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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 16

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Run to You” by the Pentatonix

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: Physical altercation, perilous situations, fire hazards, injuries, angst, Nick and Azazel being evil psychos.

Part 16: “Break Down the Gates”

The holiday couldn’t last forever. Eventually, you had to go back to work.

Dean didn’t like it, and neither did you. Hell, even Sam had tried to find an opening in the district attorney’s office for you. Unfortunately, all of the positions you were remotely qualified for were filled.

And as your bills had to get paid, it meant you had to take Betsy all the way up to the 22nd floor of the Savage & Co. building on a Monday morning.

Dean was already calling you.

You couldn’t answer until you got off the elevator and away from its shitty reception, but you let out a sigh before you called him back.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hey, sweetheart. How you doin’?” Dean asked.

“I’m good. I just got to my office,” you replied. I was also fine 20 minutes ago on the road.

You had to be patient though. You knew he was worried about you, now for more than one good reason.

“Good. Got your taser all charged up?”

“Yep, it’s in my purse,” you said. You closed the door to your office and locked it. “Which is going in my desk. You’re at the station?”

“Yeah, having my coffee right now.”

“Okay, tell the guys I said hi.”

“Will do,” said Dean. “You need anything, just call me. If you can’t get ahold of me, call Cas, or Sam, or even my dad.”

“I promise I will,” you replied. “I have to get to work here, but I hope you have a good day. And be safe.”

“That I will,” he promised in turn. “You too, baby.”

You smiled.

Once you hung up with Dean and got settled at your desk, you started by powering through your work emails. All too soon, however, there was a knock at your door. You fought against the tremor of unease that ran up your spine.

“Who is it?” you asked.

“It’s Marv,” replied your coworker, through the door. “Since when do you lock yourself in your office?”

You let out a breath and smiled. You got up and went to let him in. “I’ve found that people are less likely to interrupt me when they can’t get in.”

When the door opened, Marv gave you a look of begrudging acceptance.

“I hear ya,” he said. The man was a hermit himself, so if anyone was going to understand your self-barricading, it was Marv.

He handed you a hard-copy manilla envelope containing his monthly report, because he also had a disdain for email.

“Why don’t you give this to Nick yourself?” you asked with a frown.

Marv held up placating hands. “Because he’s an ass, and I can only deal with so much idiocy in my life.”

“Then give it to Josh! He’s the new Senior Manager,” you pointed out.

“Josh kisses Nick’s ass. Therefore, he’s become an even bigger idiot,” Marv replied. “I’m telling you, my constitution just can’t bear it.”

You rolled your eyes and took the folder from him. “All right, get outta here. I’ll deal with this.”

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. He soon left to return to his hole of an office. You’d only been in there once. It had been stacked to high heaven with books and loose papers. You didn’t know how the man functioned, but you assumed it was equal parts caffeine and Prozac.

So you took the report, and you went up to the 30th floor for the first time in months.

You went down the hall to Josh’s office first, but you could hear from the other side of the closed door that he was locked in a meeting with one of the more difficult clients.

You could come back later, or just drop the folder off with Nick’s assistant.

You went back down the hall and found that Nick’s office door was cracked open, but you weren’t about to go in, even just to deliver a simple report. You didn’t want to speak to him, let alone enter his office.

His assistant was out on a break, it seemed, so you couldn’t just give it to her. You contemplated leaving it on her desk with a note. But that’s when you heard the voices coming from within the office.

“As you know, my father’s back in town,” you heard Nick say. You inched closer to the door and cautiously peeked through the three inches of space in the doorway. There was another man inside, slightly taller than Nick, but leaner. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a plaid shirt. His long arms were crossed as he listened.

You could tell by the way he stood, however, that this wasn’t an associate from one of their accounts. He didn’t look like a businessman or a lawyer. The way he stood was sharper, more calculated even in his laxness.

Your brain caught up with the conversation as Nick continued to speak.

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Keep an eye on the cop. Wait for an opportunity.”

“Together, huh? Azazel has his orders. You trying to take his place?” the other man replied. His voice was thin and nasal. You saw his profile, however. His eyes were dangerous.

Your gaze widened at the implications of his words though. Azazel?!

“Dad agrees with me. The guy’s not getting the hint, so we’ll need to remind him who really makes the rules,” Nick said.

You blinked in shock. Holy shit…Nick’s father is Azazel.

You clasped a hand over your mouth before the gasp could escape. A sharp breath still echoed through the hall. The men’s heads began to turn, but you did as well—away from the door and booking it down the hall as quietly and quickly as you could.

Your heart pounded while you searched for a way out of the hallway, out of plain sight. You found the nearest bathroom and went into the women’s. It seemed empty, at least.

There you rushed into one of the stalls and locked it. You realized that you had your phone in your pocket, and you took it out with trembling hands. Your thumb hovered over Dean’s name as panicked breaths escaped you.

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

“He’s Nick’s father,” you hissed. Trying to contain yourself and speak quietly was not easy. “I met him once at a company networking event, like a month after I got hired. Daniel Savage. He built Savage & Co. from the ground up. But he handed off the reigns to Nick years ago.”

It seemed to take John a moment to compute on that one, but he eventually replied.

“You’re at the office now?” John asked.

“Uh, yeah!” you replied testily. “I’m hiding out in a bathroom stall.”

“Okay, take it slow, all right?” he said. “You’re gonna go back to your office, calm. Like you didn’t just hear what you heard. You’re gonna take an early lunch, and you’re gonna come straight to the precinct for me. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

You took a deep breath to steady yourself as you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay. I need to call Dean,” you said.

“I’ll fill him in. Just focus on getting out of there,” John said.

You agreed, but you still felt shaky when you ended the call. No one had entered the bathroom, and it had been a few minutes already, so you chanced stepping out of the stall and into the hallway. That too was empty.

You sucked in another steadying breath. This time you went down the stairs to get back to your office. It felt unusually warm in the stairwell. Hot enough that you actually started to sweat on the way down to the 22nd floor.

Damn, did the AC break or something?

You made it back to your office, though when you opened the door, you were unable to be relieved. Nick sat in your chair at your desk. He gave you a smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to be in here. Get out,” you snapped. You had no patience for another tête-à-tête with him today; especially after what you just saw.

And it hit you then. You were a witness.

You eyed Nick more warily. He had one of his gold golf clubs in his hand, and he leaned on it as he stood. He set up a putter’s stance next to your desk and hit a golf ball with a gentle swing. The ball rolled into your flat shoe.

“I want to go over that report you brought upstairs,” he said.

You shook your head and went cautiously over to your desk. Your purse was inside (you were kicking yourself for not taking it with you upstairs). Nick was too close to your desk for comfort, until he moved to retrieve his golf ball. It allowed you to move farther into the room.

“Anything you want to discuss can be done via email. Right now, I’m meeting a friend for lunch,” you lied. Your gaze was off the man for maybe a few seconds while you grabbed your purse from inside the desk. Another realization hit you in that moment.

How did he know it was me who brought the report?

By the time you looked up, Nick was shutting the door to your office. He tilted his head at you with a darker edge to his smile.

“You saw something you weren’t supposed to. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” he said.

You steeled yourself with a breath. You felt inside your purse, and your hand wrapped around your taser. You pulled it out and switched it on, pointing it towards him.

“Step away from the door or I’ll fry your ass,” you threatened. It lost its effect somewhat, with the way your hand was shaking, but it was a threat, nonetheless.

Nick raised his brows at you. He still had his golf club in hand. His movements were slow as he stepped away from the door, and closer towards you.

“Sure you know how to work that thing?” he teased with a shrug of his shoulders. “If I were you, I’d take a breath. Relax a bit. Come sit on my knee.”

That last bit was teasing, despite the way he eyed you, even now with a shade of desire. The kind that claimed and stole in its taking. It made you want to spit in his face.

“You’re a bastard,” you replied. “Turns out, the bastard apple doesn’t fall far from the bastard tree.”

“Watch it,” Nick warned. You saw the dangerous edge in his blue eyes. “That’s my dad you’re talking about.”

He swung the club at your head.

You managed to duck, yelping as it crashed into a lamp instead. You tried to run for the door, but that was when Nick grabbed you by the hair and nearly yanked the hairclip right out.

A short scream escaped your lips as you grabbed for his wrist. He shoved you hard into the wall, where you lost your footing and fell. Your head cracked against the accent table that once held the lamp, and your vision blurred on the way down. Glass crackled under your arm and bit into your cheek.

A strong hand grabbed you and hefted you up. You felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of your face as you stared up into his. It must’ve been blood, but all you could focus on was the satisfaction in Nick’s eyes. Finally, they seemed to say.

But then he paused. Confusion was written across his face.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. You both saw it climbing under the door of your office.

It was a distraction that broke you out of your frozen fear.

On pure instinct, you jabbed at Nick’s ribs with your taser. His hands fell away from you and he went down like an elephant, jolting and writhing on the ground. You gasped for breath above him while you realized what you’d just done. You tilted your head down at him.

No, you weren’t done.

You grabbed his golf club with your free hand. When he tried to reach for your ankle, you jammed the heavy club into his hand until he shouted in pain. For every moment of frustration, anxiety, and fear this man had caused you, you gave it back to him with one heavy swing of that club into his stomach. (And maybe one more for good measure.)

He doubled over, groaning, coughing a bit of blood. You tossed the golf club and grabbed your purse with a shaking hand. You left him where he laid.

As soon as you open the door, however, you were pushed back by the cloud of incoming smoke. You coughed and squinted against it, but your eyes widened again when you realized what was happening.

The building was on fire.

For some reason the alarms weren’t going off, but it was clear to see what was in front of you. Smoke was clogging the halls. People were rushing out of their offices for the stairwell. You couldn’t help glancing back at Nick; he was slowly pulling himself to his feet.

Part of you knew he might not make it if you left him, but when he looked up at you, with pure hatred, your fear overrode any mercy that might’ve made you turn around.

So you fled for the stairwell behind the small crowd. There were flames making their way down along with the smoke. That was all right, because you all were running in the opposite direction.

You had to blink a drop of blood out of your eyes, and you raised a shaky hand to a cut above your brow, which was also tender to the touch. You were bleeding, clearly, but you couldn’t think about that right now. You were just trying your best not to get pushed or trampled while you hastened down several floors.

The signs pointed to Floor 10 when you felt a buzzing in your pocket. It was your phone, you realized. You were about to fish it out of your pocket, but you were forced to stop short on the stairs, along with everyone else.

The flames were coming from the floor below as well, blocking your exit.

Once again, Dean frowned while checking his phone. You still hadn’t answered his text from an hour ago. Benny came to sit beside him on the couch in the firehouse common room.

“What’s got you spacin’ out?” Benny asked, noting his friend’s mood.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “But I’ve got a bad feeling, Benny.”

Benny’s brows furrowed. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Before Dean could answer, his phone rang in his hand. He perked up to answer it, until he realized it was his dad calling. He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dean greeted.

“Thanks to your girl, we know who Azazel is,” John said. “Daniel Savage. Nick is his son.”

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach; his shock was followed swiftly by worry.

“What? How’d she find that out?”

“She called me this morning. I told her to come straight to the precinct, but she’s not here yet. That was an hour ago,” John said gravely.

Dean’s eyes widened.

And then the alarm sounded overhead. Over the intercom the dispatcher reported a working fire at a commercial building. The address was the same as your work building: Savage & Co.

“Is that you?” John asked, once the intercom message was finished.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He was already up and out of the firehouse, getting his turnout gear on with the phone pressed to his ear. His heart was hammering in his chest, but his tone was rock steady.

