you to handle, so you push him down by the back of his neck to meet your lips again.

The thrusts don’t stop, and he helps you find that climax again within an unbelievable amount of time.

Then he abruptly offers a harsh jerk, then another, and you hit your second climax with him groaning messily into your lips. His hips and thighs are shaking under yours, giving him seconds just before he slowly pulls out and removes himself off you.

The panting, the smell of sex in the air and the trickling of his release down your legs make you feel like a satisfied mess, with an absolute void of complaint.

Hyunjae is spent, but he still finds the strength to pick you up and bring you into the bathroom, helping you wash all of him that was still dripping out of you, every now and then giving you a kiss on your skin where he could reach.

The bed feels extra comfy, now that the both of you were spent from your love-making. And being cuddled up against his chest in your pajamas makes it all the more worth it.

#timetohajima hostis #the boyz hyunjae #hyunjae smut #the boyz smut #the boyz fanfic #hyunjae #hyunjae fanfic

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mvrkgeoli · 4 years ago

Text

GHOSTING

pairing: ghost!yuta x reader genre: kinda 50s - 60s au for yuta, ghost au, angst, some fluff, kinda mature..? word count: 5.3k warnings: a handful of satanic themes, mentions of death / killing, bittersweet ending i’m sorry author’s note: lowercase intended. this is my first kinda lengthy fic and um yea i hope u like c:

settling into a new place where you weren't familiar with sure was draining, especially when you barely knew anyone around along with a long drive that separated you from your already long time friends. you had to move to alleviate the time it took to travel to the university you recently got into. renting a flat for yourself to live alone was the first "adult achievement" you had overcome, as how your mother would word it out. what definitely stunned you was how cheap the place was, for a whole flat you thought it would have cost you a few more hundreds at least.

from what you heard from the small old building's landlord, not entirely in detail, the flat was apparently owned by multiple in the past. you didn't mind it at all, you couldn't let such a price go for a student like yourself already struggling, happy with the fact that it was somewhat already furnished, furniture sitting dusted probably by the time that had passed from the last owner. some things stayed from all the years the building went through, mainly only the furniture and appliances being changed through the years. mentally reminding yourself to thank your bestfriend doyoung for helping you find places with affordable prices after you finish settling in the last of your belongings.

a few weeks had passed, finding yourself in a comfortable position in your bed along with stress clouding your mind from all the requirements already building up in the first semester. not to mention all the weird happenings that had been going on, you didn't know if you were just tired or already gone crazy.

the first time something happened was the day after you settled in the flat. the blinds in your room shut by itself just when you were going to bed, it had reminded you to close them before you drifted off into your deep slumber to shut off any peeping toms, you paid no mind to it thinking it was meant to be and nudged you as your first blunder.

the most recent one was by far the creepiest. the feeling of breathing against your ear sent shivers down your spine, sitting up from your bed abruptly, breaking you off from your little nap. the past ones had always been short hasty movements from the furniture or your belongings, sure they alarmed and spooked you but in contrast to the breathing occurrence, it was slow and calm, it felt so close. it continued for as long as it could until your wake that night, the feeling savored in your head for the rest of the day.

which leads you to today, texting doyoung if he knew anything about the unit before he suggested it to you. watching the small bubbles bobbing in your screen as you waited for his response, a short message making its way into your sight after a few moments.

dodoie | today at 6:23 not that i know of?? all i know is someone living there before but you already knew that :0

you sent him a brief thank you before shifting to your laptop to look for answers yourself, only thinking about it now after the breathing incident. first looking up the address, only the map and pictures of the neighboring buildings coming up.

after some time, you sighed to yourself, searching the last thing you wanted to if any incidents had happened in the building. woefully, an old article from a newspaper front decades ago popped up. the title reading, “nakamoto yuta, found dead in apartment…” a picture of the boy was attached, he had black slightly grown out hair, his smile was so pure you found yourself with a growing frown on your face.

what came next however, was a wave of shock running through your body at the discovery, quickly opening a new tab to search for the said name.

“local student uncovered to be a satanist—“ you trailed off, rubbing the palms of your hands against your face in stress.

clicking on another link to a 4chan discussion about the recent discovery, you saw a bulletin about the boy and some photos of the very unit you were in. he was apparently a sweet boy from what the neighboring people said. a boy who had a bright fresh smile that could lighten up any mood, it was unexpected for him to be revealed as such a person.

there was a picture of a girl next to yuta named kaiju, said to be the boy’s lovely girlfriend. the two lived together and were seen as the perfect couple.

after hours of scrolling through the page, you found a small recording of an old interview of the girl crying. “i-it was tragic… he was the perfect man— i thought he was the perfect man..” she sobbed. you frowned at your screen, eyes widening when a clip of the apartment rolled. it showed the floorboards under their refrigerator being opened to reveal different notes and certain objects that were said to be used for satanism.

you sat up to run to the kitchen, bringing your laptop with you. you compared the clip to the room in front of you. a cabinet sat where the fridge you saw was in the clip, you sighed to yourself before setting down your laptop to pull the cabinet aside.

nose scrunching in distaste as below you unveiled dust and dead bugs, taking the first utensil you could reach, in this case; a fork. you pried on the wood beneath you, pulling your shirt up to cover your nose from the dust that spread from your tampering. the wood popped open with a loud thump, you peeked inside to face dark emptiness. there sat cobwebs and dust for who knows how long, your eyebrows furrowed as the thought of the government probably collecting everything that had concerned the incident.

just when you were going to put back the floorboards, a noise rattled into your ears. you flinched back at the sound before taking into consideration to shine your phone’s flashlight at the darkness it held. there you saw the emptiness clearer. before you gave up, you saw one of the sides with little scratches and indents in the corner.

taking the fork again, you attempted to pry another piece of wood open, unfortunately failing when the prongs of the fork bent along with the burn of your fingers from using all your strength trying to open the side.

“almost...”

the voice seemed so close to you, letting out a yelp as you snapped your head towards the voice’s direction to face the empty kitchen. your breaths were heavy, heart beating at a pace you think it hasn’t been in before, your figure trembling as you hurry to unlock your phone to send all the articles you had found about this “yuta” to doyoung.

you slept by the unit’s entrance door that night in case you had to escape in a hurry.

you woke up to knocking on your door, groggily getting up from the floor to stretching briefly.

“hold on..!” you stood up and checked the little peep hole to reveal your bestfriend along with another boy.

opening the door immediately to face the pair staring back at you with questioning faces.

“jesus, did you sleep under a couch or something?” the unannounced boy spoke up. doyoung nudging him with his elbow in response, turning back to you with a small smile.

“sorry about him, this is donghy—“ “haechan.” doyoung rolled his eyes as he was cut off before continuing, “‘haechan’ right- this is one of my distant cousins haechan, i don’t think we have the money to hire a professional to check the place out but haechan here used to be in a ‘paranormal investigations club.’ and offered to help because he found you cute— ow!” an eyebrow raised at doyoung’s words as you watched the exchange between the boys. “anyways i called you and sent you messages hours ago, i thought something happened.”

you picked up your phone from the floor, the screen lighting up with multiple notifications. “oh.. sorry, i guess i was a heavy sleeper last night- wait you went all the way here!?” your eyes widened at the sudden realization, embracing the taller boy in your arms before inviting the pair inside straight away.

“holy shit the guy was into satanism?” haechan read in shock, his thumb scrolling through one of the articles you had sent doyoung. “you’re only reading it now?” doyoung scoffed at the boy as he shook his head, sitting himself right next to you on the couch.

“w..well yeah, i thought it wouldn’t be too big of a problem…” the boy rubbed on the nape of his neck in humiliation, to which your bestfriend responded with a low sigh. “i didn’t drive us an hour for you to end up useless, hyuck.” “—haechan!” doyoung only rolled his eyes at the other.

“and i’m not completely useless! one of the club members, chenle, used to say that ghosts usually only have unfinished business if they stay behind in this world. maybe we can confront this ‘yuta’ politely or make a deal with him-“ you raised a brow towards haechan rubbing the space between your brows in distress. “are you seriously telling me to make a deal? with a satanist? you’re basically making me make a deal with the devil, literally!”

haechan put his hands up in defense, eyes widening at your small burst. “okay, okay! what i’m saying is, if chenle was right about ghosts having unfinished business, maybe you can help ‘yuta’ to finish! if he was wrong, you can try getting a deal or something to leave you alone i guess.”

you sighed in defeat, this chenle guy could be right, but you would still take risk on having a deal with this guy. “so… how ‘bout it?” haechan shrugged as his eyebrows arched in proposition, to which you rolled your eyes. “okay kid, but how am i gonna summon him?”

“take this just in case.” haechan handed you a small bag, ‘iodized salt’ it read. you only nodded and casted him a quick thank you before he proceeded to enter the elder’s car first, giving doyoung another longing hug as he nagged on if you needed any more help. “sorry about donghyuck again, call me if anything serious happens. i’m also at fault here kinda ‘cause i suggested this place to you with no research.”

“what’s with ‘haechan’ anyway? and it’s fine, it was my fault i only looked at the price before deciding.” doyoung laughed and glanced over to the boy sitting in the passenger seat before turning back to face you. “he said it was a cool ‘code name’, he didn’t want any ghosts to know his name. anyway, seriously if worst comes to worst, it may cost more money but i’ll try helping with looking for another place.” you snickered softly before thanking him again.

and so, you were left alone again, waving goodbye to the car drifting off your sight. sighing to yourself as you went back into the building, sitting on the couch to research more about summoning dead people safely if that was even possible.

several hours had passed from reading about ghosts and looking for the right supplies, you just got back from a close bookstore to buy three new tall candles for summoning the little friend that had been haunting you, planning on doing it at midnight just like the “easy tutorial” donghyuck made doyoung send you.

later, moving to your bathroom hastily wanting to just get it over with, bringing the candles, a marker, along with the bag of salt donghyuck had given you. hunching over the bathtub to draw a decent sized summoning circle. placing the lengthened candles to three points of the summoning circle, you filled up the tub with at least an inch of water before lighting them.

you switched off the lights, closing the door before kneeling down behind the bathtub. taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes in advance of doing a cheesy chant along with saying the perpetrator’s name three times just like what donghyuck’s tutorial said.

“... nakamoto yuta,” the first holler of his name was said, already feeling stupid for using such a cliché way of summoning. “nakamoto yuta,” in an instant, your lips quivered when you felt your surroundings turn darker. “nakamoto..” the room felt colder, your ears ringing from how quiet the ambience had shifted. your breathing trembled as you finished the chant. “.. yuta.”

“so you did have the guts.”

your eyes crack open at the voice, only to face total darkness. the candles, from what you assume, blew over which meant something must have definitely happened. jumping back in a hurry as you rushed to turn on the lights, your breaths turned shorter as your eyes met with a dark haired man standing in the bathtub, right on top of the summoning circle you drew. your immediate reaction was ripping open the bag donghyuck gave and shoving it at the man as you recoiled your arms to cover your head in a corner.

a distant grunt echoed around the bathroom, followed by water sloshing around and dripping footsteps nearing your shaking figure. tears pricked your eyes as you felt the clear presence of the man get closer.

“this is table salt.”

thanks a lot, donghyuck.

your eyes creak open slightly, eyes meeting once again with the dark haired man. head still in your arms as you refused to lift your head for him, you spoke with a shaky voice. “yu.. yuta…?” your eyes were glued to the tiles of the floor, a peek of the man’s wet shoes making its way to your vision.

“that’s me— oh god, i don’t look like what i looked like when i died right??” your ears perked at the tone of his voice, eyebrows furrowing at the question. ‘oh god’? wasn’t he on the devil’s side? why was that his first question? why did he sound so soft? hearing the soft clacking of the soles of his shoes walking away, you lift your head to see the rear side of the man attempting to inspect himself and shake off the salt you threw at him.

“y-you’re a lot uh.. a lot less intimidating than i thought…” you spoke up, yuta turned to look at you with his big eyes before walking back to crouch down your eye level. “am i really?” you cowered back, his voice cutting you off before you could open your mouth. “i’m kidding, sorry..”

your fingertips reached out to feel his forearm in curiosity, lips pursing when it made contact to yuta’s arm. it felt real, the way your fingers would bounce back when pushed on the boy’s flesh. “you seem.. so normal- almost too normal…” his eyes trailed down to follow your finger’s movements, blinking to himself before speaking up. “i am normal- or i guess was… i won’t hurt you, don't worry.”

your eyebrows arched, skeptical of the man in front of you. eyes traveling down to let yourself think; in retrospect, for all of the things that have been happening, you will admit that none of them had hurt you in any way. your head tilted back up, still hesitant about everything and anything at that moment.

“okay, let’s- let’s have a small nice and calm talk—“

you sat across the ghost in the dining area in silence, your face buried in your clammy hands as you still couldn’t process everything. he sat stiff in front of you, blinking to himself as you both seemed like waiting for something to happen.

“it’s not true, y’know.” he broke the ice and attempted to make the first move to talk, he watched as your head tipped up at his voice, finally drinking in your features when you fixed your posture and pushed back the hair that got in the way of your face. “— the articles you read- i mean..”

you stared at the man in front of you dubiously. if he knew about the articles you’ve seen, how much of you did he see, you thought to yourself suddenly. blinking several times before thinking of a response. “the what?”

