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prettyboykatsuki · 2 months

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CIRCLE HAUNTS | TAKAMI KEIGO (HAWKS)

✮ tags ; dead dove: do not eat, gender neutral reader, no quirk au, horror + suspense, themes of cannibalism, implied / depicted cannibalism, noncon kissing + biting/drawing blood and flesh, intentionally open-ended, institutionalized cannibalism, white collar crime, yandere!hawks, 18+

✮ wc ; 9.9k (??)

✮ a/n ; another comm for the beloved @bitchkiss, thank you for your patience and also for letting me post.

✮ synopsis ; you move into a suspiciously nice house in the shizuoka prefecture, and meet your good-looking and unnerving neighbor. nothing is how it seems.

An abandoned house. Mostly functional in the outskirts of the Shizuoka prefectures in a lived-in district.

On auction for a little less than 7 million-yen. Located in a not quite suburb. Too much land between acres and backyards to qualify that way. All the other houses are within walking distance though, and there’s no shortage of places to go with a fair bit of time and energy.

By all measures, a perfectly good house in a perfectly good prefecture. Even now you’re not sure why it went on sale. You stare at it, outside cream colored with a gate and a cat bowl left on the porch from the previous owner - food gone to dust. Something looms on at the doorsteps, the sun-cast shadows almost as dark as oblivion night. In the front yard are wild strawberries and bushes of ivy.

It’s a home, no matter which way you look at it.

But you can’t bring yourself to walk inside.

You placed your bets on this house completely on a whim months ago.

You’d been looking for a house. No that’s not it - it was more that you’d started to look at houses. An important distinction in this instance, because you weren’t looking to move when you began. You wonder if it’s a rite of passage in your adulthood to peruse listings for places you can’t afford. Dreaming habitually of your landlord's body on a cross or of in unit washer/dryers. You weren’t unhappy with your living arrangements when you started doing it, but the longing for autonomy sunk its teeth into you and showed no plans of letting go. So browsing through houses idly, wine-drunk and exhausted, became something of a regular practice.

It was three months ago, during that practice (and after an especially scathing argument with your roommates) you’d gotten drunk and committed your usual routine. Cracked open a wine cooler, took off your clothes until you were down to your underwear, and cracked open your laptop to look at more property listings. That time, with a little more weary bitterness in your heart than all times before.

The search process for Japanese property could range anywhere from uneventful to laughably cruel at any given time. Whether it be listings for upend mansions in Tokyo or worn down one-bedrooms in Osaka. For every house that seemed livable, there were ten or fifteen completely out of reach or in complete shambles.

When you came up on thee listing initially, it felt too good to be true. A house in Shizuoka with lots of yard space. A house with decent upkeep and an even larger kitchen - and nice tatami in one of the siderooms. A beautiful house in a beautiful area, on auction instead of the normal sale. Some people had bid on it - but the pool was still low. Seven million yen was your final bet - the mortgage would only be a little more than your rent. You’d put your name down on a whim. With a laugh.

Laughed yourself unconscious and forgot about it until a month passed. A call from an unknown number to your personal cell.

A call from a realtor. Your name, miraculously, got chosen with the highest bid. The house was yours if you wanted it. You could move in as early as May.

You were convinced it was a scam at first - like any normal person with common sense would be. Immediately rejected. But the realtors assured you over the line that it wasn’t a scam, that the previous owners just didn’t want it anymore. Some kind of emergency. Of course - you didn’t believe them at face value either. So you did some research, went to tour the house, tried to gather information proving the whole thing was a hoax.

But there was nothing you could find even after plenty of internet sleuthing and asking everyone in your life to help you vet. When you mentioned to everyone, not a single person advocated for you staying in the city. Your job even offered to move you to the Shizuoka branch.

It was a good opportunity. There’s a coastal path not too far from where the house is. The previous family didn’t take the cat or any of his papers with him - but he’s friendly from what they say. There’s lots of space indoors and out.

It’s a cheap price, for a good house and you’d probably never get an opportunity like it again.

Something is wrong with it. You can tell that just looking at it now, despite how picture-esque it is on the surface. It’s a beautiful house. There’s even a second story and a balcony. You could plant a garden in the yard and still have space for grilling outside.

It’s a beautiful house.

And something is wrong with it - but you’ll never get an opportunity like this again.

Maybe you’re more of a conspiratorial person than you thought.

You look at the truck you’ve hauled all your things in. Your loved ones have been helping you in moving in the rest of your belongings over the last few months - so what's left is mostly lightweight knick-knacks and essentials. Clothes too. The car is parked along the side of the road with the back popped open for easy access. You shake yourself off your thoughts like you’re trying to banish them.

It’s a beautiful day outside. Early June heat that’s enough to warm but not enough to burn or swelter. The sun beats down on your skin, the sounds of gnats buzzing and the breeze rustling the overgrown fields makes your heart swell. You take a breath and remind yourself it’s a good opportunity. Stretching your arms over your head, your spine cracks. Putting your hands on your hips, you nod enthusiastically, encouraging yourself to try harder.

“Let’s just rip the bandaid off,” You mutter. You pull your keys from your front pocket, planning on opening the door first before hauling the rest in.

The sound of an engine makes you turn your head towards the road. A silver car, something compact - drives along the edge of the pavement. Your expression changes as the car starts to slow in front of the house. Your house. You’re never going to be used to that. Are the realtors coming for a visit? Your move-in date was set months ago, so they should know you’re here.

The car halts to a stop a few feet from your own truck, the tinted windows rolling down to reveal a good looking blonde man. He can’t be much older than you. He lets his arm hang out from one side of the window.

His hair is pushed back and shiny, and he’s wearing a button up shirt and brown pants. There’s sunglasses resting on top of his head. He kind of looks like a douche, but you try not to let first impressions sour your views. You give him a confused look, instinctively backing away as he smiles at you.