“If she’s still in that building, I’m gonna find her.”

Firehouses 18 and 20 had already arrived by the time Firehouse 25 got to the scene of the Savage & Co. building. The flames were sky-high, consuming from the top and the bottom. Just by looking at it, Dean thought there had to have been at least two points of origin (where the fire was started). He doubted this was an accident.

“Okay, 25,” Chief Singer said to the entire Truck 79 and Rescue Squad crew. “House 20 got here first, so Chief Sanderson’s calling the shots. He requested our help in clearing the first five floors. Their crew is already on floors 30 through 20. House 18 has the middle.”

Dean went up to Bobby and spoke just loud enough for him to hear. He filled him in on what John had just told him about Azazel, and that you were most likely somewhere in the building.

“She’s in there, Chief. I have to find her,” Dean said.

Bobby saw the desperation in the younger man’s eyes, and he sympathized. “Have you tried calling her again?”

“She’s not answering,” Dean replied. “If he found out what she knows, he could be after her. That means she could be somewhere near the top.”

“Or she’s in the middle. Or she’s already out of the building,” Bobby reasoned. He quelled Dean’s protest with a raised hand. It then fell on the younger man’s shoulder. “I understand, son. But I’ve got a protocol to follow, and so do you, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s lips pressed together. He knew his rank and his responsibility, but you were in danger. You could already be hurt, or trapped, or…

Dean rounded up Truck 79 with swift, barking orders. After donning their helmets and masks, his and Benny’s team made their way inside. The first floor was wall to wall rolling flames. The heat was nearly overwhelming, like entering the gates of hell.

There was no moving safely through the first floor, so they had to move on to the closest stairwell and try to make it up to the second. Dean held Benny back for a moment.

“I’m going up! Stick with the guys,” Dean said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony inside the stairwell.

Benny frowned. “What’re you doin’? You heard the Chief!”

Dean shook his head. He knew he was about to defy a direct order, but he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that you were still in the building somewhere.

“I’ve gotta find her,” he said.

“You think I don’t want to find Andréa?” Benny said. “She hasn’t answered my calls either. They could be anywhere, Dean!”

Dean clasped his friend’s shoulder. “You’re making my point, man.”

And he took off up the stairs before Benny could stop him.

“Damn it, Dean!” Benny shouted after him.

“Where’s he going?” Jack asked. He and Gordon were the only ones to hang back while the rest of their crew followed their orders and searched the second floor, not realizing that their Lieutenant was no longer with them.

“To go be an idiot,” Benny growled. But he wasted no more time. He followed Dean up the stairwell.

Gordon shared a quick look with Jack before he started his own climb up the stairs.

“You can follow protocol, or you can back up the Lieutenant,” Gordon called down.

In that moment, Jack made a decision. He followed Gordon and Benny.

You had to follow the rest of the crowd after you all couldn’t make it down the rest of the stairs safely. It landed you somewhere on the 10th floor, where the group scattered. Your head was aching, your heart pounded in your ears, and you didn’t know where to go.

You fled for the stairwell on the other side of the building, and in turning a corner, you smacked right into Andréa. You gasped when you caught hold of each other.

“Oh my God!” she cried, and she grabbed you into a hug. “Are you okay? Why’re you bleeding?”

“Catch up later,” you choked out. It was so hard to breathe; you were coughing every few moments.

She looked on you worriedly and let out a cough herself. “Come on.”

She pulled you along with her by the arm. You joined a smaller group that were heading for the opposite stairwell. Unfortunately, not all of you would make it there.

A piece of the weakened ceiling crumbled and fell in a fiery heap. Andréa had been just a couple steps in front of you, and it meant you saw it before she did. You pushed her forward so she would make it across. You were forced to stop short and protect your face from the embers.

You nearly tripped and fell back, but you used the wall to steady yourself. You looked up at the sound of Andréa calling your name. You found her terrified face. There was now a wall of fire separating you from her and the rest of the group.

“Keep going!” you coughed. “I’ll find another way.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!” she called back. She pushed away the man that tried to urge her on towards the stairwell.

“Go!” you shouted, even though it raked across your throat. You forced yourself to straighten up and turn away from her. The only chance you had was if there was a way around this hallway that still led to the stairs.

Oh shit, you gasped when you turned the corner. The fire was only getting worse. The building was being consumed, and you almost couldn’t see past a few feet in front of you with all the smoke. It stung in your eyes and clogged your throat.

You stumbled along until you found a room that you could escape into. It was another restroom. The fire hadn’t yet reached inside the women’s bathroom on this floor; maybe you could wait it out like you would a tornado.

Okay, clearly I’m fucking delirious, you thought. You huddled in a corner under the sink and tried and failed to take even breaths without coughing or panicking. You pulled out your phone with shaking hands and tried once again to call Dean. The reception was absolute shit in the entire building now.

It rang, and rang, and rang. Tears slipped down your cheeks.

But despite your dismayed thoughts, he actually answered.

“Hey! Baby, are you there?!”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You clutched at the phone. “Dean!”

You coughed, and you realized smoke was rising under the bathroom door now. The fire would spread here soon enough.

“Where are you? I’m here at your building!”

“Bathroom, 10th floor!” you managed to reply. “I couldn’t get out.”

“It’s okay. I’m coming right now,” he said. “Stay put for me.”

“Yeah,” you said, with a shaky breath. You couldn’t exactly leave. “Dean, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Where’s…r—oom?”

He was glitching in and out. You gripped the phone tighter in panic. “Dean?”

“Can…ear m…”

“Dean!” Your tears fell anew. You had another reason to struggle for breath as you tried to reach him.

You slid out from under the sink to try and get better reception, but it was no use. The call failed.

“Shit!” You nearly tossed your cell across the room out of sheer frustration.

Then you paced back and forth, trying to think of what to do. Should you leave your momentary shelter to go and find him, or would that just run the risk of him never finding you.

You didn’t know. You didn’t know what to do.

God, I’m so fucking screwed…

You slumped against the wall and tried to stifle your coughing, all while you also tried (and failed) to form some kind of a plan.

Until the bathroom door bursting open startled a scream out of you. Was the fire coming in?!

The move did allow more smoke to infiltrate the bathroom, but instead of the fire, you saw a firefighter in all his gear. This time, it did include the helmet.

“Fire Department!” he called out.

You would know that voice anywhere. And even through the mask, you recognized the man’s eyes when he went to you.

“Dean,” you sobbed. It was halted only by a series of lung-wracking coughs and wheezing. He quickly took his helmet and mask off so he could fit the mask over your soot-covered face.

“It’s okay, deep breaths. I gotcha, baby, just breathe,” Dean encouraged. His arm was around your waist, holding you close while the oxygen finally allowed you to take in slower breaths and relax against him.

“Okay, let’s get out of here, huh?” he said. He put his helmet back on.

You grabbed the front of his jacket. “Don’t you need the mask?”

You were still having trouble breathing, coughing on every other word. Dean shook his head.

“You need it more right now,” he said.

You realized that Benny was holding the bathroom door open.

“We gotta go!” he said.

“Benny, Andréa was here,” you said. His eyes widened behind his mask. “She got out, I think. She made it to the west stairwell.”

“Okay, yeah, because no one’s getting out the east wing,” Gordon said. You noted him standing just behind Benny, with Jack in tow.

“There’s a block,” you said, pointing just ahead where you saw the pile of debris. More parts of the ceiling had crumbled around it, making it a fiery minefield. There was no other way around it at this point—only through it.

Gordon and Jack went through first, followed by Benny. With their jackets and protective gear, they were able to jump through like a flaming hoop. And they would be able to help catch you and Dean from the other side.

“Okay, you ready?” Dean asked.

“If I say no?” you said, holding onto him tighter. His hand soothed over your hair. You’d lost your clip a long time ago (along with your purse), so your hair was probably wild and frizzy and covered in soot, along with the rest of you.

Dean grinned down at you. “Then I’d say, don’t you worry. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

Even now, through your fear, he could make you smile. You steeled yourself and took a breath. You could hear it so clearly with the mask on. That, and your own heartbeat.

He counted down to three, and on the last beat, Dean covered your head and shoulders and ran with you under the flame-covered ceiling. He managed to help you jump over the fiery debris on the ground. On both of your heavy landings, a wooden support beam fell.

There was a shout from Benny, but it was too late. All Dean could do was cover you. The beam broke over his back and knocked his helmet clean off. He took you with him when he fell.

Your scream rang out—half at the fall, but mostly for Dean. It was Benny who dragged you and Dean out first. Gordon and Jack took over hefting an unconscious Dean, while Benny hauled you up onto your feet and led you to the west stairwell.

You passed out just as you felt fresh air hit the mask.

You woke to bright, fluorescent lighting that made you wince. An oxygen mask covered your mouth and nose and was strapped around your head. You made a sound of discomfort and tried to take it off, but a hand stilled yours.

“Don’t.”

Eileen’s concerned face came into view. You were confused, though happy to see her.

“You’re in the hospital,” she said. When you tried to speak, she held up a finger to you. Wait, said her eyes.

She took out her phone from her jean pocket to text someone.

“Sam is coming,” she told you, before she drew closer to sooth a hand up and down your arm. You felt tears in your eyes at just that small comfort.

They fell in earnest when Sam entered your hospital room. His eyes held the concern of a friend and a brother as he approached on your other side.

“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked, laying a hand on your shoulder.

You wheezed a breath and rasped, “Water.”

Sam nodded and grabbed you a plastic cup filled with cold water. It felt like literal heaven once the mask was off and you were able to drink. He helped you while Eileen held the mask away from your face.

After you’d had all you could drink, he took the cup and Eileen placed the mask back over your face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked, after clearing your throat. You still sounded like a chain smoker, and your head was pounding. “Is he okay?”

“He’s stable,” Sam said, with a sigh. But when he didn’t offer anything more, you raised expectant brows at him.

“What else?” you said. Your tone told him not to skimp on any more details.

Sam’s gaze met yours. “The beam burned through his jacket, on his back. It hit his head. They…had to perform a minor surgery to relieve the pressure in his brain, but he’s stable in recovery now.”

He was quick to add on that last bit when you began to crumble. Eileen encouraged you to breathe through your tears. The oxygen could only do half the battle if you didn’t breathe properly.

“I want to see him,” you said.

Sam frowned and held up a placating hand. “I don’t think that’s—”

You ignored him and tried to sit up. With or without his approval, you were getting out of this bed.

“Okay, you’re not listening,” Sam sighed, though he immediately went to help you. He shot Eileen an imploring look over your head.

She got the hint and helped you on her side. Together they helped you stand while you removed the mask, then the heart monitor and other wires taped to your torso.

The Emergency Department team had left your pants on, thank goodness, but they’d clipped through your blouse and bra. So the paper gown was mostly to cover your top half like a light blue poncho. It was a bit airy in the back, but Eileen held it closed for you. Right now, you didn’t care much about your modesty. You were also walking around the hospital barefooted.

At least Dean was on the same floor. It was just a long walk down the hall.

“Can you call Benny and ask how Andréa’s doing?” you asked, coughing a bit.

Sam eyed you in thinly veiled concern, but he agreed. The last he’d heard from Benny was that Andréa had been cleared by the paramedics with minor smoke inhalation. You were clearly worse.

Sam held you upright when you finally saw Dean. He had to guide you into a chair beside Dean’s bed, where he slept on his side. On his back was a large stretch of white gauze across his upper back, from nearly shoulder to side at an angle.

“The doctor said they’re only second-degree burns. It looks worse than it is,” Sam said quietly.