“the things you saw about me. they weren’t true.” his eyes trailed down to stare blankly at the center of the table as his fingers fiddled with the table’s ridges. you only raised a brow at the man, eyes following his movements.

“uh huh, okay..” you found yourself just nodding and humming to his words trying to talk you into him being good, you couldn’t trust someone that easily, even more so when it was a ghost who was known to be supporting the devil itself. “how am i supposed to believe a satanis—“ he looked at you with his wide eyes at this, palms laying flat against the table. “i’m not, i swear.. i haven’t done anything bad right?” listening to the man before you speaking softly shifting tone as he continued, almost as if he was scolding himself rather. “i didn’t hurt you? i didn’t hurt anyone who’s lived here before you! i didn’t hurt kaiju either!”

your eyes widened at the name, his past lover. staring closely at the man’s face, you almost see tears welling up in his eyes. choosing to silence yourself after the outburst not wanting to madden the boy in front of you more, you thought of anything calm to respond with.

you avert your gaze to the side as you saw the man stand up to walk away, listening to the soft footsteps he left behind him. lips pursing as you tried to think of anything to calm the mood.

“here.” you heard his voice ring from the kitchen area. looking up from your spaced out gaze to find yuta standing with his arms crossed by the cabinet you had previously moved. you stood up from your seat to walk to the kitchen in silence, making few steps to get beside the boy.

“open it again.” you only nodded, still feeling the awkwardness lingering in the air. you moved the cabinet aside once more, grabbing another fork from the kitchen drawer to pry open the floorboards. sitting on your knees as you face the empty compartment, eyes trained on the blemished side of the hollow cavity. you stared up at yuta only to face a blank look on his face insinuating for you to continue.

“i already tried…” you put the fork down to slouch. “i know, now try again.” he persisted, you only took a breath in before attempting to open another hidden compartment within the one already opened.

after several forks bent, a few dulled knives, the annoying thumping of a hammer ringing in your ears and your hands stinging with burns from the pressure forced onto them, you successfully pried open what seemed like the most superglued pieces of wood together to reveal an old looking shoebox. pulling it out before sitting comfortably to uncrate the box.

yuta crouched down beside you as you uncovered the shoebox. revealing a tattered pouch, something wrapped with worn down linen and some papers with characters you couldn’t read, opening the pouch with interest and dumping the contents onto the shoebox’s lid to exhibit different kinds of pendants and even some small lockets.

moving onto the linen wrapped item, you handled it with frail fingers, it weighed down your hands slightly making you more curious. it unraveled a small dagger.

you wince at the sight and dropped the dagger abruptly, the loud clang of the blade as it ground rang for what seemed like forever. it was covered with maroon. forcing yourself to think that it was just rust and not what you thought it was, you turned to yuta with your shaky eyes.

“she took one thing from people she had targeted after she was finished.” he said mindlessly, reaching forward to fiddle with the trinkets spilled from the pouch. you however, sat back to process the new discovery.

‘she’? you thought to yourself. kaiju? was it her? you blinked to yourself and tried to piece things together. the clip of kaiju sobbing appeared in your head. not once did she talk about the insights of their relationship when it was about ‘yuta’s satanism’. she even knew where the compartment was located after yuta’s death claiming he had left it open. burying your head into your dusted hands. yuta was haunting the unit not because he was bad.

he just wanted to be found.

you knew something felt off when you saw her smile whenever the public pitied her for the loss of her ‘lover’.

the thought of yuta staying for years being painted and seen as a bad person by the public made a frown quickly grow on your face, you fixated your eyes on the man beside you as he absentmindedly toyed with the small belongings of other people. the other people. did they stay behind and want to be found too? you thought.

“i’m so sorry…” you finally spoke words, yuta nodded and stood from the ground. “you summoned me to get rid of me right? sorry to break it to you but i was left here as a spirit beca—“ you took a sharp inhale at his words, standing up to face the taller.

“i wanna help you. this guy said people like you were left here as a ghost because they have—“ yuta looked at you with uninterested eyes. “unfinished business. i know, i was there when that haechan guy came.” he sighed and looked off to the side in contempt before continuing. “y’know, i’d be happy to accept but it’s hard when even i don’t know what my ‘unfinished business’ is. it made me think after what he said sunk in… what if we don’t move on after death. we don’t even know if that’s true.. who knows, maybe i’ll stay here as a ghost forever.”

you clenched your jaw as yuta spoke, he made fair points and what ifs. it made you even more mad that kaiju got away with it, yuta was portrayed as the bad guy and they left the case at that. “i’ll tell the police about this— i.. i can change what they think about you…!” yuta only shrugged, your eyes followed after his steps as he sat back down by the table. you trailed after him, sitting next to him this time. “it’s been years. i doubt all the people who were alive back then would care or would even remember.”

a sigh spilled from your mouth as you fell into a slump next to his careless state, you went from wanting to move out of the flat to feeling like you wanted to protect yuta and the apartment he had died in. “thanks though. for putting in effort i mean- all the people before you moved out in weeks or just ran away.”

he stared at your tired figure, eyes wandering to your distended fingers. he appreciated the pain your body had went through to see him, the thought of you wanting to even help him made him realize how much he missed how nice it felt to be given a care for. yuta watched as you straighten your posture back up to face him, he felt how dissatisfied you were by the droop of your eyes.

“then let’s still try.. we don’t know if what haechan’s friend said was true, just like you said but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. we just don’t know yet, it could be true! so let’s try..!” yuta blinked at your determination, letting out a chuckle for the first time since you met him. “you seriously don’t have to put this much into helping—“

“i don’t care! i don’t think i can live on with the thought of this man rotting here when i’m living my life like it’s back to normal. just let me help you… even if it fails i’ll be glad to know that i tried my best.” you thumped a fist to the table’s surface, seeing yuta flinch at the corner of your eye.

yuta had been rotting in this hell hole for years, he had long forgotten what it felt like to be important, even being thought about made him feel like he still had purpose. he was sure that if he still had a functioning heart, it’d be beating with how warm he felt.

“okay.. let’s try.”

a few weeks had passed, both of you agreeing to act like normal as if you were roommates, though the only difference was yuta not needing to eat nor bathe or anything, in an attempt to make your new ghostly friend feel happiness. he shared that he lived a pretty decent life, although short he was happy. he had no one who seemed like they would put up a fight with him, bad things that would come across nor anything physical that was unfinished from what he could remember of his life when he was alive- other than being killed and sacrificed to satan of course.

you contacted doyoung to tell and explain what really happened, he however didn’t know how to feel about the situation. a friendly ghost being by his bestfriend’s side almost 24/7, he was happy that you didn’t get killed or possessed or anything but he was skeptical that he hasn’t seen the man himself whenever you facetimed or called. yuta on the other hand refused to show himself even if he couldn’t be seen anyway especially if haechan was with doyoung, if you were in a call, he’d simply just hang around in a different room not wanting to lift some book just to prove he was actually the one moving it.

in yuta’s perspective, he thinks that this was probably the happiest and lively he’s been in years. he had someone to talk to, hang out with after he spent all this time trying to get attention from people and being lonely. you were there to listen to all the stories he had from all the exciting things he experienced and went through, and he was there when you needed someone to rant to even about the most random and little things. even teaching him about modern technology and watching series he hadn’t watched.

yuta felt like his presence was valued. sometimes he’d forget that he was even dead when he was having fun with you. you believe that everything was working out well, you almost felt like stopping because if you were to be honest, you probably had shared some of the happiest moments as well and didn’t want anything to end.

as more days, weeks, months passed by like nothing, yuta was at his peak of happiness spending time with you and learning about how things had changed through the years.

you made an anonymous 4chan thread about the truth, you wanted justice for yuta to be seen as someone he truly was. you named yourself as someone who lives in the flat currently and acted as someone who was curious about the old building. soon a small group who theorized yuta being innocent was formed, it made you glad that even a handful of people believed that he was actually good.

yuta shortly requested if he could lay with you in bed after you got comfortable with his company, claiming that ghosts could feel sore too. you only laughed and agreed, you learned that he had his ways to charm you into his silliness.

“so what was with the breathing?” you suddenly remembered the whole reason why you summoned yuta in the first place. he shifted his head to the side to look at you, bottom lip pushing out slightly as he tried to think. “the what breathing?”

“i remember feeling someone breathing against me, it was kinda the last straw with me back then before i did research about the place and found out about you.” yuta hummed to himself as he thinks all the way back to when you were kind of new to the place, he swore he could feel his face warm up when he realized what you were talking about.

“... i was uh.. you know how i get lonely right— i mean-! i swear i was just laying in bed! i didn’t realize i was so close to you and affected you!” you smirked at the response, giggling at how he babbled on and tried to explain himself. “hmm okay, perv.”

“i— what?” yuta sat up slightly, using his elbows to support his body on the soft mattress. “i mean, you probably have already seen me naked.”

“hey! i know being a ghost is creepy but i’m not that kind of creepy… i suppose i have seen— but i swear i didn’t think anything filthy of it-!” you laughed at the man’s embarrassed face, brushing off the topic to save the man from sinking further into shyness.

“y’know, i don’t think i’d get to see ghosts the same way as i did before i met you.” you started off, yuta only stared at you with interest as you continued. “i didn’t even believe in them before this, and everyone in the world thinks ghosts are always out to kill or haunt you or something.” your eyes trailed forward to look at your ceiling, thinking of the right words to say.

“but now i know.. a lot of you probably just want closure from death, it makes me sad that most of you just rot away not doing anything, moving stuff to get our attention and stuff, no wonder some tired and lonely ones end up haunting places with bad intentions.” yuta blinked at your sudden burst of feelings in words, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of finally being understood.

“it’s too bad that you guys are usually interpreted as bad people, when you’re just finding your way to peace.” you didn’t realize a tear slipped down the side of your face until yuta wiped it off with his cold fingers. he fully sat up to face you, following suit to the man beside you.

yuta hesitated before leaning in slowly, you closed your eyes in content. lips pressing against his cold slightly chapped ones, you felt one of his hands travel up to cup your cheek gently. yuta felt himself flood his own tears after so long. the kiss lasted a good moment, it was sweet and genuine. pulling away with slightly hooded eyes, you cupped his cheeks with both hands, leaning in once more to kiss away the man’s tears.

“it’s okay, let it all out…” you whispered tenderly, he might be decades older than you but he was still the bright young hopeful boy he once was.

the happy moment quickly converted into confusion when you saw his figure slowly turn translucent, seeing the light sourced by the room peek through him slightly. he turned back to you with a happy smile this time, his voice rung in your ears with a slightly thrilled voice. “i think i understand what my ‘unfinished business’ was.”

your eyes widened further as you thread your fingers through his soft tufts of hair. “w-what do you mean…?” you weren’t ready to let go of him yet, your eyes swelled with tears as he spoke once more.

“yuta! no.. what—!?” you watched as your hands sunk into his figure. you couldn’t feel him anymore.

“thank you for loving me back.” you stared at the man in dejection, your breaths turning shallow as your time with yuta came to an end. he was finally at peace. eyes pouring rivers at the realization that he was actually gone, if past you knew that he was gone now, you would probably be happy.

weren’t you supposed to be happy? this was your goal from the beginning, why did it feel like a part of you died along with yuta’s disappearance. you slumped in devastation. yuta didn’t want to live perfect and happy.

he just wanted to be loved genuinely.

you didn’t even get to say the words to him, it was too late when you were certain you felt these strong feelings for the man.

“i love you too.”

79 notes · View notes

siennahrobek · 3 years ago

Text

Initially, Obi-Wan thought that sleep would assuredly allude him.

Perhaps he underestimated the trust and affect his troops had on him and how exhausted he really was because he slept fairly soundly through the night.

He was still surrounded by troopers by the time he woke up, although he was fairly certain that there significantly less numbers of them. Although it was a bit of a challenge with position, Obi-Wan tried to meditate a little before the next disaster would inevitably occur. It was only a tad successful as he kept going back to thinking about Anakin. And right now he just…couldn’t.

Afterwards, he got dressed, complete with his old armor pieces and left the barracks to get to work.

“Greetings, Master Kenobi,” Cin Drallig nodded at him as Obi-Wan walked onto the bridge. There wasn’t many present; it was mostly a skeleton crew, but they paid him little heed. Next to the battle master stood a clone trooper from the meeting before, one of Obi-Wan’s 212th boys, Menace.

“General,” Menace welcomed.

“Master Drallig, Menace,” Obi-Wan nodded at the both of them.

“The boys and I have encrypted and encoded a way for you to get a message to the other Jedi generals that are scattered across the galaxy,” Menace explained as he pulled up a map of the galaxy, planets already highlighted. Obi-Wan presumed that was where jedi and their troops had been positioned. “As long as we know where they are stationed, we can get it to them and encode it so only a Jedi would be able to access it. We made this option just in case there are any activated chipped troopers around or natborns who are loyal to the Empire.”

“That was rather fortuitous of you,” Cin glanced at the trooper, curiously but he projected gratitude, something a little odd from the battlemaster but it was no less appreciated.

“Just precautions sir.”

“Alright, we have to figure out exactly what information we need to send to the others,” Obi-Wan said as he followed Cin and Menace down the halls which ended up being to an office. Was it his? At this point, he wasn’t really paying attention and most of the office rooms looked virtually all the same. This one had been recently packed with communications equipment and a holotable for good measure.