“You must be the new neighbor. Heard someone was moving into this place after the Nakamura’s left, but there’s always rumors like that floating around here,” He says, talking so much at once. You kind of have a hard time getting used to him.”But I’m glad to see that it’s true. Gets a little lonely out here if all the houses don’t have people in it. In my opinion, at least.”

You give him a blank stare. He holds out his arm to you through the car window. You have no reason not to take it, and it seems rude for you to decline - so you shake his hand. His grip is firm and assured, golden eyes narrowing into something pleased. You feel a shiver run through you.

There’s something about him.

“Uh, do I know you?” You say instinctually. This catches him off guard. He pauses before breaking out into a laugh.

“I’m Takami Keigo! You’ll hear people call me Hawks too though. I’m your neighbor. My house is..” He points north, “..the one ‘bout two minutes that way. I’m very involved with the community here. It’s pretty tight knit.” He explains to you. It doesn’t reassure you for some reason. You think it’s supposed to. “Is there anything I can help you with? Looks like you’re still moving in.”

You make an expression of distrust towards him but his smile remains unfaltering.

“I’m alright,” You supplement, trying to keep the peace. “I wouldn’t wanna keep you but I appreciate you coming to meet me.”

He looks like he’s considering the words, enough to turn himself around and leave. After a few seconds though, he pulls away and parks his car on the side of the road in front of your house. When he emerges from the front door - his expression doesn’t change at all. His smile is disarming. He’s not a terrible guy to look at - but you wonder what he’s doing so far from the city.

The way he dresses is metropolitan. His shirt is loose but his pants are fitted like their tailored - expensive fabrics that the big suits from your job wear. He’s wearing slacks when he’s not working, and loafer shoes that don’t seem suited for the outdoors. You’re not far enough in the country to be expecting country folk, but the area is relegated to families. Something suburban and simple about the people you’ve met so far, yourself included in some ways. No one like him.

You go with your gut about him and keep a distance.

It might be too early to completely shut him out - and you do want to get along with the people here if you’re going to take permanent residence. Not friendly, but comfortable. You figure it might be less precarious to go with whatever he’s interested in. He’s not going to harm you in broad daylight, not when he’s dressed like that. And you’ve already had so much apprehension since you’ve moved - you’re almost hoping there’s something you’ve overlooked about him. Something to assure you’re just engaging in some self-sabotage about everything.

You soften your posture and put on a business smile. There’s a ghost of something - intrigue maybe, but it’s gone before you catch wind of it. You wonder if you imagined it.

“Well if you insist, but I don’t want to leave you with nothing,” You offer to him, as charismatic and naive as you can spin yourself. Neither of you seem to believe it, and the whole conversation feels like a sham. But he hasn’t turned to leave in offense, so you keep going “I do have some drinks inside and I’m curious about the neighborhood.”

His grin widens.

“June heat like this is the perfect weather for a cold beer. Would be great with some meat,” He hums noncommittally. You try your best not to let your face crack into distrust. “What do you need? Just some boxes carried inside?”

You nod.

“Yeah. It’d be nice to only make a few trips here and there.”

“Easy peasy. You didn’t give me your name though. Little impersonal, don’t you think?”

You’d prefer he didn’t know it - but perhaps that’s asking too much since you’re letting him move things into your house. You give it to him neutrally, picking up a tote that you can carry along with your keys. Takami picks up your things swiftly. The boxes he chooses are heavy - you know that because of the way they’re labeled. The gesture is effortless though, and you’re not sure if it’s good or bad that you’ve noticed.

“Pretty name.” He tells you, and you do your best to not make a face. When he notices your staring, he tilts his head to one side. His teeth gleam an unnerving white. You can’t get over the yellow-gold of his eyes. “Surprising, right? But I’m stronger than I look.”

He waits for you to walk in front of him. Maybe it’s the paranoia, but it strikes you somehow. How he’s trying to appear. He’s perceptive. You walk in front of him, starting down the concrete path to the front of the house.

“Any reason or are you just a gym buff?”

He thinks about how he’s going to reply, but doesn’t meet your eyes to look at you when he does.

“Got into a lot of fights as a kid so I had to get strong. Something like that.”

When your eyes meet the second time, you can tell he’s seeing what you’ll probe out of him. Wanting to know what questions you’ll ask.

“Rough childhood, then?”

Bullseye, if his reaction is anything to go by. He hums and chuckles, still carrying the boxes. You fidget with your keys, the door sounding with a faint click as you push it open with the weight.

The lights are all turned off. It’s not your first time seeing the house - but the first time seeing it furnished in full. For weeks you’d been putting your furniture in it, and putting food in the fridge to make moving in smooth. All the other times you’ve been inside, you’ve never felt one way or another about it. Living there wasn’t actualized for all those months - but looking at your things, new and old, makes it all feel real.

It’s a moment too intimate for a stranger to bear witness to and you think he’s probably well-aware. He doesn’t say a word, just observes you from the corner of his eye. When you come out of whatever trance you were just under, he whistles.

“Nice decor,” He compliments - a fair attempt at lightening the mood. “Where should I put these?”

“Those can just go behind the couch for now, thanks.”

He listens to you wordlessly, dropping the boxes off. You watch the light of the sun reflect onto him. He’s yellow gold. You think your mother might find him good looking. He stands back up and meets your eyes. Piercing, underneath everything. He has marks on the corners of his eyes that give you the impression of a bird. A hawk scoping for something to peck at.

“Two down, about how many more to go do you think?”

“I think 6, give or take. And then some luggage with my clothes.”

“Let’s get to work then, shall we?”

You give him a tight lipped smile.

“Of course,”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to bring all of your belongings into the house. It’s a short few trips and there isn’t really much small talk for the two of you to engage in during it.