Eileen rubbed your back in the hopes that you’d stop crying.

You could only focus on the gauze, the smaller nicks and burns around Dean’s face, the bandage and thick gauze near his temple where they’d apparently had to drill into his skull. He also wore an oxygen mask, because if all that wasn’t enough, you were sure “smoke inhalation” was on the list, thanks to the way he’d given you his SCBA mask.

Gently, very gently, you took his hand. Your thumb swept over the back of it, over each knuckle.

“Did they say when he’d wake up?” you asked. You rubbed at your aching stomach. Does smoke inhalation cause nausea too?

Your chest was also tight. You’d head back to your room sooner or later and get the oxygen mask back on.

Before Sam could reply, you heard a groan below. You looked down at Dean with wide-eyed hope. It took a moment, but his eyes slid open. They were unfocused and dark, until they found your face.

You smiled tearfully. “Hey, baby.”

Your free hand caressed his cheek. His eyes briefly closed at your touch. When he realized you were holding his hand, he squeezed a bit. That was enough for you.

Just then, however, you had to let go of his hand. Whatever was left in your stomach from this morning seemed to be revolting. You turned your head quick to throw up onto the hospital floor.

Both Sam and Eileen called your name when you slid out of your chair and onto the floor. You blinked tears out of your eyes…or actually, it was black spots encroaching on your vision.

Sam pushed the chair out of his way to get to you. He gathered you into his arms and shouted for a doctor while Eileen went for the emergency button on Dean’s hospital bed.

The last thing you saw was Dean’s worried face out of the corner of your eye, before the blackness took you.

Dean could barely speak behind his oxygen mask, but Sam saw his worry as the nurses carried you away in a stretcher with Eileen following close behind. Sam crouched in front of his brother and clasped his hand.

“She’ll be okay, I promise. I’m gonna look out for both of you,” Sam said. “Right now, you need to sleep.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. In that small gesture, Sam also saw his stubbornness. He almost smiled. You and Dean were a match made.

“Just rest, Dean. I’m going now to check on her, but not until you close your eyes,” Sam said. It took another stubborn minute, but Dean eventually relaxed as well as he was able. His eyes closed as he fell back under the pull of medication and painkillers.

“How’s he doing?” came the voice of their father in the doorway. Sam’s expression morphed from gentle to austere. His head turned towards his father.

“How does he look like he’s doing?” Sam asked. “He had a burning ceiling fall on him. He has the mother of all concussions, and he just saw his girlfriend collapse.”

John was quiet, in contrast to his youngest son’s ire. He stepped into the room and watched his eldest. Sam saw the man’s age in the lines around his eyes, in his slow gait when he raised a gentle hand to comb through Dean’s greasy hair, mindful of his injuries.

“This shouldn’t have fucking happened,” said John. His voice was tired and gruff. Sam knew what the weight of guilt looked like, but what he didn’t yet see was regret. If John hadn’t kept digging, digging, Azazel wouldn’t have taken it this far.

Okay, Sam didn’t yet have proof that Azazel burned down the Savage & Co. building…but he didn’t believe in coincidences.

“No,” Sam said. “It shouldn’t have.”

“What the fuck was that?!” Nick shouted.

He was still dusted with soot and sporting some cracked ribs from the day’s activities. He’d stumbled into his father’s house, taken a bottle of bourbon from the man’s shelf and started drinking straight from the crystal glass.

Daniel eyed him coolly from the balcony, smoking a cigar. “Whatever do you mean, son?”

Nick was furious. He stomped over, not caring how expensive liquor was splashing on him.

“Why’d you burn the whole damn building?” he demanded to know. “I could’ve died!”

“Alistair got you out, didn’t he?” Daniel pointed towards his son with the hand that held his cigar. “See, unlike you, I think ahead.”

“I’m serious,” Nick hissed. “Our company is still important—”

“My company,” Daniel interjected, “is not that building. However, the building itself was a liability.”

Nick’s brows knit together in confusion and anger. “What the hell’re you talking about?”

Daniel took a long drag of his cigar, puffing in Nick’s face. The latter coughed. As if he hadn’t had enough smoke in his lungs today.

“Don’t you see?” Daniel asked, with a sigh that also said he wondered how he could’ve produced such a moron. “It puts distance between you and ‘Azazel’ if you’re also a victim of his threats. It destroys any physical evidence of me having been there, along with any files you would’ve eventually had to turn over to the police and the FBI.”

Nick let that idea sink into his brain. He realized that it did make sense…but he deflated as something else occurred to him.

“Uh…see, that would’ve worked, but, we have a problem,” Nick scratched his head. “Someone knows who you really are.”

By the time Nick finished explaining about you, and what you’d overheard, Daniel’s sharp gaze managed to strike fear into Nick’s heart.

Yet to his surprise, the other man’s temper didn’t blow. Daniel kept it all inside as he continued to smoke. Cigars tended to pacify him better than cigarettes.

His lips twitched at a humorless smile. “Well, that is a problem.”

“But she probably died in the fire, so we’re good,” Nick shrugged.

“No, I doubt she did,” Daniel sighed. “You’re not that lucky.”

He rolled his shoulders. Then he grabbed Nick’s arm and twisted, until his was crying out and pinned to the nearest wall. Daniel threatened to put out his cigar in the soft underbelly of the arm he held.

Nick looked up at his father with wide, pleading eyes.

“Like everything else, that girl is a problem I’m going to fix,” Daniel said. “Along with the whole Winchester brood.”

AN: 🫣 Don't hate me lol. It gets better for them, I promise. But we have a few more chapters left to go and a few more twists in store!

Next Time:

The first time Dean was awake for longer than a few minutes, he asked about you.

Sam wasn’t surprised. He was frankly relieved that he had an answer for his brother.

Keep Reading: PART 17

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#Break Down the Gates #Smoke Eater #Part 16 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #john winchester #sam winchester #eileen leahy #zepskies writes

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littleeyesofpallas · 1 month ago

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I haven't bothered to go dig up all the surrounding bits of lore to clip out and post right now, but it did strike me a weird that Ukitakes flashback took place in such a nice looking area? The Rukongai are supposed to get worse as the numbers go up and the districts get further from the seiteitei at the center, but we saw the district immediately outside the gates of the seireitei and they were way slummier than where Ukitake was walking around.

It's implicit too that as a folk god Mimihagi should be rooted in a fairly rural or otherwise removed from central society kind of area. Sakahone is district 76, it's pretty far out there. Zaraki and Yachiru's origins were out in 79 and 80 and all we saw of those were piles of bodies and empty grass fields.

But also his original profile says his family is lesser nobility, so even though they could very well still be poor it seems weird that they live that far from the seiteitei at all. If anything it would almost sound more like they took him out into the remote slums just to see Mimihagi, but if they aren't locals then why would they even know about it? I guess Shunsui had heard of it and he's noble family too, but that's the anime giving a mix of Mayuri and Urahara's exposition to Shunsui, so I don't know how much that should really count.

Is there some implicit link to the withered old mummy man that was the original 13th division captain?

#bleach meta #sorta #the loosest shadow of meta

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prettyboykatsuki · 9 months ago

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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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callsign-dexter · 10 months ago

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Flirting with Risk 18+

Request: Okay, I might have the idea of another sequel of Gossip and Glances where Antonio sometimes gets really touchy at work and always tries to be close to you.. but you also fear that you get in trouble with Voight but he surprises you by saying he already knows about you and that it's fine as he knows you do a good job. So Antonio continues with his behavior and at home he can finally spoil you in all the right ways ? 🥵🔥

Pairings: Antonio Dawson x Intelligence!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut

Masterlist

First Installment: From Colleagues to Lovers

Second Installment: Gossip and Glances

Third Installment: Flirting with Risk

A/N: Thank you to the anon who sent this in! @talesofreading and @imagine-all-the-fandoms here is another smutty one for you!

You and Antonio have been dating for 3 months now but to you it felt even longer. Everybody at work knew that you two were together because of him wincing when he leaned up against the back of his chair and hissed. The men pried it out of Antonio and the girls pried it out of you when they dragged you to the locker room. The only person that didn't know, or at least you thought didn't know, was your boss Hank Voight. When nobody was around or it was just your coworkers you two were pretty handsy but the minute you heard Hank you both straightened and acted like nothing happened, although when you looked over to Antonio, he just smirked at his computer screen and you rolled your eyes but smirked as well.

Recently though he has been flirting with risk and to be honest so have you but he was the worst. It was one time during a briefing that he was the worst. He stood extra close to you and his hand would occasionally pump yours and you did it right back. Antonio slowly moved his hand across the desk and onto your back at first that didn’t bother you but when he got down to your ass and he lightly slapped it which made you jump a little and squeal not expecting it, you covered it with a cough “Are you alright Y/N?” Hank asked you and you nodded.

“Sorry it was just a little tickle. Please continue.” You said and he nodded and turned towards the board and you briefly turned your head and glared at your boyfriend who was just smirking and eating up the attention. You turned back to the briefing but caught the eye of the girls who were smirking and you rolled your eyes but continued to listen.

“Antonio and Y/N I want you to go and check out the coffee shop owner.” Hank said and you both nodded and then he gave everyone else their assignments. Antonio and you went to your desk and grabbed your things and he opened the gate and held out a hand signaling you to go first which made you smile and as you were walking by, he patted your ass and you turned and looked at him with a glare. You quickly hurried down the stairs with him behind you. When you both got in the car you smacked him on the arm and he jerked back.

“Aww what was that for?” He asked and you looked at him in disbelief as he rubbed his arm.

“That was for almost getting us caught!” You shouted at him and he smirked.

“You liked it though.” He said with a smirk and started the engine.

“Yes, I did but we have to be more careful. We don’t want Hank to know.” You said and he smirked.

“How can I resist when you look so damn irresistible?” He asked as he stopped at a stoplight and leaned over and kissed your neck but gently nibbled on it and it made you moan. You just happened to look up and the light was green.

“Tonio light green.” You moaned out and he turned away from you, you whimpered when he pulled away but he needed to focus on the road. His hand came over the console to hold yours and you gladly accepted it. Meeting with the coffee shop owner was quick and easy and surprisingly you got a lot of information and then you were headed back to the district. Nobody was there having still been out and you made sure Hank wasn’t there and when you confirmed that he wasn’t you grabbed Antonio’s belt loops and pulled him over to you as you leaned on the desk. Your lips met in a feverish kiss and then your tongues were battling for dominance and teeth were clashing against teeth, his hands went to your face and into your hair. It would’ve gone on until he ended up taking you right then and there but a throat clearing made you stop and turn to the top of the stairs. Kevin, Adam, Kim, Jay, and Erin were standing there smirking.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account.” Kevin said and got a hit to the chest but Kim. You were blushing like mad that you got caught but Antonio was smirking like he was proud that you two had gotten caught.

“Get a room.” Adam said

“Don’t tempt us.” You said finally finding your voice and everyone laughed as everyone scattered to their desks, you went to your desk and began working and Antonio came up behind you and watched you work since. He was super close, close enough you could smell his cologne the both of you talked about the case and getting input from your team members when you voiced your findings. It wasn’t very long until Hank was coming up and you were pushing your boyfriend away but he stayed close. You always feared that Hank would find out and then there would be consequences. Hank walked into the bullpen and you pushed Antonio away secretly. He walked back to his desk and began working.

It had been a few hours and you wanted, no need, something to eat and drink so you went to the break room. You were bent over looking through the fridge when you felt someone behind you and then hands on your waist, you knew who it was. Lips quickly found yours as you grabbed some food that was in the fridge and walked over to the counter, you moved your neck to the side “What are you doing, sexy?” He asked in your ear and you turned your head and gave him a kiss.