“The basics will be key,” Cin replied with a hum as he closed the door behind them and tied back his longer hair. “We will have to divide it up between what to do when running from activated soldiers or what to do when communications have been shut down so they can’t receive the orders to active the chips.”

“Constrain natborn officers, no communications aside from jedi, which will come up in about three days,” Obi-Wan listed.

“That is a fair chunk of time,” Menace admitted as started to open up and turn on the machinery around the room, as well as the data blockers for outside communications, just incase someone would try to butt in on the networks. “Can they avoid the Empire for that long? We don’t know which forces that the emperor has now or how quickly they will go after those they cannot get a hold of.”

“If they come across conflict, leave immediately,” Cin suggested as made his spot off to the side. “Getting too close to activated chips will active any clones they are around. But we did warn many jedi. The Empire Forces have to be fairly diminished if they understood those warnings. I can’t imagine the new government is completely on it’s feet yet.”

That was true. Even though the Republic had been slowly shifting into something less democratic over the course of the war, it was still a fairly big change, and a lot of things would have to be restructured. There was also the issue, for the Empire, of those who would fight back against its creation or not agree with it. That may buy them some time, he mused.

“But we do need to plan quick, because I’m sure it won’t be long before they are organized and mobilized enough to chase us,” Obi-Wan added, sitting down in one of the chairs next to Menace. In front of him was a little desk area. “If they haven’t realized that Kamino specifically isn’t responding because of this, they will figure it out soon.”

“How about we make a list?” Menace suggested, his gaze flickering between the two masters.

Obi-Wan nodded and his hand shuffled around the desk to find a data pad. Putting it in front of him, he grabbed a utensil and created a list.

“Alright, so first and foremost, the clones are chipped, proximity to activated chips activates others. Activation can also be verbal but only from the Sith. Block all communications available to clones,” Cin started quickly as Obi-Wan immediately wrote down the thoughts on the datapad.

“We can send Healer Che’s information on where the chips are as well, if anyone has the equipment or skills to start taking them out,” Obi-Wan added, the pencil flipping around his fingers to momentarily point at the battlemaster. They both nodded in response.

“Two; the Republic is gone, an Empire has rose. We are being hunted and killed as we are claimed to be traitors. Confine any officers loyal to the Empire until further notice,” Cin continued

“If you have inactivated clones, keep them away from conflict with others, due to the proximity thing,” Menace included, flicking on a few more nozzles and switches.

“If you are around activated clones, get away as quickly as possible, stay low or get away from them if you can,” Cin added, eyeing Menace, carefully. The clone’s presence filled up with a moment of quiet grief and disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault sir,” Menace swallowed harshly but shook his head. “We can’t save anyone yet without a real plan.”

“Contact,” Cin started up again, a little hesitant to keep going as he looked between the two. “Contact will be reestablished within a couple of days, once we get to Kamino. If you have a long range holotable, use it, but keep your comm on you. There will be a coded message to indicate if communications come from us.”

They paused.

“I think…I think those are some good basics, hopefully they can survive until then,” Obi-Wan sighed, jotting down the last of the notes.

“Battle master Drallig and I can get these coded and sent out fairly quickly,” Menace said, gently taking the datapad from Obi-Wan’s hands.

“It’s a start,” he echoed.

***

“I believe it is about time we talk,” Padme said, her face flat with one hand rested on her stomach. Her greeting was desperate and although not exactly unkind, it wasn’t very patient either. Obi-Wan glanced around and let out a silent sigh. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation. One that he didn’t particularly want to have.

He had been working with the other masters and clones to figure out where to go and what to do next for some time. He knew this conversation was coming. He was just dreading it.

Obi-Wan just swallowed and nodded in defeat as he turned to face the pregnant woman. “Alright. But I think it would be best if we would keep this conversation rather private. The 501st survivors and much of the 212thhave been following me like ghosts and they certainly don’t need to hear this.”

Padme’s expression was something of confusion, but she consented, and they found themselves in Obi-Wan’s former office. It was still technically his office, he supposed, but others had been using it since the evacuation. One could tell by all the paperwork and things that cluttered it more than it already was, the things that he knew were not his or Cody’s. He locked the door behind them and let Padme sit on the cot in the corner. He dragged a chair over to her to sit himself, although he could not find a position that was comfortable.

“I suppose we can start with what happened with Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, a bit quietly. He did not want to talk about this right now, not at all. He wasn’t ready for this; he was hardly wrapping his own head around what had happened. His heart clenched harshly in his chest, and he was sure his throat would close up. Taking a shaking deep breath, he tried to continue to speak. “What, exactly, do you already know?”

“Ahsoka called me, telling me there was an attack on the Jedi Temple,” Padme confessed, shaking her head in disbelief. “She told me that Anakin had turned to the Dark Side, that he was killing younglings and leading brainwashed clones to kill everyone.”

Her tone was incredulous and unconvinced, not that Obi-Wan could exactly blame her. He was not even sure if he believed it, and he was there. It seemed impossible. He knew Anakin struggled with some of the jedi tenants, especially that of attachment, which Obi-Wan had tried to talk to him about, to reach out. But Anakin had been closing off more and more as of late. That didn’t mean he could have ever have seen this coming.

Perhaps he should have. Was he so blind?

“That…that would be accurate,” Obi-Wan choked out but did his best to keep his voice constant and steady with as much as patience as he could lacing it.

Padme stood up suddenly but then wavered and leaned against the wall for support. He leaned forward, ready to catch her if she should fall. She steadied herself and straightened her back to stare down at him. “That is absolutely ridiculous,” she announced with such confidence even he almost believed it. “And you know it, Obi-Wan! He is your friend, and he would never do such a thing; the Jedi…”

“If you start blaming my people while we are fleeing for our lives, please refrain,” his own voice continued to be soft but there was a steel bone underlaying it, that made no room for challenge.

“Anakin would never do such a thing,” Padme repeated firmly and shook her head. He closed himself off to her in the Force, he didn’t want to know what she was feeling. He wasn’t sure if he could handle her feelings along with his own. “He has been worried and stressed but that is only because of…”

“Because of what?”

“He’s been having nightmares…” she started slowly, eyeing Obi-Wan as if that would give her some insight, some answers on what was happening. “About me, dying in childbirth.”

“Nightmares,” Obi-Wan repeated numbly. “That is what he was so worked up about? He didn’t come to me or anyone else about them. And he knows how dangerous pregnancies are in this sort of situation. He should have known to talk to the healers about it.”

He should have talked to the healers. At least doctors, someone. Generally speaking, people didn’t just die in childbirth, not on Coruscant, certainly not a prominent senator. No one would ever deny her prenatal care, no matter who the father was.

Even if the father was a jedi.

“He was probably afraid,” Padme glanced away.

It was as if Anakin didn’t know anything of the Jedi at all. The Jedi would have never turned Padme away for pregnancy care or information, Force around, the Jedi wouldn’t turn anyone away who came to their steps in need of help with pregnancy. Force sensitive or not.

“We are getting off track,” Obi-Wan shook his head with a small sigh. He ran a hand through his hair. He just wanted… honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted. He supposed he wanted this to all be his own nightmare, one he could just wake up from. One where none of this was real. “Padme, I don’t know how to convince you of what Anakin has done,” he continued. “He led an attack to kill everyone in the Temple, he led an army of brainwashed clones. He murdered Temple Guards and younglings just trying to escape the battle. He fought mewith the intent to kill, rambling about the failings of the jedi,” Obi-Wan stressed, leaning forward. “Master Drallig said he called himself Darth Vader which let me tell you, is a Sith name. All I could feel in him was desperation and fury.”

“You’re wrong,” Padme insisted, her eyes blazing into something so passionate, it nearly hurt to look at. Her loyalty, although her perhaps commendable to an extent, was difficult to work with. Difficult when she wouldn’t believe the truth. He knew it was hard to swallow. He was still in that process. “He is good, there is good in him, of course there is. Something else must be at play.”

“Something else?” Obi-Wan asked, his own voice echoing confusion. He couldn’t imagine much else being at play, his former padawan, his brother, had intended on murdering everyone in the Temple, all those that thought he was their family. All those that thought he cared about them. He had nearly succeeded. If Cody’s chip hadn’t been activated when and where it was… Obi-Wan nearly shuddered at the prospect. He sighed and shook his head again. “I love Anakin. And even after all that he has done I still love him; I will always love him. But I am not blind to what he has become now. I was blind before, not seeing it; only seeing what I wanted to, the good person I thought he could be, the person I thought he was.”

“He is that good person,” she persisted with a sound not open for debate.

Obi-Wan was tired, even the several hours of last night’s sleep would not erase all of the time he had been awake, active, fighting for his life and the lives of those around him.

“Tell that to the younglings that he cut down in front of his former padawan,” Obi-Wan’s hand waved out in emphasis. He hated bringing Ahsoka into this but Padme cared about the young Togruta, probably nearly as much as Anakin used to as well. “Or the 501st troopers who were forced to lead an attack on the Temple, on the Jedi, against their own free will.”

The young woman just stared at him, and he knew that she didn’t believe him. He didn’t think she would ever actually believe him without seeing it for herself.

The fact that Anakin, of all people, would lead a forced brainwashed army to fight people they never would have in their right minds seemed ludicrous.

“Okay, we are at an impasse,” Obi-Wan slumped back a little in his chair. He took a commlink out of his pocket and let his fingers sweep over it, absentmindedly. “Perhaps a break from this line of conversation may be beneficial,” he said slowly, giving Padme the time to sit down on the cot once again. “I think…we need to also talk about your pregnancy,” Obi-Wan added slowly. Padme placed a hand on her belly, protectively.

“You mentioned…you mentioned I could die from this,” Padme replied slowly, her eyes meeting his in a massive flurry of concern and fear. The conversation was not over about Anakin but for now, for now what he had said would have to do. He didn’t know how much longer he could try to help her in that scenario. “So, Anakin was right, I’m going to die in childbirth.”

“It’s not that simple. There is a lot that is included,” Obi-Wan shook his head. How to explain something that he only knew the basics of? Perhaps a professional was best to be in order “Look. Let me call my friend Bant. She is a healer, and she will be able to answer most, if not all, of your questions.”

Without waiting for an answer, he sent his friend a message who near immediately contacted him back, relieved that he had found their wayward patient. Apparently, Padme was not supposed to be out of the medbay. Obi-Wan imagined they would want to monitor her, considering her pregnancy and situation. His comm beeped again.

“We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know who the other side of the we was but at this point, he would take all the help he could get.

Those few minutes were the most awkward ones Obi-Wan could remember.

The Mon Calamari walked in with another healer trailed in behind her and Obi-Wan could not even help the sigh of relief. At last. “Hello Obi-Wan, senator,” Bant greeted, giving them both a nod, her large dark eyes brimming with sympathy and kindness. Obi-Wan would forever be baffled and astounded at the amount of love and compassion his friend could hold. “Senator, my name is Bant. I am a healer. This is Healer Jayden; she specializes in pregnancies.”

“You have special doctors for pregnancies in the jedi?” Padme asked, a little taken back.

“Of course,” the doctor nodded as Obi-Wan got up to give them both seats. He ended up standing off a little to the side, often finding himself leaning against the wall for support. “Believe it or not, the jedi are not celibate,” she pointed out, even though Padme’s glance looked a bit skeptic. “And although it isn’t extremely common, jedi can and do get pregnant.”

“They do?” Padme echoed.

“Of course. Force Sensitivity isn’t always passed down, but it is more likely if one or more of the parents have it,” Jayden explained, her voice smooth and calm. It could not be said that Jedi didn’t know when they were supposed to be healers. He could only imagine how determined they must be in such an art. “Pregnancies involving force sensitivity in general can be quite difficult, but we should really talk about your case specifically.”

“Is it…different?”

“I have been briefed on a few things,” Healer Jayden said, giving Bant a quick glance as if for confirmation. Obi-Wan wondered how much she had been told about the situation, about the father. “The father of your children is former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, is it not?”

“Current Jedi Knight,” Padme corrected, her voice laced with bitter undertones and eyes narrowed. Something she had picked up from Anakin, he supposed. “Unless the Jedi have kicked him out for loving someone.”

“The Jedi do not typically, kick people out,” Bant continued, her voice just as relaxed and mellow. She was taking this very well. Obi-Wan nearly felt like shaking Anakin or someonewho should know better for all the things misinterpreted, deliberately or otherwise. “Not for loving anyone or getting people pregnant.”

“Yes,” Padme confirmed, her voice subdued. “He is the father.”

“Alright. So, the father has an incredibly high number of midiclorians in his body, which is how one can determine how force sensitive an individual is. He is a very high number, more than anyone else and is very, very strong in the Force,” Jayden explained, patiently. She spoke in chunks, probably to better allow Padme to follow what she was saying.

“What does that mean for the baby? That it will be force-sensitive?”

The healer nodded but her expression was a bit grave. “In your case, certainly. Because if they hadn’t, you would probably be dead already.”

And… Obi-Wan hadn’t expected her to be so blunt. Padme stared wide-eyed.