Once it’s over you, you thank Takami for his hard work and reward him with a beer as promised. You’re sure he knows that it’s only formality - but he’s completely comfortable in overstaying his welcome.

The two of you sit on the steps leading up to the front of your house - a cold beer in hand. The sun is starting to hide behind the clouds, and that deep shadow seems to cast once again. Over the both of you this time, and not just on your front steps. You let your nail push the tab of the can open, a soft carbonated hiss sounding as you depressurize it. Takami follows suit. He holds the can up to yours and looks at you before you can drink.

“Cheers to our hard work,”

You try not to balk at him, indulging his odd behavior per your own sanity. He’s aware of your apprehension, but his persistence is almost impressive. Another tight lipped smile. “Cheers, Takami-san.”

You take your first sips in complete silence and don’t look his way for any reason. You need the brief respite of peace to deal with the terrible weight of the pit in your stomach, still lingering. You wonder if his presence is worsening it, or if this is another thing your imagination decides to supplement. The cool liquid and faint sourness of Sapporo ease your mind, if barely. You observe the can in your hand momentarily, pretending to read the label.

He takes a similarly long sip of his drink and then lets out a semi-obnoxious aah. You peer over at him.

“Thanks again for helping with the move.” You say, mostly trying to fill the space with conversation so you don’t have to talk to him more than necessary. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” He says, waving his hand around in front of him. “Like I said, it’s a pretty tight knit community around here. I’ll introduce you to everyone whenever you’re free. They’re good folk.”

There’s something in his voice when he adds the last words. You wonder if you’re overthinking it again.

“Is that so?”

He looks at you, but you don’t meet his gaze. “Mm. A lot of people move out here to get a break from the hustle and bustle of the city. Hard-working folks. Families. It’s good to know them,”

You wonder if you’re being too honest about yourself - but decide that there isn’t anything he could do with the information you’re about to tell him.

“Interesting. I always grew up in the heart of the industrial district, so that’s lost on me. I even lived in Shinjuku for a while.” You offer mindlessly. “A good change of pace I guess.”

“Oh, we’re the same then,” He offers. You want to ask him to elaborate on what that means, but he brushes over it just as quickly “You’ll like it here then. Just knock on my door if you need something.”

He looks at you again that time, some knowing in his gaze. You try not to react in either direction, just nodding your head silently as you drink more of your beer.

“Yeah,” You offer, not looking towards him, “I’ll do that.”

For all the evading you down when you speak to Keigo, it was no lie that you spent most of your life living in the heart of the city.

The hustle and bustle of Musutafu, in the industrial districts of various prefectures - all of that was what you were accustomed too. When you were in your late teens and moved out for the first time - you lived in Shinjuku for two years and worked in the nightlife trying to pay for your tuition.

You would’ve never predicted a suburb for your future. It’s not the environment you know well. You can’t help but wonder if it’s always so… quiet.

In the time you’ve started living in your new home, not much has changed in your daily life.

Your initial paranoia has faded out enough to go about your responsibilities in peace. The previous family’s cat occasionally returns back to the porch, and you’ve started to buy it food just in case it decides it wants to stay permanently. A brown tortoiseshell who is always a little worried. You eat breakfast at the same time, but sleep in later since the Shizuoka branch you’ve moved to is a shorter commute. You still take your daily walks, and sometimes you’ll take some time to visit the coastal path and lay your eyes on the open water.

(The ocean doesn’t feel as comforting as it once did. Maybe it’s symptomatic of your own grievances, but looking at the endless expanse - your throat closes with the fear of it swallowing you along with it.

If it did, who would come find you? So far from everything you know?)

You’re entering into mid June, brushing along the edges of July. The heat is starting to be too much. You can’t stay outdoors for too long without feeling like your whole body is going to melt into the concrete and evaporate you from the inside. The nights get chilly, but the days are long. Humidity makes your skin sticky with sweat, and you’re running up your water bill with just how often you bathe.

Everything here is by all means much more uneventful. Some parts of it unsettle you. The nights are eerily quiet and before dawn breaks, there’s always a thick head of something perspiring in the horizon like fog.

Most days, the only people you talk to in person are your co-workers. Your friends live back in your hometown, so you only see them on weekends. Same with your family. It’s just you, and some after work dinners.

But mostly you.

And Hawks. You call him Hawks, in your head and Takami when he speaks. But Hawks feels more apt.

Hawks, seemingly, does not care what face you show him. Nothing stops him from showing up at your door at one time or another - always before you’re going on your walks.

(You want to ask how he even knows your schedule, but you doubt he’d give you any straight answers.)

And he doesn’t leave. You don’t think he would, no matter how rough you were about telling to fuck off. How demanding. You don’t want to confront him out of self preservation. It’s not easy to tell him to fuck off for some reason you have trouble placing. When you normally would, when it’d normally be so easy. You do it at your job all the time, to men much more important than him.

When he comes by, he hangs at your gate and never crosses the threshold to enter. He won’t move unless he’s invited in. You give up on being nice. If you offer him a glass of water, he’ll always agree just to see your expression change. He’s polite to make you uncomfortable. Says please and thank you, and makes conversation with you like he’s interested. An amalgam of reasons that you don’t like his company. Inescapable kindness that lends itself to plausible deniability.

What do you do for work? Oh, what’d you study for? Where are you from? Where are your parents from?

You never want to answer his questions. But he stays, lingers longer if you don’t. He archives the information, you’re sure - but you don’t know what for.

He knows what he needs to know. You live by yourself and your family is farther away. But he always wants to know more, always lingers at the gates - waiting to be let in despite how tight you’ve got your fingers on the lock.

You try not to involve yourself with him more than necessary. You avoid him if you’re walking around the neighborhood for any reason, and you never ask him about himself. He never tells you about himself either - but you can’t be sure why that is. If it’s for your sake or for his.