“Getting something to eat, handsome.” You said when you pulled away. “We could get caught.” You said as he kissed you again.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He said but then there was a knock on the door and you once again knocked him away and turned towards your food while Antonio turned to the person leaning on the counter.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t Hank.” Jay said as he walked into the break room. “You two are flirting with risk.” He said and then you turned towards him, taking a bite of your food.

“I keep telling him that but he won’t listen.” You said and elbowed Antonio in the stomach and he let an ‘oof’ Jay just smirked.

“Just be careful you two.” He said and you nodded and then you were walking back out to the bullpen while Antonio stayed to talk to Jay, he watched you walk away with a smirk on his face.

It was in the middle when Hank appeared. “I wanna talk to you two.” He said then turned to walk into his office and you looked at Antonio with a scared look on your face and he shook his head and walked over to you.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m right here with you.” He whispered and you nodded. You both walked into Hank’s office as the others watched with smiles. Hank was leaning on his desk, arms crossed as you both walked in and stood in front of him like kids who got caught stealing something, your head was down and hands interlocked with each other and Antonio was standing close to you.

“I know you two are together.” Hank said and your head shot up.

“You do?” You asked and looked at Antonio with a shocked look on your face and he did to then you looked back and Hank and he nodded.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out.” He said

“How?” You asked, still trying to process everything.

“It was easy. You both are coming at the same time if not a second to a minute after each other, when it used to be 1 hour after each other. You both defend each other. You both protect each other and yes, I know your partners but this goes past just being partners. You both stand closer to each other during briefings. Also, you both disappear pretty much at the same time.” Hank said and smirked when your mouth fell open and Antonio had an unreadable expression on his face.

“How long have you known?” Antonio asked

“Since the day you both showed up at the same time and Y/N was wearing your hoodie.” Hank said “Just as long as you both keep it professional you can stay together but once your love life starts interfering with your work then we'll be having a totally different conversation.” He added, " Understood?” He asked you and Antonio, both of you nodded.

“Understood.” You both said at the same time and Hank nodded. You both walked back out and Kevin was the first one to speak up.

“So…. what happened?” He asked

“He knows.” Antonio said “But that just means that I can be loving to my girl now here.” He said and hugged you from behind and gently squeezed you. You shook your head and then you both got to work although he kept his antics up and now that Hank knew you started to get handsy yourself and Antonio ate it up.

When you were done for the day, you were ready to go home and finish what you both started. “You guys coming to Molly's?” Erin asked.

“No, we're going to stay in.” You said and she smirked.

“Don't have too much fun.” Kim said and you threw a paper ball at her and she ducked while she laughed. You grabbed your stuff and then joined Antonio at the top of the stairs and began to descend down them.

“Have a good night you two.” She said with a smirk and you flipped her off. You both walked to Antonio's car silently and got in.

“Now he knows and we can do anything we want.” He said gripping your chin lightly and kissing you.

“We have to keep it professional, Tonio.” You said when you broke away from the kiss.

“We will, when others are around but when they're not then you're all mine.” He said and you smiled and nodded he had released your chin.

“You're all mine too.” You said and kissed him “Now let's get home and maybe we can continue this.” You said with a smirk and a wink. He pulled a face and groaned then before you knew it you, he was speeding out of the parking lot and towards his apartment.

When you arrived at the apartment, he was quick to park and you both hurriedly walked in and got on the elevator. You pressed the all too familiar number and once you were sure the doors were closed you were quick to kiss him. It took him by surprise but he quickly followed the kiss. He was quick to turn you around so that your back was on the elevator wall. “Jump.” He said in a husky voice and you quickly did as you were told. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. “You're so beautiful.” He said when he pulled away and looked you in the eye. Then you brought his lips to yours as the elevator dinged. The kiss broke and you looked over to see you were on your floor. He didn't put you down, he instead walked with you clinging to him and went back to kissing you, you could feel how hard he was through his jeans and you had no doubt that you were soaking wet.

“I need you, Tonio. Need you so bad.” You said as he stopped at his door and dug out his key and he broke the kiss to be able to see what he was doing.

“Soon, Baby. Soon.” He said and unlocked the door and pushed it open then he shut it with his foot and locked it blindly. “Can't wait to get you out of these clothes and see all of your sexy body.” He said against your neck and you clenched around nothing and you moaned. He walked to his bedroom with you wrapped around his body and still having a heavy make out session. Antonio gently put you on the bed and then crawled up your body after having removed his shirt and pants leaving him in his underwear that was tented with his erection and you could feel your mouth water. You would love to get your mouth around him but he had other plans as he started to undress you. When he was done you were completely naked and exposed to him and he sat back on his knees and just stared at you.

“Like what you see?” You asked and that damn smirk popped up on his face.

“Absolutely.” He responded and he was quick to shed his underwear and have them join the pile on the ground. He didn’t waste any time by giving himself one pump and then he was hovering over your body. You could feel him at your entrance. “Remember to tell me to stop if something isn’t right.” He said and you nodded and then he was slowly pushing into you, both moaning at the same time.

“Fuck. Feels so good.” You moaned out as he halted and letting you adjust. After a minute you looked at him and nodded “Move.” You said and he obeyed. He set a slowly steady pace filling you just right and hitting you in the right places and the all-familiar stretch was perfect.

“Fuck, always so tight for me. Such a good girl. Gonna marry you one day and pump a kid into you, our perfect little family.” He said not knowing what effect it had on you. All you did was moan as you started to close.

“Faster, baby. Faster.” You said and he picked up his pace. “Feels so good!” You screamed out not caring who heard “Wanna have your kids and be your wife.” You moaned out, head thrown back and fingers digging into his shoulder blades and slowly making their way down his back. Antonio hissed from the pain but didn’t stop.

“I’m close, baby.” He moaned out and as his thrusts started to get sloppy.

“I’m close too.” You said he dropped his head into the crook of your neck and you could feel his hot breath on your neck. His grunting and moaning were bringing you to the edge. “Cum with me.” He said as one of his hands came down to your clit as the other stayed by your head. He started to rub your sensitive clit and you felt his thrusts become even more sloppier. His head went down to your breasts and started to give them attention equally.

“I’m gonna cum.” You moaned out a warning and that just seemed to make him pick up speed. That rubber band in your stomach snapped and you were cumming hard. You heard him moan out and stilled and you both came together. As you both came down from your highs he slowly pulled out and watched his cum leak out of you and smiled and then fell on the other side of you. You both just laid there. “You really mean it?” You asked him, looking at him.

“Hmmm?” He asked

“About marrying me and making me a mom and you a dad.” You said reminding him. He turned to you and propped up on his elbow.

“One of these days.” He said and you smiled.

“I would love that, you know.” You said and he smiled.

“I love you.” He said and kissed you.

“I love you too.” You said and then you both got under the covers and fell asleep cuddled together thinking about what the future has to hold. You couldn’t wait to marry him and be the mother to his kid.

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thehistoriangirl · 6 months ago

Text

Without Compromise [2]

I'm baaaack!!! With porn as a treat for my absence <3

Viktor x Fem! Reader-------4.9K-----NSFW

[ M A S T E R L I S T ]

<- Previous /// Next ->

Synopsis:Viktor had never enjoyed any snobby party held in the luxurious districts around the Academy, though he can't deny this one is rather... peculiar. Still, when accompanying Jayce to another boring celebration ends with him stuck in an awkward situation when a stranger wanders inside the lab asking for him, he can´t help but comply with the unpredictable threads of a mocking fate--how else would he, from all the assisting guests, be inside in this mess?

Chapter Summary: Nights are fleeting, just as all the things you do in the dark...

Taglist: @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr @slycazzz @vyshnevska

Second

Silence and dimmed lights became guardians shielding you from prying eyes, perfect accomplices and only witnesses of how his hand perfectly fit against interlaced fingers once you led him away from the crowded dance floor. The gates of the exit shone with their golden handles, and Viktor was so ready to feel the characteristic tug of regret like a knot against his throat once you pulled them open, thief of his controlled breathing.

Yet, all he got was the growing lust burning deep inside him once his fingers already memorized the curves of your supple hips—knowing that they’d be even softer once you blessed him with the unrestricted touch of them without the fabric hugging your legs.

His golden gaze swept over your sweet form; such a beautiful fairy that had now enchanted him with your twinkling eyes and delicious mouth. Was it a response of the alcohol he’d been indulging in to stop boredom from creeping?

Perhaps. Though his mouth worked just fine, as he tested it while pressing your back against the rail of the staircase, body tilted over the edge for his arms to become your safety. Futile attempt to melt in with you, as it seemed distance was a cruel thing, to dare get between you two.

You cooed a restrained moan against his mouth once your hips rolled away the hard edge of the carved rail, wishing to relish in the supposed softness of his body, only to find an eager hardness that caught his breath.

Viktor grunted once feeling your hand palming him, a contented hum escaping your swollen lips. “What an improper Fairy you are,” he muttered, his warm hand pulling yours away, rough fingers, marked with tiny cutting scars and so many hours tinkering away interlacing against yours, elegant and soft.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to make it back to my apartment.”

“If you keep touching me like that, certainly no.”

Despite your tone denoting shyness, you flashed him a beam that promised him trouble. “I believe we can make it in time if we hurry…”

Such little minx. With the way you jumped over each step of the staircase, waiting him patiently for him to descend. The movement made your body bounce in all the right places, probably the origin of his sudden dry throat.

Viktor had to slow down, not only for the familiar burn on his leg, or because the grab of his cane got shaky and unreliable; but for the strain against his pants, the seam between his legs both painful and alluring on its pressure.

He wondered if your hands could serve the same sensations.

Your sudden squeal tore him away from his daydreamings. Looking down, Viktor saw your figure tripping at the edge of the stair.

Grabbing onto the railing, you shoot him a pout as seeing him chuckling. “You’re mean,” you said, kneeling to see the problem your shoe was facing. Your poor left heel had broken.

“Someone needed to put a stop to you.”

“It should had been you.” Your smile was triumphant despite the circumstances.

Viktor sighed on his best attempt to appear unbothered, the touch of your fingers grazing as if lighting had struck his skin, a pull as if woken up from a long sleep into a gentle spring morning. “Let me see.” He hummed, looking at the part of the heel that had come unglued to the rest of the shoe. “I think I can fix it. Eh, do you know any place that could have nails, glue and a hammer around here, by chance?”

You nodded, flooding his senses with your unmistakable, rich perfume and the way your hand loved to squeeze his as if by instinct.

“I know a place. Follow me.”

By the time you arrived at the glass greenhouse, the light rain had soaked your hair and Viktor was so thankful for how the water had glued the silk dress against your skin. His warms fingers skimmed over your silhouette as you searched for a small beacon in the form of your desk lamp.

Otherwise bathed by silver moonlight, the beacon showed the golden details of your mask, your wet lips as your teeth continued biting them when Viktor knew it should be his to grace that favor.

Fixing a shoe was nothing compared with the machinery he worked with every day; his hands found the unfamiliar tools strangely comfortable, polished wood of the hammer’s handle from the constant use of your fingers; the delicate outline of your shoe against his palm, just as the incredibly thin heel you’d been supporting your poor ankles in.

From the darkness, he saw flapping wings skimming from tree branch to tall bushes, some of those curious little animals drawn to the light of your lamp.

“What is this place?” he said, observing the multicolored moths, yellow and pink, and white and blue all gather over the desk.