“Skywalker is so strong in the Force that it is killing you, not to mention the darkness that is practically permeating you,” the healer continued and although Obi-Wan could feel a tad of concern with it, she did not show it outright, rather keeping a cool presence of security. “The only reason that you are still alive and as strong as you are, currently, is because the two babies inside of you are also extremely force-sensitive and are keeping you alive. It is…very complex and seems a bit paradoxical, and difficult to explain when it comes to the specifics, as well as the ins and outs of what is happening in your body.”

“So, I will not survive this birth,” Padme realized.

“The odds are not fantastic,” Jayden replied truthfully with a small frown. “But the only way you can survive is with a Jedi Healer’s help. If you stayed on the planet, you would not have survived the birth and I doubt anyone would have understood why. But we can and we will help you, Padme,” she said, taking the woman’s hand gently, curling her partially translucent fingers around the younger senator’s. “You can trust us that we will do everything in our power to make sure that you survive to see your children grow up.”

“What are the odds?” Padme whispered, staring at her hands.

“It is difficult to say,” Jayden admitted, candidly. “We’ve never had a child from someone as powerful as Skywalker before. Best case scenario you will be out of commission, maybe even comatose, for some time while your body regenerates its strength.”

If it can, went unspoken.

With her free hand, Padme brought it up to cover her mouth, letting out a shaky breath, tears starting to slip down her cheeks.

“I think you could use some rest, senator,” Bant advised, speaking up for the first time. Although Healer Jayden did most of the talking, Obi-Wan was still grateful for his friend’s presence. “I think we have a small room near the medical bay that we can use for you,” she added and glanced at Obi-Wan. “Would you mind getting her there?”

He didn’t think, just nodded. With a second thought, he didn’t really want to, he didn’t want to talk with her right now. He was just so tired and there was much to do but he knew it was right. Walking over, he helped Padme up and walked her out of the door. He led her through the halls towards the medical bay, appreciative for the silence.

He didn’t need an argument right now.

As they got to the small room, he unlocked and opened the door. “I will have some of my handmaidens come and bring things from the ship,” she whispered.

He hadn’t realized that she had brought anyone. Oh, he hoped she hadn’t brought Jar Jar. He didn’t mind the Gungan, almost liked him really, but he had a tendency to get into trouble and that was the last thing they needed.

He was about to leave when she pulled him back to look at her. “There is good in Anakin, Obi-Wan,” she announced, although her voice stayed rather quiet, just firm. “You must see it. And I will prove it to you,” her tone reflected her eyes, something fiery and passionate.

This was always going to be a tragedy, he realized suddenly.

There was very little he could say to that. He didn’t believe her but then again, he was trying hard not to think of Anakin right now. His thoughts were dominated with the survival of his people, both jedi and clone.

He had to put them first.

“Okay,” he croaked.

And then whisked himself away as quickly as he could without making it seem like he was literally running from her.

He was entirely exhausted.

The talk with Padme had last longer than he had anticipated and honestly, all he wanted was to sleep. Could he though? How much was there left to do? Then again, at this point, he wasn’t sure if there was anything specifically, he could do, aside from perhaps trying to research? Maybe?

His brain just felt full. He wasn’t entirely sure if he would be of any help.

“There you are sir,” the familiar voice and tonal individuality of Boil registered to Obi-Wan’s ears nearly a beat too late. He turned to see the clone walking up to him, a small youngling on arm.

Waxer was the one who was outspoken about loving little ones but anyone who knew anything about Boil knew he loved being around them just as much.

The thought made Obi-Wan smile and his chest warm.

Presence of people that he cared about, that perhaps cared about him, ones that he didn’t constantly have to fight tooth and nail with, were something of a relief. Just a presence to fall into that wasn’t consistently looking for lies or secrets or to tear his head off.

“How are you, Boil?” he asked, trying for a smile.

It must not have worked very well because the clone gave him an odd glance but, in the end, he just shrugged. “I’m alright, just taking this young’in to the modified creche,” he explained, gesturing to the young jedi child on his hip. “He accidently got lost and I’m bringing him back before my allotted hours of sleep.”

“Allotted hours?”

How late was it?

“Sir, it’s quite late,” Boil pointed out, answering his unasked question for him, and gesturing lightly for the general to follow. He did so without pause or thought. It was interesting, he believed, how easily and unthinkingly he would follow them. Perhaps it was foolishness but perhaps it was just trust and faith. He was in a rather short supply of that these past few days. “The daytime officers and workers are getting ready for sleep. The Jedi are hunkering down in the creche places and barracks along with the children and troopers. I never realized how cuddly Jedi could be when they sleep together,” he added with a bit of a half laugh.

The child laughed alongside with him, although a bit louder and fuller.

“We slept in piles a lot,” Obi-Wan replied.

“We like to do that too,” Boil shrugged to keep a hold on the little one hanging from him. “It’s good that your sleeping arrangements are around the men, it’s good for morale, especially at a time like this. Everyone is a little freaked out, I think it helps there is someone they can trust around during those times.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. Who taught Boil manipulation tactics?

He paused, nearly tripping at the realization.

Oh right. Hedid.

Accidently, of course. It wasn’t like Obi-Wan was giving lectures or classes on how to manipulate or negotiate yourself out of situations. But still, his behavior would be seeming to be biting him in the butt now, as his troopers were now using it against him.

Part of him almost felt impressed.

“Right,” Obi-Wan muttered.

The child hanging off of Boil, giggled knowingly. As the two of them dropped the child off at one of the places set aside for the children, Boil offered to escort him to the barracks for sleep. Obi-Wan tried to back out of it but Boil was rather adamant and then….

And then Rex showed up.

And Obi-Wan knew he was completely was doomed.

He couldn’t say no to Rex right now, not with what his troops had gone through.

“Hello, general,” Rex greeted with a bit of a wavering smile. He was trying hard. Obi-Wan suspected he had spent most of his day with the survivors of the 501st. He knew it wasn’t pretty and they were trying very hard to make sense of what had happened to them. “People have been wondering where you have been.”

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan hummed in response.

“Yes, the 501stsurvivors have been curious to know if you are coming back tonight,” he added in, thinking himself rather sly. Survivors; wasn’t that what they all were now. Survivors of a genocide, survivors of brainwashed slavery, survivors of being unmade into a vacant body.

“As a matter of fact, Boil was just escorting me to the barracks,” Obi-Wan shot back. He kept falling into this trap, he knew it. But at least this time he would not be caught floundering like the day before. “It has been quite the day, full of… colorful conversations.”

“Oh? Who did you talk to?”

“I had to have to talk about Senator Amidala and her pregnancy.”

Obi-Wan could practically just feel Rex’s stomach drop. “You…you know about that sir?”

“I probably knew about it before you did,” he muttered under his breath. As if Anakin could keep a secret like that from him, as if Padme could. Any Jedi that came across her would have known; would have sensed her pregnancy. He, of course, was the one who knew it was Anakin’s child because honestly, who’s else could it have been. But louder, instead he tried, “Yes. I’ve known about Anakin and Padme for quite some time. It is not difficult to sense her pregnancy. I do not know why Anakin thought he was being subtle or discreet. And you, captain, well, I think you could work on your acting skills a little.”

The captain just blushed hard. “My apologies sir.”

“No worries. It hardly matters,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “But talking with her, about what we had to, was rather exhausting and I will, quite frankly, be a bit glad to get some rest before the next day comes about. Because soon, we will be at Kamino and a whole new situation will arise.”

“We don’t know how much time it will be before the Empire comes after us,” Boil realized with a deep frown.

“So, we should get as much rest as we can until then,” Obi-Wan nodded at the two of them as they neared the barracks. “Because who knows how much real rest we will get once the new conflicts arise.”

***

It was the middle of the night when he had heard it.

Obi-Wan had been stuck in the near middle of a pile once again, surrounded on all sides by mostly clone troopers, the main force being the de-chipped 212th and the 501st survivors, with a few others they had rescued within the Temple before and during the siege. He could make out Inkspot somewhere, leaning against Trapper and Gearshift.

Many of the survivors, mostly those of the 501st specifically, had horrible nightmares, even so soon after the events. He couldn’t blame them; it was a horrible ordeal they had gone through. He tried to shield them the best he could, to help them sleep with less nightmares. He did his best. He didn’t dare take a look into what they contained, he feared they would just feed into his own.

For some reason or another, the scratching woke him up.

Shifting his body up carefully so he wouldn’t awake the troopers surrounding him, he glanced around at the barracks for the sound. No way he was just hearing it in his mind.

There. Some movement in the corner.

Carefully he cleared himself of snuggling troopers and got up.

Obi-Wan moved through the bodies, making his way to the edge of the pile of clone troopers until he found one of the 501st in the corner, frantically trying to scrub his armor. Not just his armor, the jedi realized, but the blue paint off of it. And there was quite a bit of it.

The trooper nearly jumped feet in the air when he realized Obi-Wan had sat next to him, his eyes wide in fear and panic.

“At ease,” he assured quietly but it did very little to ease the trooper’s anxiety. Obi-Wan reached out into the Force towards his presence.

Calmpeacesafe

It helped more than words had.

“Are you alright, Graffiti?”

The trooper looked at him, a little surprised. “You…know who I am? Y-You remember?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes. Would you like to tell me what is going on?” he asked gently.

The trooper swallowed, staring down at his armor before tearing his eyes away. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes on it for more than a moment.

“Everyone has nightmares, it is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I do, sometimes,” Graffiti admitted, hesitant with his voice choked on tears. “It’s not even the fighting or the war or anything. I just see blank faces, marching blue, so much blue. People…people always think when terrible things happen, when blood is shed, everything is in a haze of red because blood is red. But for me…for me it was a haze of blue. Not just any blue. The 501st blue. It’s…its supposed to be something proud of, a color we should be proud of.”

Obi-Wan just waited patiently.

“I woke up shaking this morning,” he continued, his voice quivering with tears already accumulating in his eyes as he shoved the piece of armor that was in his arms away. “It was so bad I couldn’t even put my armor on. One of my brothers had to do it for me. But even then, I…. I felt so awful. I kept making excuses to go to the head and then my brothers kept making excuses for me, just in case.”

“You do not have to wear it if you do not wish to,” Obi-Wan replied gently. “Things, I imagine, are going to be different now.”

“It’s…it’s not the armor itself,” he confessed, staring down at the piece that he was holding. “I don’t think it is the armor. It’s…it’s the color,” he looked confused when he glanced at the jedi, as if he wasn’t entirely sure why he was saying this or even the reasoning behind it. “Every time I see it, I keep getting sick. I keep remembering when we were marching towards the Temple, all the blue of the amor, creating a sea of soldiers, all in time and not even…not even hesitating on what we were going to do.”

“You couldn’t move.”

“I couldn’t even think until afterwards,” Graffiti admitted the quiver in his voice growing. “I just wanted to scream. Even after we got into the Temple, I remember everything but…it’s all in this horrible blue haze that I choke on. Something I was once proud to bear, a color that I was proud of, was twisted into something horrible and evil. I know it doesn’t make any sense but…”

“Sometimes things like this don’t make sense to others or even ourselves,” Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet and calm as he looked over at the trooper. The latter had a difficult time meeting his gaze, but he finally had, tears welled up in his eyes, certainly obscuring his vision.

“I think I would rather have no paint, just be a blank set of armor like a no-name shiny again before I wear something that has been so twisted,” he whispered, running a hand along his helmet, half scrubbed of blue paint. “And isn’t that awful? I was brainwashed into being no one and now, I want to go back to being a no one again, just…slightly different type of no one.”

The jedi’s heart shuttered in his chest.

“Would you mind waiting here for a moment?” he asked, placing a hand gently on the soldier’s shoulder. “I will be right back. I think…I think I have something.”

Graffiti looked quite confused but nodded.

Obi-Wan stood up and made his way through the maze of people, towards the door. As he got to the halls, his pace quickened. There weren’t particularly many people around, but a few had caught him gliding through the halls quickly, often giving him looks that made him want to shrink back into the pile in the barracks.

Some did not seem happy to see him out and about.

He got to a storage room and opened the door. Upon finding what he was looking for, he grabbed it and hurried back. Obi-Wan came back, worked his way through the maze of sleeping men again, and set down a large can on the ground as quietly as he could. The trooper just stared at it, wide-eyed, a bit confused and certainly a lot speechless.

“It’s yours, if you want it.”

Graffiti took a moment to realize what it was. At first, he didn’t look entirely sure, like it might be a trap, but it took only a minute before he burst into a quiet sob, covering his face with his hands.

“It may not stop the nightmares,” Obi-Wan explained quietly. “But know that you will always have a place with us.”

Eventually, when he got a little more control of himself, Obi-Wan could make out a nod from him.

“I think I might need something new,” Graffiti rasped out, just barely.

“Perhaps you should make a visit to one of the creche groups,” Obi-Wan offered, shooting him a quick, warm, glance. “They are full of ideas. And they would love to see you.”

Graffiti met his gaze, his eyebrows scrunched together. He didn’t verbally reply but the jedi master had a feeling he would anyways.

Obi-Wan spent the rest of the night with him, quietly scrubbing off the blue paint and replacing it with shimmering gold.

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pickalilywrites · 3 years ago

Text

i'm still alive ^^

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How to Be a Good Coworker

Erejean. Zombie Detective AU.

Chapter 4.

11442 words.

Read on Ao3!