You try not to get used to him, but it doesn’t surprise you to see him just outside of your door. Sun pours over him in white rays like melted iron, but he’s the same as always. Same smile, same golden eyes, same unnerving expression.

He waves at you politely as you let your bodycon bag hang off of one side - a single headphone in as you look at him. You don’t bother smiling.

If it bothers him, it doesn’t show on his face.

“Hi neighbor,”

“Hey,” You reply, walking closer to the gate. It’s almost routine, but you try your best not to get used to it. No point in getting comfortable. “You’re here again,”

He laughs good-naturedly. “I am. Good to check in, no? Don’t want you getting lonely out here by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,”

He laughs again, but he sounds more sincere.

“Going on another walk? You should be careful in this heat, you know. Take care of your body and everything.”

“I’ll be fine,” You offer, standing in limbo and waiting for him to leave. “Thanks for your concern.”

“So cold to me,” He quips. So he does know. “Hope it’s a nice little workout for you.”

You sigh as you make more small talk, mostly tuned out of whatever he’s saying.

“Got any plans for today, Takami-san?”

He pauses before smiling to himself. He lets his arms cross over the metal of your gate, but doesn’t flinch when the heated edge touches his bare skin. You wonder about it, go to ask - but he’s talking again before you can.

“I do, actually. Gonna go into the shop today and get a new fridge,” He tells you, his grin bright and unusual. You’re surprised. He never tells you anything about what he’s doing, no matter how casual. Nothing more than whether he’s working or not. “I’m out of room in my old fridge, so I’m upsizing.”

“Out of room?”

You ask before you can calculate the correct move. It’s a slip up, you both know it. His smile widens just barely, nodding his head and closing his eyes.

“Mm. Ran out of space. A lot of mouths to feed.” He says, and opens one eye playful. “A lot of people live with me. Too big of a house to leave everything all empty.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Oh my roommates?” Hawks says, and you nod. His smile gets bigger. “They’re kind of a rag-tag bunch. Not sociable like me. I can always bring them to meet you - if you’d like.”

“No need to trouble them.”

“But you should get to know the people who live here a little better,” He insists, finally backing away from your gate. “It’s good to be familiar with your neighbors. I’ll try and direct people to you. Word’ll get out faster that way,”

You go again to protest, but he cuts you off a second time - seeming faux apologetic about your upset.

“You should come over for dinner next week, too. Meet my roommates. At 7 ish, we should all be together. They’d love to meet you,”

You meet his eyes and wonder if his invitation is as deliberate as you assume. When you peer into them, you confirm that it is. He’s not forcing you. You’re sure that if you rejected him now, he’d return to the way he was. He might fake being hurt, but he’d still visit you at your door. He’d still linger, still be there. He’s inviting you in on purpose. Dinner with his roommates is a less than casual affair - and nonsense for your relationship.

It’s a bad idea, and maybe a trap. You’re almost positive of that.

But if you did go - it’d confirm things. You’re positive of that too. You’d know for sure if you were being paranoid, if you went into that house that looks just two minutes away and saw the inside of it. You feel your heart pump through your body as the sun moves away from the clouds. There’s no longer a shadow cast on your face. Just pure, blinding heat.

You shield your eyes with your hand, all too conscious of the heat crawling up your back and the tightness forming in your stomach.

“Sure,” You reply, noncommittally - trying not to show too much of any one feeling. No advantages. But you feel like you’ve already lost. “I’ll see if I can make it,”

“See you then, neighbor,” He waves, finally turning to leave. “Looking forward to it.”

He’s true to his word on multiple fronts. Which. Doesn’t comfort you.

An official dinner invitation, and more importantly - sending out the other neighbors to come and meet you. He’s made a point of making good on both vaguely threatening promises.

Like your old living arrangements, you don’t go out of your way to talk to anyone here. You’re busier in the Shizuoka branch (though you like it there) and you find that there’s more daily upkeep with the new and improved space. Plus it’s mostly family folks and retired couples - no one you have any business speaking with for more than five minutes. So you’re not really going out of your way to socialize.

You never planned on being buddy-buddy with any of the people who live in the area, anyway. Acquainted and friendly at best.

But in these last few weeks, folks from all up and down the streets have arrived at your doorstep bearing all sorts of gifts. Fruits and desserts and other housewarming things they think you'd find helpful. They come so often even you have a hard time refusing them, though you’ve wormed your way out of any of them coming inside of your home or crossing far-past the threshold of the gate.

On the surface, they’re good folks like he described them to be. There’s no distrust to the conversation, nothing they want to wield against you.

But something's off. And isn’t that always the case here? You’re starting to feel like you’re repeating yourself. Stuck in a loop, some kind of odd deja vu.

It’s two things you notice. They’re both minor, but they bother you.

The first is the way they describe Hawks.

Nothing but good things. Which makes you sound like a bitch, even to yourself. But it’s weird. The kind of kindness that doesn’t feel real. Empty praises like a helium balloon. Last week one of your neighbors described him as benevolent and his wife agreed whole-heartedly. Each time you wonder if you’re thinking too much about it. Benevolent isn’t a word you’d use to describe anyone you like, no matter how well acquainted.

You know people as charismatic as him so you know that it’s something people do. He’s a good guy, but you don’t know him so you say empty, kind things. Still, it bothers you. And it’s like they say. A friend to everyone is a friend to no one.

It’s uncomfortable that no one shows any sign of disagreement about how kind he is. That there’s no hesitant glances or country gossip. That not one old lady has pulled you in for gossip and wine. There’s no character. No humanity.

It’s backwards but there’s too much harmony. In the people, in the weather, in the road - paved perfectly with no cracks. Everyday of June since moving in has been nothing but blue, cloudless skies. A bright vivid sun concentrated into one shape, heat casting the illusion of waves. No June rain to water the gardens or wash off the dusty roads. No lightning storms that send all the animals howling, no winds strong enough to dust a city into the sea.