“It’s a greenhouse for moth-keeping,” you explained, happily petting one of the bolder moths landing on your bodice. “In each section we have an eclipse of a specific species. They live their last days here.”

“I think I should’ve asked why you know all that?” Viktor sat at the edge of a shallow fountain, the current of water falling gently against the quiet ambiance.

“Oh! I’m a lepidopterist. I study moths.” You rummage on the bottom drawer of your desk covered in stunning drawings of moths. “See?”

From the emotion of the moment, you had forgot to hide your name with the pads of your fingers as you’ve done with your ID number. By the dim interior it was barely visible, with only some letters he could try make sense of.

Viktor was content with the anonymity—no attachments that would conduct to no regrets. He could be his shameless self without feeling the restraint of his public image, of the well-crafted image of gentleman. Behind the image of hard-working inventor.

But the last name rung like an emergency bell. Member of a renown research family in the Biology Department, mostly for exotic species overseas.

“Here it is,” Viktor announced, pride blooming in his chest when the shoe got restored to its former self, white lace flown delicately to hug your ankle, flowers made of cotton sewn into the front to match with the dress.

He looked at you before giving you the shoe, the skirt of your dress brushing his pants as you tried to lift it off. His eyes couldn’t stop the alluring path marked by the fabric, the middle line of your thighs and what such valley waited for him between your legs.

Again, he expected the regret to come in waves; shamefully looking away as he found a pitiful excuse to leave.

Instead, he stood up from the edge of the fountain and knelt in front of you, thanking the soft grass for being kind with his leg. Though he knew it wouldn’t matter. If instead of grass it would be a rock or mosaic or bland dirt.

He felt himself burning that he doubted he’d care if these were alight embers.

The sight was heavenly, being knelt in front of a vision, a goddess of unruly hair shining like an untamed halo, a butterfly mask hiding your features, though he could still saw those eyes that burned with lust and desire. Core exposed to his greedy gaze while he took the sight of your underwear, lace outlining that little, pretty piece of clothing Viktor wanted so badly to rip off you.

He felt his cock twitch inside his pants, wishing to be free. To be cradled into your loving, curious palm. To be taken inside of your warmth, wet folds. Maybe even your mouth…

And all that could occur tonight. Because you wanted him—without caring who he was or what he could do for you. Just for being… him. And he wanted you, so, so badly. And such reciprocation was the push of bravery he needed, taking your ankle with one of his talented hands, the weight of it welcomed on his shoulder.

Curiosity prickled his restless mind. He wanted to know more. Forbidden territory.

You tugged his hair, buckling your hips against his face once his breath caressed the burning skin.

He smiled, beckoning your ethereal being, a dream that would slip off his hands next morning.

He better made your time together count.

His gaze was dark and rich, like addicting whiskey, just as intoxicating as the aroma of your body lotion now all wrapped around him. An enticing embrace he wanted to melt into.

Fingers caressed the supple skin of your thighs, your flesh soft and pliant under his needy, hungry touch. Such a sinew way up your leg, all the curves, from your calf to your knee to the curve of your butt.

And then, between them, the flashing of an innocent, beige cotton fabric.

Viktor smirked at seeing the dark spot leaking from it; perfectly drawn in the middle where your core was.

You squirmed under his playful fingers, hands greedy to gather your skirts up and yet not so much or else you couldn’t see his eyes freezing you in place, like a prey ready to lounge.

To feast.

“Sir…” you keened, his name never making its way to your memory. What would be the point, if everything was meant to end after tonight? His hair was so soft under your hand, nails scratching his scalp as you urged him to continue. He was so close, and you were so sure you’d be too, very soon.

He grunted in half indignation, half aroused at your hair tugging. “You’re going to dishevel my hair, little Fairy.”

“I’ll help you brush it once you’re done.” You helped him, hooking your thigh up his shoulder, until you felt his hot breath hit the soaking spot between your legs, still not ready enough as there was fabric interposing between his gaze and your skin.

“Hmm, I don’t believe you’d have the energy for that,” he teased, only half-joking. Teeth bit your inner thigh, if only to taste your tangy skin, salty and sweet from the lotion, parched with the distinctive, alkali flavor of your arousal.

Your hips buckled closer, and such eagerness made him take lick from that wet spot seeping through your panties. His gaze threatened to close shut, his taste buds overflown by the savor of you against his lapping tongue, its tip wishing to circle your clit even through the fabric.

Viktor would’ve wished to record the sound elicited from your mouth inside his brain, to keep in all the rest of lonely nights he’ll go through, just as his memory engraved the sensation of his nose buried against the throbbing button of your pleasure. Fingers digging at the waistband of your underwear.

You writhed as Viktor’s fingers outlined your ass cheeks, feeling the cold surface of the marble fountain under your naked skin once your lacy clothes got wrapped like a messy ribbon around his skillful hand.

With a single lap, Viktor ended with his chin coated in your arousal, tongue enjoying the soaking wet, plush, rosy skin between your folds. Methodical licks to explore every corner, blowing cold air over your molten core, becoming his experiment; lips sucking your little bud to enjoy how you squealed in surprise. Your body still bouncing and rubbing against his face, enjoying the roughness added for the outline of his black mask.

The greenhouse bathed in silver moonlight displayed you like a work of art, closed off from many eyes as Viktor wished to keep you in his bedroom, with your heaving chest, sweaty body, a muse he would love to have in a print tucked in the pocket on his chest—no, he would get you inside his room, prompted in the wall in front of his bed so you could help alleviate the terrible insomnia that sometimes sieged him.

He licked your clit in different rhythms, always eager in the matter of discovery even when it was about pleasure. Which made you pull his hair the hardest. So, Viktor could be a little mean, his well trimmed nails still leaving crescent marks in the supple flesh of your thighs as he pulled them upwards, the more open the better.

Such pushes would make your walls flutter against his mouth, now marked forever with the overwhelming, luscious taste of ripe fruit and sweetness and the alkaline aftertaste you left on his now puffy tongue.

His golden eyes beckoned you, chest heaving that he thought you’d rip the clothing of your corset. And what a beautiful sight was your crumpled skirt around your heavenly body, like a cloud surrounding a goddess that had come to bestow him with the loving, unbridled touches of passion which otherwise would be fleeting for such a busy and lonely scientist as he was.

“Sir…” you cooed, legs still parted so he could see your pretty rosy walls keep fluttering around nothing, surely glistening just as much as his coated chin. “Let me kiss you.”

Viktor chuckled, using his cane to propel himself up his wobbly legs. Your eyes followed the movement, standing up next to him, which made him frown upon the now lost sight of your beautiful legs.

“Sit,” you hummed, pressing your hand over his chest to guide him toward the edge of the chirping fountain, the only witness of your union. “You should rest.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Viktor retorted, groaning at the claustrophobic grasp his pants were trapping his cock, an unmistakable sight that made you chuckle—such a mischievous sound for someone looking so adorable. It made him want to uncover you whole, a crime that you were hiding under such ethereal costume. “Look what have you done to me.”

Completely stripping him of the decorum asked in this society, away of the otherwise ear-shattering scream of reason resounding on his mind. This could end his career, the one he so hard had worked to build. This would convince everyone that he was a degenerate, a threat for Piltover’s proper society.

Still, you didn’t feel like a threat. Not in the way you so delicately unbuttoned his pants, ignoring the bland white trousers underneath as your nails scratched the bushy trail of his navel to find what you were looking for.

You hummed, gently taking him in your hand, red and hard. It was impossible for him to hold in a groan, sensing his twitching cock against your exhaled sigh, fingers enveloping his shaft.

“Little Fairy…” he could barely mumble, feeling his face bright red. He wished it to sound like a nag, but it was more like a plea.

“You’re big,” you said with a stunning beam, lifting up your skirt and pushing it against his chest, with him still cradled in your hand. “Go easy on me, hmm?”

You sat on his lap, legs innocently swinging in the air as you turned to face him.

Viktor frowned. “Wha—” his civilized words were wiped out, replaced by a primitive groan that had won the fight between reason and need once again. But he just couldn’t. You were so wet and tight, yet inviting, eager to burrow him into the deepest part of your core. Almost as if knowing that otherwise he would leave and never return. “Miss Fairy,” he breathed. “We’re in a public space and…”

“And what?” you said, nibbling down his jawline. Even if he couldn’t see you, he felt your smile. “Are you afraid someone could see us? But why? If you’re pleasuring me so, so well.” You smiled, cradling his face. “It would serve them as a lesson.”

You cooed happily at feeling his cock twitch, your thighs now surrounding his lean hips, not caring that your shoes were wetting wet against the edge of the fountain. Not even the freezing water could distract you from the fire coursing through both of you when he directed your face to kiss you, filling your mouth with the taste of you, with his active tongue ready to play tug-of-war with yours for control.

“Are you afraid of someone knowing that you’ve claimed me tonight?” you said, and even if the words stirred a primal part of him with a pulsating yes, you’re as mine as I’m yours; his reason opened ways over the fog clouding his brain.

That’s what you wanted: an escape. An escape from your imminent engagement, of your family’s and Piltover’s expectations. Just like he wanted to be freed of this city’s asphyxiating grasp; with its snob societal rules that declared he should stand back his ability to help for what they desired.

To be caged and judged like an odd animal in a zoo, soon to be discarded if seemed useless.

Viktor had been selfless all his life, yet so lonely; because it wasn’t a secret that people who liked to give rarely get back. But not tonight.

Tonight he desired you. And he wasn’t going to hold back.

“I’m not,” he said, grabbing your hips under your skirts to help you with balance once his started to move, seeking to reach the deepest part of your pussy, so warmth and welcoming.

You moaned, your hands easing on his shoulders as you started to ride him. Those pretty squelchy sounds barely audible over the flowing water of the fountain.

“Sir… oh, Sir…” you called, the corset of your dress brushing against his chest in a bouncing motion, with Viktor’s hands itching to unlace it and feel the delicate curve of your back, how would you shiver with the mix of his caresses and the feather-like kisses down your neck.

Yet still among the cacophony of his roaring heart and your breathy song, Viktor noticed the odd shadow peeking over some topiaries, recognizing the golden glow of Sylvester’s brushed back hair.

He should’ve felt shame. Fear, perhaps. You’ve been caught, it was over. It had to be.

Viktor bore his gaze toward the shadow in a defying mockery, your words echoing as his hips continued to move, every time more erratically than the last, lost in the warmth of your intimate embrace. He only let your skirt fall down—to cover you, because he was a gentleman after all.

“Kiss me, Little Fairy,” Golden gaze looking up at your ajar lips and half-closed eyelids with reverence.

It should serve them as a lesson, you’ve said, and Viktor believed it. He doubted that bland man over there could make you squirm and coo as he did, to mold you in the perfect sculpture of pleasure.

You giggled, brushing your nose against him. “Always.”

The shadow loomed closer, furious stomps breaking branches and echoing against the cobblestone path. You didn’t notice, and Viktor didn’t care, smirking against your messy kiss, revitalized tongue wishing to memorize every corner your mouth.

“My Little Fairy…” he said, if only for the unwelcomed presence. Kissing down the elegant curve of your neck to leave a bite in the joint between shoulder and neck. “There you go,” Viktor hummed, surprised that you didn’t mind such unnecessary proof of your encounter. “Such a goddess…”

He looked at Sylvester, daring him to cross the circle of light.

So he could see how you deserved to be pleased.

Your body trembled, halting your dance. “Ah—,” you breathed, and Viktor felt your walls squeeze him oh so deliciously.

It had been a while since Viktor had sex. Because he knew using his hand in the shower didn’t count. So he tried to hold in the incessant waves of pleasure sieging him. Biting his lip, closing his eyes shut.