For the past week, Eren has been bumming it out at Jean’s house. Every other day, he visits the basement in the bookstore Annie works at so that he and his friends can compare notes, but not much progress has been made in terms of finding his killer. While everyone else’s suspect lists remain empty at every meeting, Annie’s list manages to grow every time they see each other.

(“Are you just writing down the name of everyone in town that you can remember?” Armin asks her at one point after taking a closer look at her list.

“Yes,” Annie replies without blinking.)

Eren’s beginning to think that they’ll never find his murderer, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe his murder was a one-time thing and whoever killed him regretted their actions so much that they vowed never to kill again. Maybe they’re repenting for their sins right now. Maybe there isn’t a killer lurking in the town and turning people into zombies and they’re just doing all this extra work for nothing. Eren knows that the possibility of this is highly unlikely, but he honestly wants to shove all this business about his murderer in the back of his mind now that he has more pressing things to worry about.

After visiting his mother the other day, Eren’s phone has been blowing up every morning and night with texts from his mom. She’s always asking him how he’s doing, if he wants to visit soon, and what he had for breakfast or dinner. His answers are nearly always the same: fine, maybe when he finds the time, and just whatever Jean had gotten from his mom or a nearby restaurant. He always has to take pictures of Jean’s meals to send to his mom and assure her that he’s eating properly, although all the oil and spices make him want to gag. Even being near them makes him feel nauseous. Jean likes to point out that Eren’s choice in food isn’t any much better, but Eren begs to differ. The fact that the meat he eats isn’t loaded with any seasonings or extraneous flavors makes his food superior already, but Jean always rolls his eyes whenever Eren begins his rant on the greatness of raw meat.

Eren shreds into a piece of pork shoulder. It’s not his favorite cut of pork. Although the cut of pork might be more forgiving on Jean’s wallet, it’s tougher than Eren prefers. Maybe Jean doesn’t see a difference because he’s never thought about how different it is once the meat is cooked. Pork shoulder is similar to other cuts when they’re cooked. You could substitute it with pork butt or a pork leg and still get the same tenderness, but only if you braise it. When it’s uncooked, it’s tough as shit, Eren thinks as he gnaws on the meat in dissatisfaction. He’d rather be eating some pork belly right now with meat so fatty that it’s practically melting on his tongue. The thought of it makes Eren drool and the piece of meat in his mouth nearly falls out.

Someone knocks at the door and Eren freezes. Jean is already out for work. He’s too organized to leave anything at home, so there isn’t any reason for him to come back. Jean’s mother is even more organized and knows Jean’s schedule even better than Jean probably does, so it wouldn’t make sense for her to come here either.

Cautiously, Eren gets up from his seat and makes his way to the front door as quietly as possible. He doesn’t even breathe as he peers into the peephole, his cheek pressed against the door. He’s more than surprised when he sees Annie Leonhardt standing on the other side. Or maybe he shouldn’t be.

“Did you forget that I was supposed to pick you up today?” Annie grumbles as soon as Eren opens the door. She doesn’t even bother to say hello. Then again, Annie has never been one to waste time with meaningless greetings. She breezes past Eren and plops down on Jean’s couch, quite comfortable even though this isn’t even her apartment. When she sees Eren staring at her, she raises her eyebrows and gestures towards his half-eaten breakfast. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Finish your disgusting food. We have places to be.”

Eren sniffs and swings the door shut. It’s strong enough to shake the tiny apartment, but Annie doesn’t even flinch. “It’s not disgusting,” Eren mumbles as he shuffles over to the dining table. Hastily, he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaces when he sees traces of blood smeared across his skin. He really does need to listen to Jean about eating properly. It’s fine if it’s just Jean, but if it's Annie or any of their other friends, it’s embarrassing even if they also know about Eren’s condition.

The TV buzzes in the background as Annie flips through Jean’s Netflix account. Every once in a while she’ll smirk or snort at Jean’s choice in TV shows.

“Aren’t you invading his privacy?” Eren asks through a mouthful of pork shoulder. He nearly chokes trying to swallow it down. It’s as tough as shoe leather.

Annie points at Eren with the remote and gives him an icy stare. “Eren, we all know everything about each other. It’s the curse of being friends with you guys. I know every single anxious thought running through Armin’s mind at any given moment, I know you’re a zombie and all your weird zombie cravings, and I know just how much Reiner loves Bertholdt,” Annie says. “I’m pretty sure Jean doesn’t care that I’m browsing through his Netflix profile right now.”

Eren makes a face. Everything Annie has said is true, but it still feels wrong. It’s not like he can argue against Annie, though, so he shuts up, finishes the rest of his breakfast, and quickly washes his plate and utensils in the sink. Jean has said that he doesn’t mind if Eren just leaves his dirty plates in the sink, but it feels weird to have Jean wash plates smeared with blood that aren’t even his. Once he’s done, he slips into Jean’s room to change while Annie watches The Walking Dead, which feels kind of inconsiderate considering the circumstances.

“I’m ready,” Eren announces, stepping into the living room space. He’s dressed in black slacks and a mossy green turtleneck that covers his neck. Jean had done some quick shopping for Eren after work one day, so these clothes fit much better than the ones Eren had been borrowing from Jean. Eren has a tan peacoat thrown over his ensemble. He looks much nicer than he ever did for any of his internships back in college. Maybe he should let Jean pick his outfits for him more often.

Annie looks him over and frowns. “Aren’t you two awfully domestic?” she asks before clicking the TV off. She leans forward, elbows on her knees with her cheek resting in one hand. “Jean picked out some really nice clothes for you. You actually look better than you ever did when you were alive.”

Eren wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t think he’ll ever appreciate that joke. “How do you know he picked out these clothes?” Eren asks.

“Because you could never pick out clothes that look that good,” Annie replies. She ignores Eren, who’s spluttering and clearly offended, and shrugs on her coat. She wraps a fluffy white scarf (no doubt another one of Armin’s creations) around her neck and looks back at Eren. “Let’s go. I don’t want to have to look after you all day.”

“I told you guys I didn’t need you to walk me to and from work,” Eren mumbles, but he shuffles after Annie as she walks to the door.

“It’s more for the benefit of everyone else in town. You know, so you don’t eat them on accident,” Annie says. She says it casually, but Eren still winces. She gestures for Eren to follow her out the door. “Lock the door, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eren rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. He even gives the handle a little jiggle to make sure he’s locked the door properly. When he slips the keys into the pocket of his slacks, he looks up to see that Annie is already descending the stairs. “Wait for me!” he squawks.

Despite being the smallest out of their group of friends, Annie seems the least afraid of letting her guard down around Eren. Armin, of course, is always anxious and has always been that way since before Eren had become zombified. Reiner, despite his jokes, still visibly tenses around Eren if he gets too close and Jean is always watching Eren with a cautious eye. Annie, however, shows her back freely to Eren. Had it been anyone else, Eren would be touched, but he knows for a fact that Annie is only relaxed because she can easily take Eren down with her eyes closed even in his zombie form. In a way, it makes it a little easier for Eren to be around her than some of their other friends.

The walk to the news building is long and silent. It’s something that should be expected. Annie is not one for conversation even with her friends. Eren knows this quite well considering the fact that they’ve both known each other for nearly their entire lives. Still, it doesn’t stop Eren from trying to make conversation because there’s nothing more than awkward lulls of silence.

“So, do you have any leads?” Eren asks. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He wonders if he should have put on gloves to hide how ugly and boney his fingers are. Maybe he’ll ask Armin to knit him some mittens. “It’s pretty hard for me to investigate myself since we’re trying to limit the amount of time I’m outside, but if you have anything …”

“I have many leads,” Annie replies. She turns her head slightly to face Eren and it makes it a little easier to hear her, although her voice is still muffled by her scarf. Almost the entire lower half of her face is covered by the scarf. Only her icy blue eyes and light blonde hair peeks out. “In fact, it might delight you to know that my list of suspects has only grown longer.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that Eren has to not let out a huge sigh. “I thought Armin specifically told you to stop adding names to that list,” Eren says. He reaches up to rub his eyes tiredly. “I think he told you to shorten that list and focus on people that might have actually wanted to kill me. Or turn me into a zombie.” For a brief moment, he wonders if those two things are the same.

Annie shakes her head. “You two are gravely underestimating the number of people in this town that would have wanted to kill you at least once in their lives,” Annie says with a cluck of her tongue. “It would be a disservice to our investigation to shorten that list. Besides, isn’t it better to leave every stone unturned?”

Eren eyes her wearily. He’s far too tired to argue with her. He strongly suspects that Annie isn’t taking this investigation seriously if she’s just writing down anyone’s name that comes to mind. Maybe he should be glad that she’s enjoying this in some sick, twisted way. At least someone’s having fun.

“Annie!” someone calls. It surprises Eren and it seems Annie too by the way she jumps slightly at the voice. When they turn around, they see a young girl with her dark hair in pigtails bundled up in a puffy winter coat that makes her look twice her size. When the girl smiles, she looks just like Reiner. “Are you coming to play?”

“Hi, Gabi!” Annie says. Her tone is much brighter than it usually is. She casually steps in front of Eren so that she’s now between him and the young girl. Crouching down slightly, Annie reaches out to pat Gabi on the head. “Nope. I’m just walking with my friend today. I’ll come visit you and Reiner at school if I have time, though.”

The young girl looks slightly disappointed and sticks her lower lip out in a pout. It’s been a while since Eren has seen Reiner’s niece. She’s grown quite a bit. She’s grown taller since the last time Eren’s seen her and her cheeks are nice and plump. The cold has made them look even rounder and rosier, and Eren thinks about how soft and smooth her skin looks. She reminds him a little bit of a newborn calf with her large eyes and young flesh. If he dug his teeth into her skin, he bet it would be like biting into cream and taste just like …

“Eren …?” the child asks. She’s staring up at him with those large brown eyes of hers.

Even with Annie standing firmly between them, Eren gulps nervously. Before he can open his mouth and say “hello,” a loud voice interrupts from behind.

“Gabi! Come give your Uncle Reiner a hug!” Reiner’s voice booms. It startles Eren, nearly making him fall backward. When the zombie turns to see Reiner, Reiner is holding open his arms for his niece, who gladly jumps into them. Reiner scoops Gabi up easily and spins her around, pressing a kiss against the crown of her head.

“Uncle Reiner!” Gabi squeals, giggling as Reiner gives her more kisses before putting her down behind him. She’s safely behind the wired gate of the kindergarten. She’s too busy smiling and giggling to notice the tense smile on her uncle’s face.

“Go play with the other kids before class starts, Gabi,” Reiner says. He gives her a pat on the head and watches as she runs off. When he turns back to Eren and Annie, he has a stern look on his face. It’s the kind of expression teachers and principals wore whenever Eren had been caught for causing trouble. Seeing it on Reiner’s face is just as bad. “You brought a zombie near my school?”

Unlike Eren, Annie doesn’t seem as ashamed. Maybe it’s because she never frequented the principal’s office as much as Eren had. “It was the closest way to the newspaper company,” Annie says, “and I had it handled. If Eren even started to lunge for Gabi, I was going to kill him.”

Eren squeaks.

“Gee, thanks,” Reiner says with a roll of his eyes. He leans against the gate, his arms crossed firmly across his chest. “I’d appreciate it if you took Eren on a different route on his way to work, though. As much as I know you could kill Eren with a single blow, I don’t want my students to watch you kill him if they happen to be around.”

Annie thinks for a moment, nibbling on her bottom lip, and then nods. “I’ll take him a different way starting tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Reiner sighs. His face relaxes into a bright smile that’s just a little bit apologetic, although Eren is really the one that should be apologizing. Reiner reaches out to clap Eren on the back a little too roughly. “Congrats on the job, Eren. Are you excited for work?”

“Ah, I suppose,” Eren mumbles. He fidgets with the edge of his sleeves. “I mean, I like the idea of earning money so I can stop mooching off Jean.”

“You should mooch off of him,” Reiner says with a grin. “He’s your boyfriend. Shouldn’t you enjoy the fact that he’s spending money on you?”

Eren knows he’s only joking but he can feel his face redden anyway. “It’s not like it’s for real. He only did that so our moms wouldn’t be suspicious about why I’m living with him instead of returning home.”

“Still,” Reiner says with a dreamy sigh, “kind of romantic, don’t you think? It’s like a fake dating trope in real life, and you know how that ends.”

“This is real life, Reiner,” Eren reminds him.

Reiner dismisses Eren with a wave of his hand. “Things that happen in fiction can happen in real life!” Reiner says. “And even if it isn’t real, don’t you think it’s quite touching that Jean would fake date you just to keep people from discovering your secret?” He gestures to all of Eren, which makes the zombie feel dirty somehow.

“It’s just because he’s my friend,” Eren says.

“I would never pretend to date you,” Annie tells Eren, “for any reason.”

“... thanks, Annie.” Eren clears his throat and steers the conversation back to its original topic. “It’s just … impractical to have Jean earn money for both of us, especially since I’ll be living with him for the foreseeable future. It only makes sense that I get a job and this one seems perfect for me, although I don’t know why Jean doesn’t want me to work there.”

“Because he wants to be your sugar daddy,” Reiner says at the same time Annie says, “Because of Mikasa Ackerman.”