It’s not nothingness. There’s something to that at least. If it felt abandoned, it might feel less unsettling. An abandoned place is a familiar one, a memory from your hometown. An abandoned place usually means that someone lived there before you. At least ghosts are the promises of people, even deceased.

Is there something more nonexistent than a ghost, while still being material? You don’t know what that would be.

Hollow but not empty - the skeleton of a suburb. Like something has been carved out of it and replaced. Unnatural, man-made. It never fails to make all the hair on your neck stand.

Then there is the other thing.

Well it’s a stretch. Even you can acknowledge that it might just be coincidence. But nothing here feels like sole coincidence except for the fact you’ve been unfortunate enough to end up here.

A lot of people in town have… injuries. Particular ones. The elderly couple up the street has a lost leg and missing pinky between the two of them. Of the few other people living alone here - all three of them have some type of it - a part of them completely gone. A lost eye or arm, or visible scars along their sides like something’s been … cut out of them.

You know how it sounds. Even to yourself, you’ll reprimand your imagination. It’s not something you can discern meaning from, not something to draw conclusions from. This is Japan, a Japanese suburb with little kids playing in fucking mud and wild strawberries and bushes of ivy.

Maybe the people who retire here are veterans, or maybe Hawks has some kind of charity.

Maybe it’s something not sinister, because what else could it really be?

You keep trying to convince yourself that this time it really is your paranoia. Because even if you examine that, try to unravel - what does it leave you with but more questions?

You want answers. Need them so you stop tossing and turning. But even if you’re to get answers, you aren’t sure if you could trust them. You trust your gut - yourself and only yourself.

You know something is wrong, but just how wrong do things get before the point of no return?

But you can’t help living here if something is wrong. As wrong as you think. If it doesn't go away, what then? What happens to you? Neighbors keep meeting you and people keep being injured and tight-lipped and hollow eyed. Something is always waiting for you in the dark.

You want to get ahead of it, no matter how fucking sick it makes you. You have to know or it'll swallow you up.

You just want to put the whole thing to rest, and get answers. You’d take fake ones to placate you if they were believable, you’d take anything to get your fucking mind off of it.

But the longer you stay, the longer you live at the edge of the road, the longer Hawks waves to you as he passes by your place - makes you feel like you can’t rest until you know.

You need to know for sure.

It rains.

The day he invites you over for dinner, just two minutes down the street - it rains. Harsh, July rain that sounds like it’s running against the ground. Thudding as it floods the streets and turns the Earth to mush. You couldn’t have expected it. It’d been sunny in the morning, but it’d all gone gray outside while in the office. And then it got darker and heavier, like nightfall early.

You were soaked on public transport on the way home, tracking mud into your front door as you walked along the grass back to your own home. You had enough time, at least - between getting home and going over to shower and sit down.

In the two hours of your arrival from the office and your invitation - you pretend for a while that none of it is happening. You read on your couch and pet the cat you didn’t adopt. You listen to music and pleasantly paint your nails up until you have to get ready, because you don’t really want to get ready.

You’re being dramatic. Or you’re not. But you don’t want to go. You don’t want to know what happens when you get there. You think about canceling. Taking a raincheck because of the weather. Feigning an illness for your not-cat.

Something is wrong with this place, and it’s bothering you. But you don’t know if you’re prepared to find out what.

You decide to go, because the other option is remaining in the dark. You could tell him that you want to reschedule, but just like you trust your gut on most things - you get a feeling this is the only window you’ll get to find out anything important. Like if you do it another day, you’ll get the same hollow facade as always.

So you dress yourself slowly. You take an umbrella, and lock your door shut. You even say goodbye to that cat that isn’t yours. You’ll make it back in one piece but something will change once you go. Both of these you believe with full conviction.

But you go. You go.

When you get outside, you open your umbrella up and put it over your head - walking out past your front gate and onto the sidewalk.

It’s not a lie that Hawks is the neighbor closest to you. He lives within walking distance, less than ten minutes from you. The neighborhood is more compact closer to his place, your own house being more isolated - the first house when cars turn the corner.

You don't know what the house looks properly, only what it's like vaguely in shape and color. On the walk there, it’s the only thing your eyes can focus on. You stare at it aimlessly as it comes into your vision line.

It’s obscenely big. You don’t know how many people are living inside for that to be the case, but it sticks out. Even in your time in the city, you’ve never seen a house that size just out in the open, so protruding. It feels invasive.

You feel something forming in your gut as you start to approach the gate. It doesn’t look so different to yours.

Clearing your throat, you approach.

In the clear distance is Hawks, in front of the open door like he’s waiting for you. It’s still light outside, but the weather makes everything dark. The warm light pouring out of the open door casting shadow onto the concrete above it. Hawks runs to meet you at the gate to open it, not bothering to grab something to cover himself with. The rain soaks his head, makes his hair fall a little flat.

There’s a girl waiting by the door with him, younger than you both - who’s looking at you with a wide smile. Her teeth are sharp like fangs. You can see them from afar, and better as you get closer.

Hawks is quick as he unlocks the latch for you. He pulls the gate back and ushers you with his hands on your waist. Instinctually - you hold out the umbrella to cover his head. He gives you a smile as he leads you through to the front of the house. The rain feels like it gets heavier as he does.

When you’re underneath cover, you’re rushed into the foyer of their place before you can think twice.

The door shuts behind you, the noise of the rain muffled. You miss it and you want to go outside again. You look at the door as it shuts, and the girl with him closes it and looks at you.

She’s cute. She has to be a student, but she looks nothing like Hawks. He walks over to her and pats her head.