By the next blink, the intruder had disappeared, only leaving a trail of moving branches on its wake.

“Sir…” you called with a giggle. “What are you doing?”

“N-nothing…”

“You’re a terrible liar,” you said, leaning to cradle his cheeks with your hands and give him a deep, slow kiss as you started to move sensually, slowly, feeling the soft cotton of his pants brush your thighs, his panting breath crashing against your collarbones that were by now peppered in kisses. “Come on. Finish. I don’t mind.”

“I think you should finish first, Little Fairy,” Viktor leaned your fac to kiss you. “It’s the least a gentleman should do.”

You laughed, voice melting in a choked moan once his rough fingerpad circled your swollen clit, soaked, hot and sensitive.

Your hair tickled the curve of his neck once you burrowed your face against it, your essence all tangled in his as he felt you stiffen under his loving cradling.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he muttered against your hair. “Don’t be shy. Let me see you while you finish.” Viktor took your chin, lifting up to meet his gaze as he took in your heavy-lidded eyes, swollen lips panting ajar, such a deep gaze burning against his. “So you don’t forget this humble lover of yours.”

You smiled softly. “This lover of mine,” you whispered, like a secret, your words gone with the wind once your body shook like a leaf, spams hugging his cock, greedily sucking it even deeper, as if you wished to never let him go. “Sir….”

He kissed your forehead, just above the edge of your mask. “My Little Fairy, you’re truly otherworldly.”

“Sir, why didn’t you finish?” you said once Viktor had to begrudgingly put you away, at this point it was marvel that he could keep himself from exploding. He felt a wave of cold hug him, missing your warmth and softness, though he had to stop his longing hand from reaching you once again.

“I… I don’t…”

“Liar,” you hummed, grabbing your puffy skirt as it was your turn to knelt, looking at him with those deep, twinkling doe-like eyes as your rosy tongue poked his tip, getting familiar with the mix of his precum and your essence.

“You’re going to make me lose my mind,” Viktor groaned, looking how your swollen lips traveled all over his shaft, giving little kisses and licks along the sensible, throbbing skin.

He could pull you away, and yet he knew it would’ve been his biggest mistake of the whole night.

“Good,” you mumbled. “That way you would remember me.”

He couldn’t form a coherent sentence when you took him in your mouth. But he doubted he could ever forget the twinkle in your eyes that was filled with curiosity and bravery. They were like nocturne wonders, as you, too, seemed to be only appear at night.

Only tonight, his mind didn’t forget to remind him.

Viktor cupped your hollowed cheeks, feeling your tongue lapping greedily, wishing for him to finish inside your mouth.

It was then when Viktor heard—a miracle among his pounding heartbeat and ragged pants—the metal door of the greenhouse squeak open. Followed by steps. Multiple steps.

He didn’t think twice, taking hold of one of your hands, almost grieving the lost of your weight against his left thigh once he pulled you upwards.

You grunted, an utterly adorable pout that glittered in your swollen and wet lips. Before you could discover them both with one more than deserved offended retort, he put his free hand over your lips, golden eyes boring into yours.

“Keep quiet,” he leaned against your ear to whisper. “There’s someone here.”

“Someone that shouldn’t see us together?”

He nodded, grabbing his cane, his hand firm in yours while he guided you toward the opposite end of the fountain. The floor was cold against his flushed skin, having to hold a grunt once he accommodated his cock inside his pants, trapping it inside once more.

This damned luck, he thought, looking how diligently you looked while gathering your skirt so any of it could be seen once the intruders started to walk toward the light.

One thing was to consider breaking the rules without further consequence; and another to drag you both down with them.

He could abandon you, but he wasn’t cruel. Yet he didn’t consider himself careless, to even think to lose everything he’d worked on for something so… banal.

Viktor knew you’d never see him again. That this, as much fun and pleasure as you were having, was just sex.

“They were here,” Sylvester retorted, strides careless now that the dimmed light of the desk had uncovered an empty courtyard. “It was her. The dress was unmistakable.”

The ground was moist from the breeze coming down the pouring fountain under your fingers, the stupid, puffy skirt of your dress pushed between your aching legs as Viktor peeked over the fountain edge to see the silhouettes of what he supposed were your parents. Richly dressed and backs rigid from years of training under the merciless gaze of Piltovan’s wealthiest.

“You probably confused her,” your father said rather angrily. “Do you think my daughter would do something so inappropriate? What kind of parents do you think we are, Mister?”

“I don’t mind any ill comment upon yourselves!” Sylvester tried to defend himself, yet every word uttered sounded worse than the last. “It’s that your daughter… she’s…”

“Be very careful how you talk about my only child, Mister,” your father intervened, the cacophony of the argument growing enough for Viktor to tug your arm and starting to slide toward the formation of bushes. A green, natural wall between the fountain and the wild greenery of the rest of the greenhouse.

“Maybe she was seduced by that vulgar womanizer,” Sylvester added, changing the approach. “She’s young and naïve.”

Viktor’s steps almost halted, your body stopping moving from the nearby exit.

He gazed at you, eyes wide open. What are you doing?

“What is that?” your mother inquired, gazing toward your direction.

“Probably just these critters,” your father responded, swatting away the mots enticed by the light of the lamp you had left on. “Let’s go. Our daughter should be looking for us.”

You surely weren’t, helping Viktor opening a side door that led you to a dark corner of the gardens. Even if you looked like a vision, with your hairdo messy and face flushed and sweaty; the façade of a proper lady had long gone with the mud staining the edge of your shoes and the essence that seemed to cling to your skin, like lust and adrenaline.

It was clear you had just had sex. And even if Viktor felt pride grow inside his chest at how he made you feel, he knew that nobody should look at you like this, or else rumors would spread, and Sylvester would talk.

And his words etched in Viktor’s mind, too. In a way, Sylvester wasn’t that far-fetched. A womanizer, certainly not, but Viktor did was the reason why you were doing these crazy things. Risky things. And for something so… silly.

Was it silly? The way he felt the most alive in a long while.

If he’d be caught, not only he would be ostracized from Piltovan society even further, but also, it would shut off all opportunities he had ever since helping create Hextech. Viktor didn’t mind being behind the shadow of Jayce—it was rather better, without having to tell your plans out loud and intervene like a public figure in events, drained from fake-crafted charm.

Viktor was first and foremost an inventor, not a man. Not really.

To be led upon simply by mundane desire was something very unfamiliar that for a moment he considered if you had pulled a spell on him, that your costume as Fairy wasn’t much of a costume.

“I’ll accompany you to the main gate,” Viktor said once you were far enough the greenhouse and nearby the entrance. “I think it’s better if we go our separate ways, Miss Fairy.”

You looked at him, and not even the sparks in your mask could hide the dimming twinkle in your eyes that felt like a punch on Viktor’s chest.

“Are you sure?” you mumbled.

“I don’t want to jeopardize our situation,” Viktor had to confess, hoping you would understand, even when in his mind he was struggling to put his tangled thoughts into words. “Putting us in danger for sex is rather foolish, and I don’t wish to put our reputations in jeopardize, if I have to be honest with you, Miss Fairy.”

His words dawned on you, probably in the wrong way for the way your steps wobbled away from him. He tried to steady you, but it felt wrong to touch you in the open like this when so much more had happened behind closed doors.

“Don’t misinterpreted me, I truly enjoy your company.” And a very deep part of him wished to have more, a truly stupid desire he had to tore from its roots. “You… you made me feel…”

“That’s alright,” you said, smiling at him though your tone cut through his words like a downpour of freezing water. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I think it’ll be better if I walk alone, so people don’t see you with me.”

It was such a logic step to follow, so why Viktor felt a hollow growing in his belly once you turned your back at him?

“Goodbye, Sir.” His goddess was walking away, at it wasn’t even dawn.

He had to bit his tongue to avoid calling you back.

It would be better this way; he’d drown in work once again tomorrow, and as the days go by, he’d forget you—only blinks of your presence would be summoned in those long, monotone nights when Viktor sought the comfort and intimacy of a lover.

Your humble lover, he told you. And he was.

Viktor watched your dress disappear between the trees until your presence became but a dream, leaving only the ghost of your kisses marked with lipstick that would wash off once he arrived home.

He should have never gone to that party.

#arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #viktor x fem! reader #viktor x you #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic

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mousyatlas · 7 months ago

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prompt from: @rabbitbites: modern au where feyd and paul are fwb, feyd wants to be more, but Paul is still trying to get over the loss of his father and breaking things off with chani and they have an angsty make out sesh about it [note: mature.]

The campus courtyard was a busy place. Off-world students enjoyed the splendor of Caladan. Those who grew up on the ocean planet continued to bask in the dreary rain and lush, green surface of the farming district. Paul Atreides had been born and bred on Caladan, sequestered to an estate near the sea where his father once oversaw the political wellness of its citizens. Leto’s death still turned Paul’s stomach. Eight months since the accident, still a wound too raw and festering to ignore.

Rain fell in drizzly sheets across the university and Paul walked through it without bothering to pop open his umbrella. Water beaded on his forehead and streaked his face, but he didn’t mind. He walked past one of the square lecture halls and cut across the lawn in front of the library and then made his way through the iron gates, stepping up onto a damp sidewalk. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

[feyd] you want a beer

Paul typed out whatever you’re having and hit send.

This quarter was almost over which meant Paul would have to start preparing the syllabus for next quarter. There was always an influx of students in the spring, cramming to get seats in prized classes with experienced professors. Paul Atreides, well, Professor Atreides taught a history class specializing in sietch formation on Arrakis, home of spice. And home of Chani Kynes, who would soon return to the desert planet, called back to her upbringing by golden dunes and Shai Hulud. By an unflinching duty to her people. Things hadn’t been the same between them since his father had died. They weren’t technically together anymore, they weren’t officially apart either. She had a key to his loft; he knew the code to her garage. She cooked him delicacies from Arrakis sometimes; he brought her boba and sushi sometimes. They slept together because it felt right. Because they didn’t have much time left and she knew his body, and he knew hers. Because for the last two years, Paul had loved her, and she had loved him.

Losing Leto changed everything though.

It started small, the grief binge, chasing adrenaline. Paul drank a six-pack one night, then a fifth of liquor the next. He went out with one his students after that, railing spice cut with something from Kaitain at a nightclub in the city. That same night, he met someone. Handsome, trouble. In his right mind, Paul would’ve walked away. But Feyd-Rautha, dressed in a fitted black long-sleeve, leather belt cinched around dark denim, had looked at Paul from across the dancefloor. They became fast friends, laughing under bright neon. Paul left with him, found something greasy at a food truck, agreed to meet again another night. Post-work drinks, like the one he was about to have, turned into time spent at Paul’s loft, watching a filmbook or cooking together, talking about the band Feyd-Rautha was in, one he couldn’t seem to get off the ground, or meeting at Feyd-Rautha’s apartment to play a boardgame or catch up. They commiserated about lost family. Feyd let Paul listen to unreleased music and Paul waxed poetic about the Known Universe. The first time Paul kissed Feyd-Rautha on the mouth at a nightclub, his mind had been glittering with spice, bloodstream tainted with whisky. They’d fucked in the bathroom like clumsy teenagers, Feyd’s palm rucked up Paul’s shirt, Paul’s pants pushed to his thighs, Feyd trapping him against the stall, chewing at his throat, and Paul spending at the first breath Feyd sent coasting along his earlobe. In the morning, they vowed to never do it again. Two days later, Paul showed up at Feyd’s apartment, sober but lonely, and Feyd didn’t turn him away.