Eren shoots Reiner a glare and then turns to Annie, whose frown is deeper than usual. “What’s the deal with Mikasa Ackerman?” he asks. “Did they date or something? I asked Jean the other day, but he was acting funny.” To be honest, the thought of Jean dating Mikasa makes Eren feel weird. On one hand, it makes perfect sense if they dated and that’s why Jean feels awkward about Eren working with her. On the other hand, Eren finds that doesn’t particularly like the idea of Jean dating Mikasa, but he can’t exactly say why.

Both Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“It’s because she’s the worst,” Annie says, which only gives Eren more questions than answers.

The zombie opens his mouth and then closes it. He points at Annie, waggling his finger around her. “Okay, what’s the deal with you and Mikasa Ackerman?” he asks. Eren raises an eyebrow curiously. “Did you date her?”

“No, God! Don’t be disgusting. It’s nothing!” Annie says, throwing her hands up. “There’s no deal with me and Mikasa. I just don’t like her! Do I need a reason to dislike someone? Can’t I just dislike them for no reason?”

Eren frowns. It’s not that Annie needs a reason to dislike someone. She hates a majority of people she meets for no real reason. Sometimes there are reasons, but they’re often trivial: someone breathing too hard, someone blinking too much, someone smiling too often. Eren would definitely believe in Annie disliking someone for no reason, but the way she vehemently dislikes Mikasa makes it difficult for Eren to believe that it’s for no particular reason.

“It’s because Mikasa called Mina cute once,” Reiner says. He leans with his shoulder against the wired fence and it creaks slightly from his weight. Even as Annie shoots the schoolteacher a glare, Reiner just smiles back with a lopsided grin, clearly amused. “Mina giggled and Annie was furious for the rest of the night. She’s still mad.”

“That’s not it!” Annie splutters, throwing her hands up. It’s comical how she looks when she’s fuming and bundled up so tightly like a fluffy bundle of yarn. Well, it would be funny if Annie were a less terrifying person. “Why do I have to like her just because everyone else does? I just think she’s overrated, she and her stupid sword and bobbed haircut!”

“You know, most people would consider those things very cool,” Reiner says.

“I don’t!” Annie snaps.

“Okay, so I understand why Annie dislikes her, sort of,” Eren says. He’s mostly lying. Like Reiner, he also finds Mikasa’s sword and bobbed hair very cool. In fact, he finds Mikasa similar to Annie because they are both terrifying but very cool, but it’s not something he wants to say out loud. “But what about Jean? As far as I know, Jean doesn’t have an irrational dislike of swords or bobbed hair.” He ignores Annie, who shoots him a death glare that probably would have killed him if he weren’t already dead.

Reiner’s eyes turn skyward as he thinks. “Mmm, I’m not sure if Jean dislikes her. Isn’t it more that he doesn’t want you to get too friendly with Mikasa?” he asks.

“Well, I guess,” Eren says. Now that he thinks of it, there wasn’t any particular malice in Jean’s voice when he spoke about Mikasa. The makeup artist sounded more irritated than angry. “But why wouldn’t he want me to meet Mikasa?”

Reiner thinks some more. He must think of something because his expression brightens and he says, “Maybe it’s because -”

At that moment, Annie coughs loudly. It’s a fake cough, Eren knows, because Annie has never gotten sick in her entire life. When the zombie turns to look at her, she’s shaking her head with a dark expression on her face but she abruptly stops when she sees Eren watching.

“Why did you do that?” Eren asks.

“Do what? I didn’t do anything,” Annie says, feigning innocence. She grabs Eren a little too tightly around the wrist and tugs him towards her. To Reiner, she says, “Okay, we should let you attend to your students now. Let’s go, Eren.”

Reiner looks as if he’s about to say something else but glances down at his watch and notices that he’s about two minutes late. He bids both Eren and Annie goodbye before rushing towards the classroom and ushering his students inside so that they can begin class. Eren and Annie watch until Reiner has rounded every last kindergartner into his room and shuts the door.

“You know, I may not know why you did that, but I will find out,” Eren says, pointing a finger at Annie.

“Well, good luck with that. I’m sure it’ll go well considering how far you’re getting along investigating your own murder,” Annie says, looking down at Eren’s finger amusedly. She turns her back and begins walking down the sidewalk again. She doesn’t wait to see if Eren is following her, but the zombie does pad along after her after a few beats. “I’m sure you will find out about Mikasa eventually, but I will warn you: you won’t like it.”

“Why? Because you don’t like her?” Eren snorts. With his long legs, it’s quite easy to catch up to Annie. “Is it because we’re friends and you expect me to hate everyone you hate? I hope you know how tiring that is considering how many people you hate.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Please, I can hate everyone just fine without your help,” she tells him. She walks with her hands held behind her back, her pace slow and relaxed like she’s not in a hurry. Eren wonders if she’s purposely taking her time so that she can come to work late. “I’m just telling you now, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It sounds ominous and makes Mikasa seem more mysterious than Eren’s first impression of the newcomer. He could ask more questions, but he knows that Annie probably won’t give him a satisfying answer or if she’ll even answer at all. He’s not sure what Annie’s warning is or how helpful it is. What could Mikasa possibly have done to make Eren dislike her when he didn’t even know her prior to becoming a zombie? Maybe if Eren discovered Mikasa was the person responsible for turning him into a zombie, Annie’s warning would make perfect sense but the thought of that just makes Eren snort because there’s just no way. In the end, he decides that it’s just Annie’s dislike of Mikasa that’s causing the blonde to make such negative claims about the journalist.

The two of them end up at the gate of the newspaper building. It feels a little embarrassing for Annie to have walked him the entire way there. It’s like she’s dropped him off at kindergarten, but Eren knows he shouldn’t complain.

“Thanks for walking me here,” Eren mumbles, his feet shuffling on the ground.

“No worries,” Annie says. Her hands are folded across her chest and she looks reluctant to leave him, but Eren doesn’t know if it’s because she’s genuinely concerned about him or because she doesn’t want to go to work. He highly suspects it’s the latter reason. Annie tosses her head so that her bangs are no longer in her eyes and she frowns when she sees the figure standing at the front of the building. “Ugh, your coworker is waiting to greet you, I see. Better not keep her waiting but … just try not to be her friend. Just … be her coworker and keep things professional.”

Weird advice, Eren thinks. “Uhh, okay,” he laughs. He gives Annie an awkward salute and begins to walk towards Mikasa. “I’ll do that. Have a good day, Annie!”

He expects her to leave immediately, but he’s surprised that she watches him until he and Mikasa enter the building.

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Being introduced into his new workplace is … strange, to say the least. It’s strange because Mikasa introduces Eren to people who he’s known his whole life, people who had invited him to work with them after they found out he graduated with a degree in journalism but Eren had turned them down in the hopes that something better would soon come his way. Something better never did, but these people still smile at him and welcome him to the office because it’s easier to do that than hold a grudge against someone in a small town.

Mikasa shows him around the small box of an office, introducing him to everyone and laughing easily with them as if she’s the one that had grown up in this small town her whole life and not Eren. It makes Eren a little jealous and he wonders just how much he had missed while he was gone. Mikasa tells him a little bit about the articles they’ve covered in his absence — nothing interesting, just more missing visitors, some news about the pasta place on the street corner getting an honorable mention in a reputable food blog, and a cat that got repeatedly stuck in a tree for two weeks straight. There are, however, a few newspaper articles about Eren, but Mikasa quickly glosses over them as if to save Eren some embarrassment.

“And here’s your desk,” Mikasa says, gesturing to the cube next to hers. It’s a tiny thing, just four walls and a desk with a standard computer and a few cabinets to hold his things. It looks exactly like Mikasa’s. The only difference is that she has a few papers here and there, but her desk is strangely barren. Even their coworkers have a few knick-knacks or pictures to personalize their desks, but Mikasa’s is void of anything that would give a stranger a peek into her personal life. She’s either incredibly private, neat, or boring.

“Ah, thanks,” Eren says. He should probably be excited, but he feels a little tired looking at how dull his desk is. Maybe he should buy a plant to liven up his workspace.

“No problem. It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Eren,” Mikasa says cheerfully. “Even if you did lie to me right when we met.”

A huge pang of guilt hits Eren in the chest. It makes him wince. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and he really is. There isn’t really any good explanation he can give to Mikasa for lying, but she hadn’t asked him about it when he had come in this morning either. Maybe Annie is completely wrong about Mikasa and Eren’s new coworker is just a really nice person who doesn’t care about strange falsehoods. “I … I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. I just … was kind of nervous about returning here. It’s not like my current situation is exactly glamorous.”

Her brown eyes are warm when she smiles. They’re kind, understanding. “Hey, don’t worry. We all have our problems. Let’s just hope this is another good beginning for you and hope for the best,” Mikasa says to Eren. She gestures for Eren to follow her and they begin walking to the supply closet they had passed by earlier. Mikasa throws open the door and starts searching through its contents. Unfortunately, the whole thing is a mess. “I hope you don’t mind getting right down to business today. I’ve wanted to write this article forever, and it’s kind of perfect that you’re here now because you know the hills better than I do.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” Eren says absentmindedly. He starts searching the closet alongside Mikasa, although he’s not exactly sure what they’re looking for. He shoves aside boxes of paper clips and sets a bunch of mismatched folders on the top shelf so that he can look through the shelves better. “What do you have in your article so far?” Eren asks mostly to make small talk, but he realizes that Mikasa might have information that could prove useful to Eren and his friends.

“Mmm, nothing substantial. Just what I told you the other day when we met — people are disappearing here, zombies appear, and your town seems to have an upsetting amount of occurrences compared to other locations that report zombie sightings,” Mikasa replies. She pauses for a minute, biting her lip as if she’s deciding if she should continue. After a moment, she says in a lowered voice, “It could be that … someone is creating zombies on purpose and their prime area of operation is this town.”

Eren blinks. It’s the very same hypothesis that Armin had proposed. If Mikasa thinks it’s a possibility too, maybe Eren and his friends are headed in the right direction.

“Oh, here it is,” Mikasa says. She plucks a camera out from behind boxes of pens and highlighters and plops it into Eren’s hands. She grins at him. “Are you ready for your first field investigation?”

Eren gulps and then nods. Working with Mikasa might bring him even closer to discovering the identity of his murderer and their motives. This job may have been a blessing in disguise.

“Ready,” Eren says.

-------------------------

The trek up the hills is a lot more difficult than Eren remembers. The hills are steeper, the path windier, and the winds chillier. He doesn’t remember it being this tiring walking up the hills even when he had been a child playing in the woods. He thinks it has to do with the fact that he’s lost quite a bit of muscle mass since becoming a zombie, which his many layers of clothing easily disguises. The camera around his neck hangs like a weight that only feels heavier and heavier with every step he takes.

Although Eren seems to be having a difficult time up the mountain, Mikasa seems fine. While Eren drags his feet, Mikasa takes each step as energetically as the last. She’s several steps ahead of him, and Eren’s sure she’ll disappear from view soon if she keeps that same pace. Every once in a while, she’ll turn around and smile at Eren, stopping so that he can catch up a little bit, but then take off again. Clearly, these two-second breaks that she takes are purely for Eren to catch up. Mikasa doesn’t need them to catch her breath at all.

“Have you seen a lot of zombies here since you’ve arrived?” Mikasa asks Eren as they continue up the hill. They’re nearing the top, but Mikasa isn’t the least bit breathless.

I see one every time I look in the mirror, so you could say I see one every day, Eren thinks, but he’s not stupid enough to say it out loud. He watches how Mikasa’s sword dangles from her hip. “I haven’t really … gone out a lot since I’ve come back,” Eren pants. At least he’s not lying. Eren’s been lying to everyone so much lately that he’s always relieved on the few occasions he can tell the truth.

“Mm,” Mikasa hums. For once, she slows her pace and lets Eren catch up to her so that they can walk side-by-side. “Ah, settling in does take time even if you’re returning home. You’ll probably see more zombies soon enough, so it’s probably good you haven’t been out much.”

If she only knew.

Eren wonders if he should put some more distance between himself and Mikasa. It’s always dangerous being around people, and Mikasa is the closest he’s been to a human without his friends around to hold him back. He can’t tell much about her body type — if she’s more lean muscle or if she has a good amount of fat underneath her skin — because he’s only seen her bundled under layers of clothes. He supposes he should be grateful to the chilly fall weather for that. Still, it makes him wonder what he’ll find if he peels back the layers of cotton and wool. Tough muscle like that of a deer? Soft, tender meat like that of a newborn calf? Succulent, juicy flesh like that of a fattened goose? Eren could dream about it all day, but the glimmer of Mikasa’s blade peeking out from its hilt always reminds him that it’s a bad idea.

The top of the hill gives them a decent view of the forest below, but the autumn foliage makes it difficult to see very much. Beyond that lies the town, quiet as it always is. It really is a nice place. If zombies weren’t popping up now and then, Eren would bet people aside from amateur detectives would come here just to experience how charming and quaint it is.

“I think we should go our separate ways here,” Mikasa says to Eren, which surprises him. “You should go and explore one side and take pictures of anything that you find interesting. I’ll let you know if I see anything on the other side. Sound good?”