“This is Toga. She’s the youngest of us. She won’t be joining us for dinner ‘cause she’s going to see her girlfriend, but she wanted to see the new neighbor.”

You give her a passive glance. She smiles at you.

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” She drawls the end of the word, then looks you up and down. “Hawks keeps talking about you all the time,”

“Aw, c’mon now Himiko-chan, don’t embarrass me in front of our guest,” Is what he says, but he doesn’t look embarrassed at all. “Take your raincoat and umbrella. Say hi Uraraka-san for me,”

“Uh-huh, I will. Bye-bye,”

You watch her get dressed for the rain and turn to leave. The brief sound of the rain returns and you’re all but too aware of how much you want to turn back from whence you came.

Hawks takes your jacket for you. His voice guides you to putting your shoes in the rack, telling you where the house slippers are for guests.

You’re not particularly trying to listen, but you’re out of your own body. The muffled rain thunders, cries out - makes you jump in your own skin. Lightning flashes through the whole house.

He looks at you bemused. “Just a little rain,”

“Right,” You reply, itching to get control of yourself “Been such a clear summer, so it spooked me,”

“Are you off put easily?” Hawks asks. You close up your umbrella and hang it against a wall “You seem like it,”

You shake the water off your face and neck and shake your head. “Not particularly. Just not used to living here yet.”

He nods sagely. “You’ll get used to it. But enough out of me, I’m here to introduce you to my roommates. You’ll have to forgive their curiosity, especially Touya.”

Curiously, Hawks doesn’t proceed with his usual testimony and fair. He doesn’t tell you that they’re good people, like he normally does. Just smiles, coyly, and gestures you to the corner of the hall.

From the kitchen on the other end of the foyer, you can hear sizzling and cutting - something being hacked away with a butcher's knife. Hawks waves your thoughts away as you turn your head towards it. “That’s Kurogiri. He learned we were having guests so he took up cooking. He’s the best at it, and I’m pretty decent. Himiko too.”

“Oh, that’s kind. What are we having for dinner?”

He stops to look at you. He holds his stare too long.“Meat. With some sides and rice, of course. I think it’s steak but Kurogiri doesn’t like western sides. You eat meat, right? You mentioned wanting to barbecue,”

You hesitate. Something slips in his face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. You nod. “I uh do meat. I try not to lately, to save money.”

He laughs. “Well, we have plenty to go around. Please eat as much as you like,”

You frown at him.

“...Thanks for the offer,”

He doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t make a punchy quip, or have a fresh joke like normal. Just nods aimlessly before giving you another familiar business smile.

“Lets not keep ‘em waiting,” Hawks offers, as he walks you into the basement. The darkness at the end of the stairwell puts a familiar gnawing in your stomach. “I’m sure they’ll want to meet you sooner, rather than later.”

They’re not what you expect.

His roommates. You’re expecting people like him. Metropolitan, overly friendly types. You’re expecting people he gets along with well, and some of them do.

But they’re nothing like Hawks at all, not even close.

Most of his roommates remind you of the kids living on the street during your life in the industrial districts. Rag-tag bunches who got in trouble with the law frequently, always in and out of the penal system.

Of his roommates, Shigaraki is the most antisocial. He doesn’t say anything when Hawks drags you to his room. Hawks doesn’t seem to be expecting anything either, but he does ask if the former will join you for dinner. Shigaraki looks you up and down, then laughs for the first time, and says not tonight. Hawks shrugs and moves on.

There’s Twice too, and he’s kind. Of them, you think he’s the nicest. He’s the closest with Toga. A bad past, he’s fond of Hawks (though you can’t be sure Hawk’s is fond of him.) Apparently he has some kind of condition and disorder, he tells you candidly - but he’s not unpleasant all the same. At the very least, he doesn’t offset some baser instinct to run far in the other direction.

You meet Magne, an older girl and another man who doesn’t tell you his full name. Hawks calls him Compress, but he introduces himself to you as Sako. He tells you he won’t join you all for dinner - holds your hand, places a kiss on the back of your palm as an apology. The gesture weirds you out, but you try to keep the peace.

Hawks tells you he’s a performer and you believe him.

The last person you meet is Touya.

Touya is interesting. He has thick scars along his face and neck, burn marks - but he’s got a handsome face. Hawks seems most hesitant to introduce you two, but they room together. You want to ask if that’s necessary, given that there’s so much space in the house but refrain.

When Touya greets you, his grip is casual and firm. He mostly seems disinterested, except when you’re in closer proximity to him.

Enough for him to flash you something pitiful. Something knowing, something… like he’s condescending you and pitying you all at once.

He’s the one, of all of them, that leers at you the most openly. He assesses you, polite in his introduction before turning to Hawks. They communicate something to each other wordlessly and you don’t like any of it. After whatever that had been, Touya simply turned to examine you, shrugging as he agrees to dinner and slinking back down into his room.

After a while, you go back downstairs. Hawks doesn’t tell you anything about his living space. Just sits you in a living room and chats with you until dinner is ready. Chats hollowly about the same pointless dialogue fodder he always does. He stares at you with each word, and you try your best to ignore the shivering it incites.

He’s relaxed with the charade here, but he keeps it up exceptionally well irregardless.

Nothing is strange in a way that makes all of it strange. The rain pounds against every window like it’s begging to be inside and the doors sometimes shake when thunder claps. But nothing is wrong in a way you can prove. His roommates are nothing like you thought they’d be, and only serve to prove that you know even less about him than you might’ve assumed.

He’s quick, on all fronts, to brush over any questions.

Whatever you want to know about, Hawks won’t let you. But it’s not out of secrecy. If he could tell you to be patient without spoiling your little game, you’re sure he would.

The pit of your stomach only grows heavier as the evening continues. Even though he hasn’t done anything to warrant your increasing distrust. Nothing feels as it seems.