Since then, for a handful of months, Paul Atreides and Feyd-Rautha met to talk, drink, fuck, read together, kiss lazily on the couch, share meals, fall asleep. Feyd was Paul’s friend, in a way.

Paul shouldered through the door at a small dive bar near Feyd’s apartment and took off his coat, draping it over his arm as he approached a dingy booth across from a dartboard. Feyd sat with his eyes on his phone, flicking through social media. His fair skin was warming as winter gave way to spring, but nothing could completely chase the milky glow from his complexion. He wore a leather jacket, one Paul had seen many times, and glanced at him as he fell into the booth opposite him.

“Got you a red,” Feyd said, knuckling a frosty glass toward him.

Paul nodded. “Appreciate it.”

“You go to therapy today?”

He took a long drink. “Can we not — "

“So, no,” Feyd grumbled.

“I don’t need grief therapy, I’m fine.”

“If a therapist opened a textbook right now and pointed to potential grief therapy client, your face would be on the page.”

Paul shifted his jaw. “I’m figuring it out on my own.”

Feyd-Rautha furrowed his naked brow and gave a single nod. “You following Chani to Arrakis?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Yet.”

“Feyd…” Paul heaved a sigh and took long pull from his beer. They’d talked about it before. The idea of them. Usually drunk, usually in bed or tucked away in the dark. But they had talked about it. And Paul knew, despite Feyd-Rautha’s stoic demeanor and cold exterior, that he wanted more than what they had. More than friendship pushed to the brink of catastrophe.

The longer Paul used Feyd like a coping mechanism, the more entangled they’d become. Paul knew that already. He’d known that since the start.

“Look, I can’t…” Feyd paused to breathe. His jaw slackened and he talked with his hands, knuckles flexed, long fingers bent oddly to match his mood. Frantic, anxious. Angry. “I won’t keep doing this, okay? It’s not good for me, it’s definitely not good for you.”

“Yeah, and what’s good for me?”

“Sobriety, probably,” Feyd deadpanned, gesturing to the almost empty beer. “Stability. Therapy. Enough sleep.”

“And what if I don’t want you to be good for me?”

Feyd snapped. “You think I don’t know how we got here? C’mon, Paul. I’m not exactly your type.”

Paul felt the comment before it came out, barbed and hot. “You’re not, no.”

“Okay,” Feyd heaved a sigh, defeated, and stood. He threw a few bills onto the table and walked away.

Paul listened to the hard pound of his boots on the floor. A part of him, the stubborn part, fully intended to stay seated and let him go. But the part of Paul Atreides who loved how Feyd laughed and curled close to him at night and ate popcorn with him at the theater and panted in his lap was stronger than the grief-stricken young man left in Leto’s shadow. Paul finished his beer and darted after him, catching Feyd by the elbow outside the bar.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, squeezing Feyd’s arm hard. “I’m sorry, you know I’m sorry.”

“I don’t, actually,” Feyd said, yanking away. He turned down an alley, trudging into the dark. Rain fell a little harder, splattering his leather jacket. He angled his mouth over his shoulder. “What’re you sorry for?”

Paul stomped after him, pawing at his shoulder. “We’re here because I’m a mess,” he confessed, halting Feyd in his tracks. “Because I met you and I liked you and — ”

Feyd whirled on him. His strong hand landed at the base of his throat. He pushed him backward, sealing him against the concrete, and seized his neck, angling his face upward. “And?”

“And you make it easy. This, us, it’s easy,” he said, sighing. “Don’t take it from me yet. Please,” he whispered, craning against Feyd’s hold. “Let me keep you a little longer.”

Feyd-Rautha kissed a fire into him. Paul hardly had time to register he was being kissed at all until Feyd was prying at his mouth, licking between his lips, breathing hard. The cold rain kept falling, and Paul reached for Feyd’s face, cupping his cheek, then palmed his nape, hauling him closer. Feyd’s teeth slipped across his bottom lip. Paul nipped at his mouth, chasing the sensation.

“I might not be your type, but you’re mine, you hear me?” Feyd rasped, biting tenderly on the slope of Paul’s jaw. “You’re mine.”

“I’m a liar,” Paul said, gulping in air before he ducked down, searching for Feyd’s plump mouth. “You’re exactly my type, exactly.”

#dune #paul atreides #feydpaul #feyd rautha #dune fanfiction #paul x feyd #feyd x paul #feydpaul ficlet

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leggerefiore · 1 year ago

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Quagsire

cw: fluff,

pairing: Rika/Reader

summary: You return from a trip to Johto with a gift for your girlfriend. She loves it for a different reason then you intended.

Rika sighed as she checked her phone again. Was your flight delayed? Her eyes went to a nearby screen. There was nothing to alert her to that. She ran her fingers through her hair. No messages from you, not that you could while the plane was landing.

You had gone out of the region on a trip to Johto, claiming to want to see the historical districts of Ecruteak and Violet City, while also seeing how different the battling style was there in comparison to Paldea. She would have loved to join you, but getting the time off just seemed impossible. There was always something that needed her attention as an Elite Four member. Though, she was glad to see you off, with a request that you bring her a gift back to make up for her not getting to go.

Today was your return from Johto. She had specifically requested off so she could spend some quality time with you. Yet, the universe still seemed to be denying her that. Shaking her head, she looked at her phone again. Nothing. Before she could wander away from the gates, though, a familiar voice yelled out her name. You rushed over to her with a bright grin while carrying all your luggage. Rika felt her lips twitch up into a grin at seeing you finally.

She caught you in a hug as you put down a bag to squeeze her tightly. A chuckle left her, “I thought your plane got lost or something.” Your warmth instantly soaked into her and dispersed any lingering frustrations. With a light laugh from you, both of you headed out of the busy place and went home.

Once you had your bags tucked away, you both crashed on the couch. Rika turned on the television to some boring show that mostly served as background noise as you cuddled up together. You were exhausted from the trip, and she was exhausted from the extra work she had to do to get today off. Her arm was tightly around your shoulders as she laid a kiss into your hair.

Everything seemed to be pointing to you both taking a nap.

Until you suddenly jumped out of the embrace to rush into the bedroom. Rika watched your rapid shift with a confused expression. You scrambled to search through your bags before returning with a pokeball in your hand. She cocked a brow up. A battle? Honestly, she would have preferred a nap, but if you insisted, she guessed. Before she could send out a pokemon, you quickly gave the pokeball to her.

“Your gift,” you smiled at her brightly, “I found a pokemon I thought you'd like!” Rika's eyes went wide. You got her a pokemon? Did Johto have interesting ground types? She did not think so, but the green-haired woman would never reject a gift from you. Sending it out, she watched a… familiar shape come out of the light.

A confused blue pokemon took shape as it looked around the apartment. Rika almost wanted to laugh. “A Quagsire?” she knelt down to pet the water fish pokemon, “Aren't you a cutie? You have a look in your eyes just like my Clodsire.” The Quagsire gave a “d'oh?” in reply to the woman's questions. It did lean into her hand, however, deeply enjoying the petting. “Babe, is this guy even a ground type?” she asked you, genuinely wondering. She knew they were related to Clodsires as they both came from Woopers, yet this pokemon just screamed water type. Then again, her Wishcash was both, too.

You nodded, “She's a water-ground type! I found her wandering alone as a little Wooper while exploring a route near a cave. She was too cute to just leave on her own, so I ended up training her.” Rika felt a bit flustered that you were gifting her a pokemon that you trained yourself. The Quagsire suddenly seemed even cuter to her.

“She's a great gift, no doubt,” she rubbed the pokemon's blobby head again, “Buuuut, what if you kept her, and we battled together as a Quagsire-Clodsire combo?” The idea entered her head and just would not leave. It was simply too much of a romantic thing for her to resist. You both standing side by side as couple trainers with your themed teams. Aces both being from the pokemon same family. She loved the idea a lot. When you two won, she could squeeze you into a hug and kiss you while your confused ground-fish pokemon watched.

You tilted your head in consideration. Quagsire could be bred to gift her a Johtonian Wooper in the end. Plus, there was an appeal to her idea. You nodded and knelt down with her to lean into her side. “Sure,” you agreed, “Let's become an annoying power couple in Paldea.” Her long hair tickled your skin as you nuzzled into her shoulder. A chuckle came from her.

Rika moved to peck a quick kiss on your lips to seal the deal.

#pokemon x reader #pokemon rika x reader #rika x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon rika/reader #rika adores the wooper you later gift her too. its your shared child according to her.

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easternmind · 1 year ago

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The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part II

This article is the continuation of a previous post.

Any comprehensive history of 20th century Hong Kong is not complete without a chapter entirely dedicated to the architectural and urban planning puzzle that was Kowloon Walled City. Quite unlike any other slum in Asia or elsewhere in the world, the extreme conditions under which its inhabitants lived captured the attention of various international journalists and photographers whose reports of this accidental labyrinth, in turn, inspired some of the most remarkable artistic explorations of our time. In this regard, video games did not remain impervious to the powerfully stimulative imagery, as much a reference today as it was when its hardened concrete walls still stood tall.

Kowloon's Gate Suzaku VR - Jetman - 2017

Kowloon's Gate made a most unexpected comeback twenty years after the original episode via the crowdfunded VR project Suzaku developed by Jetman, a studio founded by and composed almost exclusively of ex-SME/Zeque staff. While it is not the remaster many had hoped for, essentially consisting of a walking simulation through some redesigned locations from the original, it does a commendable job in faithfully replicating its instantly recognizable, light-starved alleyways in competent high-definition. It is also the only VR-compatible entry from this list, granting it a degree of uniqueness over its counterparts.

Stranglehold - Midway/Tiger Hill Productions - 2007

Stranglehold is the result of a collaboration with Hong Kong movie director John Woo, developed as a direct sequel to his heroic bloodshed classic Hard Boiled, featuring Chow Yun-fat in the role of detective 'Tequilla' Yuen in his unending confrontations with organized crime. One of the game's most unforgettable levels, Slums of Kowloon, takes place during a particularly rainy day, seemingly in those last days when the zone had been emptied of residents and demolition work was well underway. The visual representation of the quarter is suitably evocative, its buildings in complete state of disrepair, the remnants of local businesses or places of prayer still discernible from under the piles of steel and cement rubble.

Resident Evil 6 - Capcom - 2012

For all its shortcomings, Resident Evil 6 partly succeeds in taking the first two episodes' concept of parallel storylines and realizing it to a much fuller extent. Its choice of different characters translates into entirely different campaigns, locations and playing styles. The very first scene in Chris/Piers' campaign occurs in the fictional Chinese city of Lanshiang, modelled after real-life Hong Kong. The mayhem in the main streets forces the player to take a detour into a location named Poisawan, which bears a striking resemblance to the Kowloon district. Though an unofficial representation, it is among the most skilled replications of the scenery we find in the vast photographic repository of the area. The degree of minutiae with which the district's haphazard electric installation is replicated, alone, suffices to demonstrate a true commitment to authenticity.

Paranormal HK - Ghostpie Studio - 2020

Few would dispute that Kowloon is, itself, naturally conducive to sentiments of dread and anxiety. Paranormal HK is a 2020 made in China production reviving the defunct neighbourhood in a gripping, blood-curdling contemporary ghost story. The player is the cameraman of a paranormal-themed TV show exploring the zone during the evening of the Zhongyuan festival, a scheme suspiciously akin to that of Akira Ueda's 2004 game, Michigan: Report From Hell. As a result of the thorough research work performed by its creators, as well as the impeccable usage of contemporary 3D graphics techniques to achieve accurate lighting conditions, players may momentarily experience the feeling of walking into a photo of the actual city as it existed in the mid eighties.