It doesn’t sound good to Eren. It sounds weird. He thought they would be working on this whole zombie article together, and it makes him nervous that Mikasa would want to work separately. Maybe that’s just how she operates. Maybe she’s an independent collaborator. If so, Eren should just agree and do his best to take pictures. Mikasa doesn’t know him at all, and Eren does not plan on letting her know that he’s a terrible person to have on group projects. He’s going to be a good coworker and do his assigned work even if it means he has to do it alone.

“Sounds good!” Eren says cheerfully.

He had been enthusiastic about getting a job, but the work is a lot less exciting. Yes, Eren wants to find the reason why zombies are somehow drawn to this particular town as much as Mikasa does. Because of his situation, he’s probably even more motivated than Mikasa because finding the reason might also lead him to the person who had killed him and resurrected him as a zombie, but the work is admittedly demoralizing because it’s incredibly difficult to find evidence of zombies.

What is there to capture on camera that hasn’t been seen already? People in this town already know of zombies. They know what zombies do, and they’re hardly threatened. Some people even get dogs to chase zombies off their yard because they can’t be bothered to do it themselves and even a chihuahua does a decent enough job. The things zombies leave behind are even more boring.

Eren doesn’t know what to take pictures of. He takes a few shots of the forest, trying to remember what his professors had said about the rule of thirds and lighting and shutter speed during the few classes he had taken for his photography minor. There’s a picture he takes from a nearby stream that looks rather nice, almost like it can be hung in an office or put on a postcard, but it’s probably not remarkable enough for a local newspaper article about zombies.

Finding photographic evidence of a zombie is pointless though. The few pictures Eren does snap could just be grasping at straws: odd footprints that are dragged out across the dirt path, pieces of fabric caught on the branches of shrubbery, smears of blood against the trunk of a tree. There’s a possible non-zombie explanation for all of this though. The footprints could be from a tired hiker and not from a zombie. Both tend to drag their feet across the ground. The fabric could also be a hiker or maybe even a hunter whose clothes got stuck in a bush. The blood smear is a little more exciting, but it’s possible that it came from an injured animal or someone who fell during a hike. These photographs are so pathetic that Eren would rather lie and say he didn’t capture anything at all than show them to Mikasa.

Eren does entertain the thought of telling Mikasa he had managed to take no photographs. It would just be another small lie piled up on his ever-growing pile. Considering how many lies he’s told so far, adding another one shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but it still makes him feel bad.

What makes things worse is that Mikasa has been nothing but nice to him. He still has no idea why Jean and Annie want him to stay away from Mikasa so much. From what he can tell, Mikasa is a decent person. She gave him his first job, didn’t say very much about him lying to her, and entrusted him to work with her on a project she’s excited about. Telling her that he didn’t get any work done wouldn’t feel bad just because he’d be lying to her again, but Eren would also feel like he let her down by helping her progress her work.

Eren frowns as he flips through the photos on his camera. He wonders if he should delete them. It’s probably what Jean and Annie would do since they’re so opposed to Mikasa, but what would Armin do?

Armin is a worrywart, first and foremost. Getting too involved with Mikasa and risking her knowing that Eren is actually a zombie is definitely something to avoid. Mikasa probably won’t hesitate to kill Eren if the sword swinging from her hip is anything to go by. But then again … Mikasa seems quite smart and driven from what Eren has seen of her. If she’s out to find the reason for the zombies cropping up in this town, then he does not doubt that she’ll find something and any information could prove useful in his own investigation into the matter. After careful consideration, Eren is quite certain that Armin would willingly work with Mikasa and only withhold the necessary details, like the fact that Eren is actually a zombie, but anything that helps Mikasa helps the greater good.

Eren turns his head and opens his mouth to call for Mikasa, but he hears her call his name first.

“Eren!” Mikasa’s voice rings loudly through the forest. It’s enough to make the birds take flight from the trees where they had previously rested, their wings fluttering as the trees shake and leaves rustle. “Eren, come here!”

“Coming!” Eren calls back. He follows her voice, which leads him off the path towards the other side of the hill. Eren wonders what she could have seen. He hopes it’s not another zombie. He doesn’t know what he would do if he came face-to-face with another one of his kind in his current state. For a brief moment, he thinks she might have seen the carcass of an unfortunate hiker that had stumbled across a zombie. The thought horrifies Eren, but the fact that his stomach growls from just the idea horrifies him even more.

As he gets closer, Eren’s steps become a little slower, a little more cautious. He really doesn’t want to see what Mikasa had stumbled upon. He closes his eyes. The zombie takes another tentative step, sniffing the air for anything unusual. The stench of rotting flesh doesn’t fill the air. The smell of sweet blood doesn’t waft to his nostrils. It really just smells like … the crisp fall air.

Eyes open now, Eren takes a few more steps and sees Mikasa with her back turned towards him. She’s looking at something, and Eren’s eyes slowly follow her gaze to … a large hole in the ground. It’s a very familiar hole, Eren realizes, because it’s the same one he dug when he had crawled out of the ground.

“It’s quite deep,” Mikasa murmurs. She drops down to inspect it closer, reaching down to touch the dirt. She gathers some in her hand and lets it fall from her fingers. “I would say .. six feet deep. That’s deep enough to bury a body.”

“Ah, do you really think so?” Eren asks. He kicks at the ground, knocking some dirt into the hole as if doing so would undo what he did. “It looks a little bit shallower than that. Maybe like … five feet and … six … inches?” He sounds like an idiot and he knows it, but he can’t help. He’s afraid that Mikasa will somehow figure out the truth: that this hole isn’t just any hole, but an Eren-shaped hole that he had popped out of when he had come back from the dead. Granted, the shape isn’t anything like him. It’s all in his head. In reality, the hole is kind of a blob shape because he hadn’t been very neat when he had dug himself out.

“No, it’s deep deep,” Mikasa says. She stands up and brushes her hands off. The reporter takes a moment to observe the curious hole and then gestures at it. “Take a few pictures of this at different angles. We should probably report this, whatever this is.”

“Er, okay,” Eren says as he fumbles for his camera. It takes him far too long to focus the lens and find the right button to snap the pictures. “What do you think … what do you think this is?” he asks nervously.

Mikasa gives him a smile. “Are you sure you want to hear? Fair warning: I’m going to sound like a conspiracy theorist,” Mikasa says.

“N-no,” Eren stammers. “I want to know.” It’s not really that he wants to know. He’s afraid of just what Mikasa knows, but he also needs to know what thoughts are floating around her head.

“I think this is where zombies come from,” Mikasa says simply. She kicks a little bit towards the hole. “I’ve been doing some research … I believe this is part of the process of turning people into zombies. I know people here don’t really think about it but … the pattern between missing persons and zombies that appear are striking. It’s not just the fact that zombies oftentimes wear the same clothing that was last seen on people who were reported missing, but the time frame between when people go missing to when they’re … zombies, I guess you could call them, is pretty consistent. It’s about a year.”

“A-a year?” Eren gulps. He hopes Mikasa doesn’t put two and two together. He hopes she hadn’t read the papers about him going missing in the local newspaper archives. He hopes she believes his lie about taking off suddenly without letting anybody in town know. He hopes she doesn’t remember the fact that he was gone for approximately a year.

“Mmm, yeah. A year,” Mikasa says with a nod. “I think these holes are … well, this is the first one I’ve seen, but maybe there are more like it.”

“You think there are more?” Eren asks. The thought makes sense. He doesn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

“I think if we dig around we’ll find out, but I doubt the townspeople would be happy about digging up the hills just to find out if zombies pop out of the ground,” Mikasa laughs. She looks thoughtful again, her head slightly tilted as she continues to piece together points Eren can’t quite see yet. “I think maybe … the process of becoming a zombie requires that a person dies, be buried in the ground, and be reanimated. Maybe the reanimation steps are a bit more complicated. Maybe it’s something that happens before the body is buried and takes place while the … body is buried underground.”

It’s sounding awfully familiar. Eren should be thrilled. Some of these things Mikasa is bringing forth are the same things Armin had also said during their meetings. The one-year gap between missing persons reports and their corresponding zombie appearance is new, though. It’s definitely something he should mention at the next meeting or even bring up in the group chat, but Eren can’t help thinking that the more information Mikasa gathers about zombies, the closer she is to figuring out that Eren is a zombie too.

-------------------------

Thankfully, Eren and Mikasa don’t run into anything else interesting in the hills. It’s disappointing for Mikasa, but it’s a relief to Eren. It’s difficult to hide just how happy he is about how the day ended up. He was able to take some compelling (at least to Mikasa) pictures without giving himself away, and his zombie grave was interesting enough that he didn’t have to show Mikasa the other pathetic pictures he took earlier. Maybe the standards he has for himself are low, but Eren would say that he’s currently killing it at his new job.

“I honestly expect this piece to be rejected,” Mikasa confesses as they’re walking back to the office. “I think the evidence is compelling, but it does sound like a piece that belongs to one of those fake science newspapers.”

As dangerous as it is to have Mikasa discovering more about zombies and potentially finding out the truth about him, Eren knows discouraging her work only slows his own investigation so he gives her a small smile and says, “It’s zombies. Reanimated corpses that don’t have any business walking the earth. Anything you propose is going to sound ridiculous, but you have a better hypothesis than most people. I think it’s worth a shot to put it out there.”

Mikasa looks surprised for a second and then smiles. “Thanks, Eren. That’s very kind of you.”

The two walk together in silence, crisp autumn leaves crunching beneath the soles of their boots. Mikasa doesn’t say much else as they return to the office. Occasionally, she’ll comment about the town — about a shop she finds particularly charming or a townsperson she bumped into the other day — and Eren will respond with an anecdote of his.

“I hope you had a good first day,” Mikasa says once they return to the office. She’s putting away her things, hiding them in the cabinets in her cubicle. Her desk is just as spotless as it was this morning. “I certainly had a good time working with you, Eren.”

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says. He feels relieved that he’s gone through his first day without anything happening. He can’t wait to come home and rub it in Jean’s face. “It was nice working with you too.” He wonders if he should put the camera away for tonight and think about editing the pictures tomorrow. He could just do it tonight. He probably won’t get overtime, but it might be good to do a little extra work these first few weeks to show Mikasa he’s serious about this job. Then again, he doesn’t want to seem too eager in case his coworkers take advantage of him in the future. With a frown, Eren tucks the camera in the cabinet underneath his desk. When he looks up, he sees Mikasa looking at him.

“Hey,” she says. The reporter is leaning against the walls that separate their cubes. “Do you want to grab dinner together tonight? My treat.”

“Er.” Eren squirms, uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to say no, but saying yes would just be … stupid even for him. It’s not like he can waltz into any restaurant and devour the same foods everyone else can. He’s about to shake his head and politely decline, but Mikasa is flipping through her phone.

“Is Korean barbecue good?” she asks. She raises her head, tilting it slightly as she awaits Eren’s answer. “There’s a place … well, I guess you know. If you’d rather go somewhere else, I’m open to it.”

“N-no,” Eren says, surprised. Korean barbecue sounds good. Perfect, even. “That sounds … I’d like to go. Let me just … I need to tell my friend. Boyfriend. He’s picking me up.” At that moment, his phone buzzes and he winces. He knows without looking that it’s Jean. They did agree to Jean picking him up, but he didn’t think Jean would be so … punctual.

Mikasa grins as Eren pulls out his phone. “Is he here already?” Mikasa asks. “You should invite him. I’ll invite my girlfriend too. She just happens to be in town this week.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Eren says hurriedly. He knows Jean would never agree to this. Not only is it a dinner with someone unaware of his true condition, but it’s a dinner with Mikasa of all people. Jean, for whatever reason, would absolutely hate this. “I’ll just tell him to, ah, go home without me. He probably wouldn’t want to eat with us -”

The doors to the office burst open and Jean storms in, the tail of his trench coat flapping behind him. The makeup artist pays no attention to the stares of Eren’s coworkers. He pauses for just a moment to scan the room and, upon spotting Eren, marches right up to the zombie’s cubicle.

“Eren, come on,” he says through gritted teeth. He sounds angry, but Eren can tell from Jean’s rigid stance and folded arms that the makeup artist is anxious. “I thought you said you would be out by now.”

“Ah, I invited him out to dinner,” Mikasa says from behind Jean. Jean turns to look at her, surprised, and Mikasa gives him a friendly wave that Jean doesn’t return. Jean might dislike Mikasa, but it seems like the feeling is one-sided. Mikasa taps Jean on the shoulder. “You can come with us if you’d like. It’s really my way of thanking Eren for joining the team and being such a good coworker on his first day. He’s really great. I’m looking forward to working with him long-term.”

“Y-you do?” Eren stammers. He didn’t think he did a very good job. To have Mikasa tell him that he did well makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He looks eagerly at Jean. “It’s fine if I have dinner with her just this once, right? Mikasa invited me and I did a good job today so …” His voice trails off. He expects Jean to say no. After all, he had warned Eren to avoid Mikasa as much as possible.

“Fine,” Jean finally says. When Eren looks at him, Jean’s shoulders are slumped in defeat. His eyebrows are still knit together and Eren can tell that Jean doesn’t like the idea one bit, but it doesn’t matter. Jean said he could go, so Eren is going to that dinner. “But I’m coming with you,” Jean says firmly.

Eren begins to whine. “You don’t have to babysit me,” he begins, but Jean isn’t listening.