It’s nearly eight o’clock when Kurogiri calls you all to have dinner.

Hawks send you into the dining room alone.

The walk into the dining room feels like it goes on forever. The hallway remains dark. At the end of the tunnel is a kitchen. A brightly lit dining room with warm lights and a table that seats many people. On the table, there's a bottle of sake and glasses. A pitcher of water with lemons cut into it, and plenty of sides.

On display though is meat. A lot of meat. Meat you can’t identify any one way, and that doesn’t smell like any other meat you’ve ever had. Hawks mentioned steak, and you can’t be sure it’s not that. It just doesn’t look like it from this distance.

The tables are all set-out, and there’s a steak on each plate.

Kurogiri is polite when he greets you.

“Oh,” He says, thinking to himself. “You must be the guest. Sit here. Keigo insisted I sit you next to him,”

You’re startled, but nod your head. “Nice to meet you, Kurogiri-san,”

He shakes his head. “The pleasure is all mine,”

You sit at the far end of the table, and let Kurogiri pour you a glass of water. The rest of the housemates start coming into the kitchen. Magne, and Twice, and Touya mostly - along with Hawks at the tail end. He comes around the redwood table to join you. He sits at the very head while everyone sits in what seems to be their own assigned seats. Touya sits directly to your right. Kurogiri sits at the opposite end of the table, glancing at Hawks.

“Master Shigaraki won’t be joining us?”

Hawks shakes his head. “Said he wasn’t. You can always bring him something to eat.I can take care of your guest.”

Kurogiri pauses, then looks at you. He shakes his head. “Just be careful, Hawks.”

“Have some faith in my hosting skills, Kurogiri,”

You watch on in silence as Kurogiri fixes things in a tupperware. Master Shigaraki?

“Sorry about the delay!” Hawks offers, all of a sudden. You look at the plate in front of you, and all the bowls alongside it before looking back towards Hawks. “Thanks for joining us for dinner. Please eat as much as you like and consider this our formal welcome to the neighborhood,”

Touya laughs hard beside you. “Laying it on thick aren’t you, Keigo?”

He replies in his unflinchingly calm voice. Touya must really get under his skin though, because you can hear his demeanor crack just barely. “Just being welcoming. Wouldn’t kill you to take a page out of my book, I don’t think,”

“Enough bickering,” He supplements, throwing his hands up. “Let’s eat,”

There’s a resounding itadakimasu around the table before the sound of cutlery begins to scrape against the ceramic plates alike.

For the first time all night, you check into your body and stare down at the plate in front of you. It feels like all your blood is rushing to your ears. Your heart pounds, blood thrumming through your nerves as you examine the plate. There’s a cut of meat on it, tender with herbs - and a side of rice and pickled vegetables. The ceramic plate it’s on is red, a deep sort of maroon. Painted birds decorate the sides along with thin leaves and branches. The other cutlery is nice. Heavy stuff, nothing cheap. Even the chopsticks have good weight.

You feel out of body as your hand reaches for them, swallowing thickly and not looking up at anyone for any reason. From the corner of your eye, you see Touya who seems to be watching your every move. Hawks doesn’t pay you any mind. You wonder why he’s doing so deliberately.

You use a spoon to help pick up rice. You eat the vegetables plain. It hurts to chew and swallow even though none of it’s dry. The lemon water you drink from the cold glass cup doesn’t soothe your throat.

The blonde glances at you. He reaches towards the sake bottle and cups circling the centerpiece of the decor and hands you a glass. “This’ll warm you you,”

You look at him, and briefly at his plate. He hasn’t touched the meat yet. You take the glass from him and sip in long drinks until you reach the bottom.

But the feeling doesn’t leave you. You wonder if you’re imagining it.

It’s meat. Beef, from what they tell you. You look up to see Twice across the table, tearing into the flesh with his teeth - and something inside your gut churns hard. Your focus is unbreaking as you see it. Teeth sinking into flesh. The outside a golden brown but the inside raw and red, fatty and bleeding. Twice’s plate pools with what looks like blood. Steaks bleed, you know that.

And everyone is eating comfortably, like nothing is wrong. Except Hawks. He has yet to cut into anything. He mimics you. He’s waiting for you to eat first.

“You should eat first,” He goes as far as telling you. His smile gleams. Pearlescent white teeth, golden yellow eyes, blackness in his pupils like oblivion. “Feels a little rude as the host.”

Fuck. Something is wrong. It’s screaming at you. The sound of scraping and chewing and swallowing becomes a cacophony as it grates on your mind. You try your best to be unaffected and drink more sake. You keep your voice calm.

You won’t panic. You can’t panic. You steel yourself.

“No no, please - go ahead. I’m a little tired so I don’t feel like chewing, is all. It’s fine, I promise.” You offer, then stare at him. “Eat.”

He looks at you surprised, and Touya laughs besides you.

He shrugs though, and eats. Unconcerned with you, with refined manners and well practiced etiquette. Hawks is polite when he eats.

He cuts through the thick hunk of meat with a sharpened knife in precise, even squares. He’s an expert at it. You watch as the outside cuts open. Underneath the brown is tender red. Bleeding red. It’s practically raw on the inside, blood spilling out from the open slices. It has that soft texture of raw meat. Hawks uses his chopsticks to grab the piece, and it yields underneath the pressure - squished between the ends.

You watch as he chews it. You watch carefully.

There’s delight in the act of eating. He savors when he chews, slow and deliberate and when he swallows - he seems especially pleased. His expression changes after the first few bites, repeating it over and over. You feel bile rise in your throat.

“It’s good you know,” Hawks hums, looking at you so deeply you feel suffocated. Flying close to the ground to pin you right when you’re least expecting, how typical. It’s so like him it makes you sick. “You should give it a try,”

You clear your throat.

“I will. I uh, I do need to use the restroom though.” You say quickly, trying not to heave. “Where would that be?”

Touya snorts. “Down the hall on your left.”

Before he can get a word in edgewise - you bolt. You nearly knock the dining chair over with how swift you carry yourself on your legs. You run, speeding off towards the bathroom. Grabbing the handle you nearly slam the door as you hurry yourself inside.

Your chest feels tight as a sense of nausea overwhelms you, mixed with some morbid sense of relief. You were right. You were right about everything.

They’re taking body parts - this much you’re sure of. You can think of what they do with them. Selling them is a lucrative business. But eating them? It’s a level of depravity so far beyond your scope - you can’t help but feel nauseated.

Your hands grip the linoleum sink as the fluorescent lights of the bathroom flicker overhead. Your complexion has gone pale with disgust. Your stomach feels especially tight, soured. It’s almost painful how sick you are. Sweat drips along your back and into your shirt - all down the crown of your head. White knuckling the edge of the sink, you stare into the linoleum and take deep breaths trying not to fucking puke.

You’re in too deep. You were weeks ago. Maybe the minute you clocked that something was wrong about him, like you’ve seen past a carefully set-up illusion.

By rights of the illusionist, it’s only inevitable that he comes after you. You either die with his secret or become part of his magic act.

You don’t know which things he wants more.

By the time you steady your breathing at all, you hear the bathroom door click open behind you.

You nearly scream.

Hawks closes the door behind him. The enclosed space of the bathroom makes your chest ache, as you back into the sink. He looks calm. You ready yourself to run.

His eyes no longer shine. They’re almost dull, copper in color as he stares at you with a lazed smile. It’s like the mask has all but shattered. Leaving you two in this cramped, airless, stale room. Your stomach clenches, muscles tight with adrenaline. You think of all the ways out, but Hawks leans his weight on the door to keep you from running.

“Relax,” He offers, no longer pretending. “I won’t hurt you. And you’d rather not get the attention of my housemates, I’m guessing,”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You fucking—you eat people?”

He smiles. “You know, it’s pretty clever of you to figure it out. Most folks here are too stupid to see through it, but you noticed right away. I was really interested in that when we first met,”

He stands up straight, readying himself to approach you.

“Stay the fuck away from me,”

He leans against the door and puts his hands up, but not because he’s trying to appear unthreatening.

“It’s a good gig. Cheap property, more people move in, more business. When someone proves loyalty, they get a cheap mortgage and live for a small price. Up until now, no one just moving has been able to get out of it. Except for the family before yours. Still feel sorry about that one.”

The dread that washes over nearly has you throwing up. You dry heave. Hawks smile only grows.

“But you noticed right away, which was interesting. So I started getting intrigued by you. I wondered how far you’d go to find things out, and it was farther than I expected. It’s good to be clever,” Hawks offers. He steps closer to you this time and you go to defend yourself, grabbing something from the counter to hit him with. You find nothing. “Not so good to be nosy. But you couldn’t help yourself, huh? I like the spunk, at least.”

“You’re a monster,” You say and you mean it.

“It’s a house full of them. I’m just the spokesperson. And this is a lucrative business practice. My colleagues aren’t the social type, so I handle all the HR. I can’t have some newbie who just moved in fucking the protocol,” Hawks hums, tilting his head at you. “In a way I’m helping you,”

“Helping me? How in the fuck are you helping me?”

It’s a swift movement where Hawks pins you. You go to move, to hit him - to scream. But Hawks is fast. He’s strong, and completely swift - and when he grabs you to pin you to the sink, you’ve never felt more completely helpless in your life. You bite his hand, but he looks at you steadily. Cold.

“No one will help you even if you scream, so don’t scream,” Hawks reprimands, almost bored. “Cops don’t come here anyways. I would know.”

He pulls his hand away from you.

“What do you want from me?”

Hawks looks surprised then laughs.

Before you can protest any further, you feel the grip on your arms and body tighten painfully. Hawks ducks his head down against your throat, and in one motion bites. He bites hard. You can feel it break the skin, and that time you scream. You pull away, but his teeth scrape and scrape and scrape till you’re bleeding.

He sucks the blood and licks the flesh, like someone might eat bone marrow from a carcass. You can feel it then. He’d devour you into nothing if he could - while you’re still all pieced together. You look at his mouth when he pulls away, covered in your blood. Some of the skin he’s taken off, just barely. Your whole body feels feeble as he goes again to lick up and clean the sensitive wound.

Your knees feel weak as he pulls away. Your blood is on his mouth. There’s surely more on his hands. You feel sick all over again. You’re gonna throw up.

“It’s simple what I want,” Hawk’s says, and then narrows his eyes at you “I like to play with my food before I eat it,”

Your eyes narrow.

“There’s no way I’d let myself wait around here to be killed.”

“Who said anything about killing, stranger? Just eating. It’s good practice to eat. We’ll eat together. We’ll eat each other. It’s romantic, don’t you think?” Hawks hums, hugging you to him. And it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, for exactly what he really is. “Eating together is a basic facet of a healthy connection.”

“A healthy connection? You’re insane.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m in like. Different things.”

You try again to pull away, but remain stone still in his arms. For now, there’s no escaping. But you thrash and thrash and thrash. It comforts you.

“I’ll never take it lying down.” You tell him, as seriously as you can.

He gives you a smile. It’s pearly white. It’s unnerving. It’s genuine. Your heart feels heavy as the weight and implications all sink in. Oh, he’ll chase you - if it means getting to eat you alive.

Thunder strikes the house. The walls shake. July is unwelcoming and gloomy.

But Hawks’ eyes shine yellow gold like a false sin as he looks down at you in awe.

“I’m looking forward to it, neighbor.”

#cannibalism cw #noncon cw #yandere cw #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #writing tag #sorry if there are . still errors

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