“Yes, I do,” Jean replies. There’s something authoritative in his voice. It makes Eren’s toes curl and his cheeks flush, but it might be because Jean’s busily rewrapping the zombie’s scarf around his neck.

“Cute,” Mikasa says as she distractedly checks her phone. She taps something on it before tucking it back into the pocket of her coat. “Let’s head over then. My girlfriend said she’d meet us there.”

-------------------------

The meat at the barbecue house is much better than Eren remembers. It’s strange, but becoming a zombie has given him a much more refined palate when it comes to eating meat. He can tell if poultry is free-range with just a taste, if cows were fed more than just corn for their diet before they were slaughtered, and if pigs were allowed to roam and scavenge for food instead of just eating feed before they were turned to bacon. He tries to explain this to his friends at times, but they never really get it. To them, meat is just meat. Sometimes, Eren can’t believe he had once lived as ignorantly as them.

Mikasa sits across the table and observes as Jean feeds Eren another piece of barely cooked meat. She looks at him curiously. “You like your meat rare, Eren?” Her tone isn’t judgemental in the least, but it still makes Eren nervous.

“Y-yeah.” Eren forgets to chew the last piece of beef and accidentally swallows it too early. It gets stuck in his throat halfway and he starts to choke. He begins to pound on his chest to free his windpipe but a glass of water appears in front of him. Eren takes it and eagerly drinks it until the beef goes down.

“It’s a taste he acquired when he was traveling,” Jean says. Unlike Eren, he hasn’t eaten much. He’s eaten a few well-cooked pieces here and there, but he’s mostly been feeding Eren and ordering more food from the menu when their plates begin to empty.

“Ah, interesting,” Mikasa says as she nibbles on a piece of Hawaiian pork belly. Even though the meat glistens with fat, Eren can’t stand the sweet marinade that coats it and the pineapples that come with the slices of pork belly. It’s just too … sacrilegious to ruin a piece of meat like that. Eren doesn’t know how Mikasa is able to continuously eat piece after piece of that tainted pork belly.

Eren laughs nervously and puts his hands in his lap. He fiddles with the buttons on his coat. As much as he wants to shove the beef tongue that had just arrived into his mouth, he knows he shouldn’t. He needs to appear normal. He clears his throat. “When is your girlfriend coming?” Eren asks with a slight wince. He shouldn’t have eaten so much when Mikasa’s girlfriend hasn’t even arrived yet.

“Should be any minute,” Mikasa says. She puts a piece of meat on Jean’s plate and gestures for him to eat too. Jean, however, doesn’t even bother to crack a smile. “You guys should just eat up. She really won’t mind.”

Jean pushes the pork belly around his plate with his chopsticks. He doesn’t make any move to pick it up or eat it. “We might head out soon if you don’t mind. I have to be out early tomorrow and Eren likes to prep at night,” Jean says. He doesn’t make any eye contact with Mikasa. “We’ve had more than enough to eat already.”

A whine begins at the back of Eren’s throat but Jean subtly stomps on the zombie’s toes and the sound dies midway.

“Yeah, we should get going,” Eren squeaks as he hunches over in pain.

“Ah, alright then,” Mikasa says with a frown. She doesn’t notice that someone is walking up behind her and doesn’t notice until the person has thrown their arms around her waist. Mikasa looks up in surprise. “Historia!”

The name makes the blood freeze in Eren’s veins. He takes a better look at the woman who has thrown her arms around his new coworker and finds that it is indeed his ex-girlfriend. She still has the same large blue eyes and heart-shaped face, same petite frame and golden blonde hair, same pale pink lips and a cupid’s bow that looks as if it were sculpted by a god. There are things that are different about her since Eren had seen her last: her hair falls down to her shoulder blades instead of at her shoulders, her face is a bit thinner, and she wears an ensemble suited to that of a strict businesswoman when previously her wardrobe was hyper-feminine. It’s so … strange to bump into her like this.

Eren stumbles up from his seat in surprise. “Historia,” he says even as Jean is tugging at his sleeve and hissing at him to sit down. “What are you doing here?” He knows that his friends have mentioned Historia had given up on him after he had disappeared for a year, but he still feels the need to run a hand through his hair. He hopes his makeup hasn’t smudged and that he doesn’t look too unkempt.

Historia’s arms fall away from Mikasa’s waist and she looks at Eren. She doesn’t seem to recognize him at first, eyes narrowing at him as she tries to place exactly where she had seen him, and then her eyes widen in recognition. “Eren?” Her head turns towards Mikasa so quickly that Eren’s surprised that her neck hasn’t snapped. “You didn’t tell me Eren was your new coworker. Or that he came back to town.”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Mikasa says. She pulls out the chair beside her and gestures for Historia to take a seat. Once Historia sits down, Mikasa rubs gentle circles on the blonde’s lower back. “Aren’t you glad he’s alive?”

Eren falls back in his seat in shock, too stunned to pay attention to the conversation Mikasa is having with Historia. He lowers his head and mumbles to Jean, “What the fuck is Historia doing here?”

“I tried to warn you not to hang around Mikasa,” Jean says in a low voice so that only Eren can hear. His teeth are gritted together in a pained smile. “In case you haven’t connected the dots … Historia is the girlfriend Mikasa has been talking about.”

It all makes sense now, Eren thinks, why Jean had wanted Eren to avoid the field reporter so desperately. Whenever Eren had asked if Jean had dated Mikasa or had any romantic interest in her, Jean and his friends had vehemently denied it. Eren had thought they were lying to him but he realizes now that it was because they were telling the truth — and also hiding a more shocking secret about Mikasa from him. Eren would be angry, but he’s too stunned to feel anything but numb.

“Well, it’s good to see you, Eren. I’m relieved to see that you’re alright,” Historia says, but it’s as if she’s talking underwater. Eren can barely register what she’s saying.

“He went on a spontaneous trip, he said,” Mikasa explains as she begins to feed Historia a strip of pork belly that was still sizzling from the grill.

“Oh?” Historia sits closer to the edge of her seat. It looks as if she’s about to ask for details, but Jean is standing up and ushering Eren out of his seat.

“We’ll fill you up on the details another night, Historia. We have to head out right now, but it was nice meeting you.” Jean wraps an arm firmly around Eren’s waist and subtly guides him towards the exit. “Lovely seeing you as always. Let’s do this again sometime.” He doesn’t wait for the couple to respond before he hurries Eren out the door.

The only sound as they walk is the clomp of their boots against the sidewalk. Eren can’t begin to ask the questions running through his head. He knows that even if he did, Jean would be in no mood to answer them. This entire scenario is what Jean had been trying to avoid in the first place. Eren knows that Jean is just waiting for them to return home so the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “I told you so.” It comes as a total surprise when those aren’t the first words Jean says to him.

“Are you okay?” Jean asks as they make their way back.

“I’m … fine,” Eren says even though he isn’t remotely okay. He knows that his tone is far from convincing, but he doesn’t want to dive into this tonight. “Can we stop by the office? I want to grab my camera and edit some of my pictures tonight.”

“You don’t want to rest?” Jean asks. He leans forward and tries to get a better look at Eren’s face, but the zombie pulls his scarf over his face.

“I’m not that tired,” Eren mumbles into his scarf. That isn’t a lie, not really. He could sleep if he wanted, but he’d rather stare at the screen and click mindlessly, making minuscule edits to his photos that people will barely notice. It would help distract him from all the thoughts swirling through his head at least.

It’s been rough returning here. Everyone Eren runs into is a reminder of everything he’s missed since he disappeared. His friends seem perfectly content with living in their small town even though all Eren had ever talked about after college was finding a job in the big city and moving away. His mother looks older and smaller than he remembers even though she had stayed the same all his life. Even Historia had changed, moved on with someone else while Eren was buried in the ground. How had everyone continued to live while he was frozen six feet under?

“It’s not like I expected everyone to wait for me while I was gone. I know it’s not anyone’s fault,” Eren says when they reach the gates of the newspaper building. His hands are balled up in frustration. “But … you don’t know what it’s like to lose everything so suddenly and come back to see that everything has changed.”

Jean stops in his tracks and when Eren looks back he sees the makeup artist with a stunned expression on his face. “Eren,” Jean says. He almost seems … hurt. “We lost you. For an entire year.”

Eren doesn’t have a response to that. He fiddles with the end of his scarf uncomfortably and then ducks his head before hurrying into the office. Thankfully, Jean doesn’t follow him.

The office is empty when Eren flicks the lights on. He mumbles to himself as he walks down the row of cubicles, muttering about what a terrible night this has been. Just when he was feeling normal, Historia showed up and reminded him that he’s not normal and that he can never return to where he once was. He doesn’t even want to think about everything that could have been if he hadn’t gotten murdered that night: if he could have found a job outside of this town, if he could have moved into the city, if he and Historia could have still been together. It’s useless anyway.

Eren finds his empty cube and pulls open one of the drawers, riffling around its contents with one hand. Oddly, there are papers he doesn’t remember placing in his cabinet. He takes another look and realizes that it’s not his cube, but Mikasa’s that he’s wandered into. Their cubicles really look too similar because Eren’s is practically empty and Mikasa has no personal items on her desk to differentiate it from Eren’s.

The zombie is about to shut the drawer and grab his camera at his desk, but something in the back corner of the drawer catches his attention. Curious, Eren reaches for it and pulls out a cell phone. He thinks it’s strange because he distinctly remembers Mikasa using her phone at the restaurant earlier that night. He turns the phone in his hand and the thought that this phone is somehow familiar to him flashes through his mind. He glances at the screen and sees a crack on it that looks exactly like the one on his old phone. The phone he had lost when he had been murdered in the forest.

But how would Mikasa have my phone? Eren thinks. The idea is so bizarre that Eren is about to put the phone back where he had seen it, but then … Mikasa is new in town. She’s only been here for a year at most. Even if everyone else knows her … how well do they really know someone who has only been here a year?

Eren’s hands hover over the power button and, hands shaking, presses it down with his thumb. The screen lights up as it powers on and a few seconds later the lock screen appears. It’s a forest that looks exactly like a picture Eren took hiking once. That has to be a coincidence though. All forests look the same … right?

The phone asks for his fingerprint. Eren’s almost too scared to scan his finger. If it does turn out to be his phone, this only implies that his murderer is … But that’s impossible, Eren thinks. He hadn’t known Mikasa when he died. She would have no reason to kill him. He’s just being paranoid and he can prove that he’s just overthinking all of this strange coincidence with Mikasa and her phone that looks exactly like his old one if he just presses his index finger to the scanner and ...

It unlocks, much to Eren’s surprise. It has all of his old apps on there including Angry Birds which he stopped playing in high school and only kept installed for nostalgia. It’s his phone. And Mikasa had it. And there really isn’t any explanation for it except one.

“Eren?”

Eren drops the phone back into the drawer and slams it shut. When he turns around, he sees Mikasa walking towards him with a confused smile on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

Eren stands up and stumbles out of her cubicle. “Er, n-nothing!” Eren quickly goes to his cube and pretends to rifle through his few belongings before pulling his camera out of his drawer. “I just … changed my mind and wanted to work on some of my photos tonight. Just wanted to … be productive.”

“Oh, you’re so hardworking. I actually left some papers I wanted to look over tonight too,” Mikasa laughs as she goes into her own cubicle and pulls open the cabinet that Eren had gone through only a few minutes before. She frowns when she sees the phone out of place, but she shoves it back into the drawer and pulls out some papers instead. Mikasa shoves the papers into her bag and smiles at Eren. She doesn’t seem to see the perspiration forming on his forehead or his nervous, rigid stance. “Well, we should head home so we can rest. Don’t work too hard.”

“Haha, yeah,” Eren laughs, but it sounds so forced.

The two walk out together and Eren finds Jean chatting politely with Historia. While it might have bothered him earlier, Eren is too preoccupied with his new finding to pay any attention to his ex-girlfriend right now. He’ll worry about it later. Right now, he has to tell Jean something.

He hardly bids the two women goodbye, instead tugging his fake boyfriend by the sleeve and walking hastily towards their apartment.

“Eren, I know you’re upset, but that was really rude,” Jean hisses, but he allows Eren to pull at his sleeve and doesn’t pry the zombie’s hand off. Jean had attempted to wave goodbye, but it wasn’t enough to ward away the amused glances that Historia and Mikasa shot each other as the zombie and makeup artist hurried home.

“This is important!” Eren insists, still pulling Jean. “But I can’t tell you here.”

Jean only sighs and allows Eren to lead him to their apartment. At their quick pace, it only takes them a few minutes to get there and Jean sighs tiredly as soon as they’re inside.

The makeup artist shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack. He begins to unbutton Eren’s coat too, but Eren doesn’t even move his shoulders back to make it easier for Jean to peel the coat off. “Can you …? Ugh,” Jean huffs as he moves Eren’s arms himself and pulls the coat off. “What is it that you wanted to tell me anyway?”

“I think,” Eren says, tugging at the end of his scarf nervously. He takes a deep breath and tries again. Jean is busy trying to unwind the scarf around Eren’s neck but the zombie puts his hands firmly on Jean’s shoulders so that he has all of the makeup artist’s attention. “I think … I think Mikasa killed me.”

#erejean #zombie detective au #eren jaeger #jean kirstein #snk #htbaz series #how to be a zombie series

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