Sifu - Sloclap - 2022

Notwithstanding of its renaissance during the 128-Bit era, the beat 'em up genre is commonly associated with the arcade games of the late 80s and 90s, the period of time when it flourished and, arguably, reached its zenith. The simplicity of controls and ease of access sufficed to attract players to the arcade cabinet, while the frequently extreme levels of difficulty of advanced levels ensured a steady flow of cash for arcade room owners and game development companies alike. Nevertheless, the genre has but perished and, in many aspects, recent years have indeed elevated it to unforeseeable degrees of complexity. Sifu, by Sloclap, synthesizes the elation of digital hand to hand combat simulation with the real-life complexity of mastering a martial art.

As is the case of previous entries in this list, Sifu makes no admitted reference to Kowloon or Hong Kong. However, the designers left little to the imagination in what pertains to their inspirations when taking on the task of constructing the game's environments. Another notable coincidence stems from the fact that this production was made possibly with the support from a celebrated independent game funding group going by the name Kowloon Nights.

Stray - BlueTwelve Studio - 2022

Stray is one of the most revered independent video games in recent memory, and justifiably so. The long development process yielded many benefits, judging from the consistency and attention to detail that engrossed many an avid player. That the main character is singularly charming feline may have played an equally crucial role. The creators have made no effort to conceal the fact that the notorious Hong Kong district was a pivotal influence to the design of its nameless city. The first indication can be spotted in the game's earliest footage, in which a black cat traverses a street where a particularly conspicuous sign boasted the initials HK. Stray is less concerned with presenting a precise replica of Kowloon than it is about summoning the very essence of its atmosphere. Moreover, in an exquisitely poignant way, its ending lends an entirely new meaning to the term walled city. In the future, robots may well take the place of humans. Invariably, the Walled City is no more. Slitterhead - Bokeh Game Studio - Work in Progress

An sequence of unconscionable mistakes from the part of Sony Computer Entertainment's management galvanized Keiichiro Toyama to part ways with Japan Studio, as it once was, and establish his own game production label. Their debut title, Slitterhead, is described as a grotesque survival horror experience, a genre within which the author moves with matchless ease. Among the few certainties regarding this project is the fact that it will take place prominently - if not exclusively - within the Kowloon City province. A wide variety of aspects included in the preview footage leave the viewer optimistic as to this being one of the most accomplished portrayals of the district ever seen in a video game. Subtle yet telling signs already demonstrate the creator's in-depth knowledge of the quarter's architecture and history. Take, for instance, the suggestive image of the airplane flying mere meters above the top of the buildings. Although the growth of Kowloon was for the most part ungoverned, buildings did not rise above a certain height, even as inhabitants claimed for increased availability of space. This is due to the fact that airplanes landing at the nearby airport would be required to make their descent at relatively low altitude, performing a tight curve as they soared just above the enclave, thus preventing construction from expanding upwards. Another scene shows a child playing on the rooftops of the buildings, which once again is consistent with the documented habits of residents who, starved for sunlight and open space elsewhere within the city limits, had little alternative than to take the stairs all the way to the top.

Warehouse Kawasaki Arcade

I would be remiss not to make some form of allusion to Warehouse Kawasaki, an arcade built to replicate the Walled City with unthinkable detail. Though its ultimate purpose was for visitors to engage in digital entertainment, the venue was scrupulously put together. Point in fact, many of the objects used in the construction of the five floor amusement centre were imported directly from Hong Kong. Like so many other Japanese arcades, it closed its doors in 2019.

In recent years, a rather similar initiative was taken by the Chinese in their attempts to build unique mall spaces. The 文和友 malls in mainland China, found in Changsha, Guangzhou and Shenzhen, attempt to reproduce the walled city aesthetic. Local residents inform me that these are increasingly lacking in foot traffic, for which reason the majority of their stores are closed. Other digital replicas of Kowloon

A number of other videogames set in or deriving inspiration from Kowloon could not be featured in this article. A frequently cited reference in this context is the action/adventure game Fear Effect, one which I emphatically dispute. No doubt remains as to it being located in a futuristic version of Hong Kong, yet I could discern no parallels with the walled city, save for those scattered second-hand visual motifs that were no doubt imported from sci-fi classics such as Blade Runner or Ghost in the Shell.

The Utelek Complex stage of Deus Ex: Makind Divided presents a similar situation, where the overall atmosphere of the futuristic favela bears some resemblance to Kowloon, without meeting the specificity quota that would warrant a more comprehensive exploration.

The 2004 Shout! original Kowloon High-School Chronicle for the PS2 is a unique case, in that it borrows the city's name despite taking place in a massive, Tokyo underground dungeon that is later revealed to be a maze-like Egyptian pyramid. The odd choice of title remains unclear. Shadowrun: Hong Kong game (screenshot above) contains a very direct mention of Kowloon as the place in which an entire episode comes to pass. Another project still in development, Kowloon's Curse (screenshot below), is following the lead of many popular independent horror games in recent memory by using a visual design and structure that elicits memories of the late Playstation/early Dreamcast era. A short prequel episode was made available earlier this year, for free.

Additionally, I refrained from mentioning the Kowloon maps in Call of Duty: Black Ops or Counter-Strike: Global Offensive, as I perceive both games to be insufficiently relevant to merit study or contemplation.

A space that refuses to be forgotten

(China rooftop stage from The King of Fighters 2003)

It would be a gross overstatement to claim that Kowloon is a recurring location or level design motif in videogames. The relationship between digital games and the real life ghetto has been one of sporadic references. What makes the subject so engrossing pertains to the quality of the relationship, particularly that of a small cadre from among the titles featured in this article. Kowloon's Gate was one of the most relevant game creations of the 32-Bit era, a game deserving of reverence and cult following inside and outside Japan. Likewise, Shenmue II is the second instalment of a truly ground-breaking and highly advertised series whose production costs alone were unmatched until quite recently.

Moreover, this is an affair that is far from concluded. The unexpectedly high number of allusions to Kowloon in videogames released or revealed just last yet demonstrates that its aesthetic is still very much present in the minds and hearts of artists and designers working in the field. The walled city lives on as a digital demarcation that is certain to resurface time and again in years to come.

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 2 years ago

Text

Capitol Punishment II

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 3.3k

Part I | Masterlist | Part III

Then came the 74th Hunger Games. On reaping day you woke up in bed with Haymitch. “Here we go again,” you muttered dryly as you sat up.

“I know,” Haymitch agreed solemnly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Stay by me, I don’t want you to be taken without me knowing.”

You agreed, standing up to get ready for the day.

As mentors you were allowed on the train whenever you wanted so once Haymitch was ready you headed over. As for the reaping, news had reached you that Katniss Everdeen had volunteered for her little sister. “She just signed her own death certificate but hey, at least sponsors will like her,” Haymitch said.

“Hopefully not too much,” you muttered.

Soon enough the train was moving and you had finally convinced Haymitch to go out to meet the kids. You walked into the dining room as Effie, District 12’s escort was talking to the kids. “Ah, and these are Y/N and Haymitch, your mentors!” she said excitedly.

Haymitch made a beeline for the alcohol while you went to go sit in front of the tributes. “Peeta, Katniss,” you greeted.

“So where do we start?” Peeta asked eagerly.

“Woah is that how you talk to a lady?” Haymitch interrupted, bringing you your drink. You definitely weren’t as much of a drinker as Haymitch but you certainly drank to take the edge off occasionally.

“Sorry,” Peeta mumbled, looking down at his feet in embarrassment.

“Don’t be. And don’t listen to Haymitch, he’s a drunk,” you dismissed playfully. “Seriously, don’t be sorry. I know you guys are angry, scared, whatever. I’m going to try my best to help you, prepare you… get you sponsors,” you added after a second, knowing what that meant for you.

“Let me handle to sponsors,” Haymitch cut in. “And as long as you’re going to be productive, I don’t need to be here,” he said, going back to his aloof persona he presented to everyone but you. He pressed a kiss to your temple before heading back to no doubt your room, bringing a bottle of whiskey with him.

“I didn’t realize you two were…” Peeta trailed off.

“Not many people do. And we were all each other had after my games,” you shrugged. “Like I said I’m going to try to ensure your survival but I will say this— the life of a Victor is a tortured one. Keep that in mind before you’ve gone through the torture of the games only to die at the end, having fought so hard for no reason.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Katniss asked, the first words she had uttered to you.

“Yes,” you had uttered point blank. “I don’t have the same fate as most Victors but had I known what was coming I think I would’ve stepped off that platform before the timer hit zero.” They sat in your words for a second, not sure what to say. “As for the games there are two basic methods. Either go out of the gate killing everyone you can, which will make you a target and you’ll likely be killed in the bloodbath. Or you can hide for a little while, wait out the masses. As District 12 I strongly encourage you to run away from the cornucopia. That knife, sword, spear, bow and arrow,” you looked at Katniss, “whatever is not worth getting trapped by another tribute because you will more than likely lose. These careers have not only been training their entire lives, their bodies are better prepared to fight which brings me to my next advice. Eat now. Food is fuel and the more fuel you have, the longer you can go.”

“Is that how you won your games? Running away?”

“Yes and no. I stalked other tributes. The girl from district 5 my year? I waited for her to fall asleep then I stole her supplies.”

“Did you kill her in her sleep,” Katniss pressed. You felt like she was daring you to reveal yourself as a monster.

“Yes,” you relented, challenging her stare. “I cut her carotid in her sleep. I couldn’t face what I had done so I ran. I then killed every career tribute in my games by sneaking up on them and killing them from behind. So watch your back and wait for the others to show you theirs. Like I said the life of a Victor is a tortured one.”

“So should we utilize that strategy?” Peeta asked, breaking up the tension.

“Theoretically yes but there’s also strategy before the games. You’re going to be out on display, then you’re going to have three days of training, and your final chance to get sponsors before the arena is your interview. Unfortunately as District 12 you’ll probably be coal miners, I was covered in coal dust and dragged down the strip half naked but you have a new stylist so hopefully it’ll be better. As for training, focus on survival. You’re not going to learn how to throw spears of knives in three days. After three days you show off your skills to the game makers who will give you a score. The higher your score the more likely you are to get sponsors. Of course you may want to lay low for that because a low score makes you not a threat. I scored a 3, one of the lowest in history. Johanna Mason from four years ago also won that way. As for your interview, Cesar is going to try to help you as best he can so be as charming as possible but that part is ultimately out of your hands. The Capitol people love District 1, after that they pretty much tune it out,” you rolled your eyes. “Then the next morning you’re brought to the arena. Any questions?” They both stared at you blankly. “Well if you’ll excuse me there’s pretty much nothing you can do on this train to prepare except eat so…” And with that you left, going to your and Haymitch’s room.

The next morning you were surprised to wake up alone for the first time in seven years. You made your way to the dining car in time for Katniss to stab next to Haymitch’s hand. You immediately felt a protective surge but it was quelled by Haymitch’s words. “Look at you, just killed a placemat,” he taunted, pulling the knife out of the table. “You really want to know how you survive? You get people to like you. Not the answer you were expecting, huh? You’re in the middle of the games and you’re starving or freezing. Some water, a knife, or even a few matches can mean the difference between life and death. And those things only come from sponsors and in order to get those you need to make people like you. And right now, sweetheart, you’re not off to a very good start.” Katniss looked like a kicked puppy, her tough demeanor probably having never been questioned since she was a provider within District 12.

“There it is!” Peeta exclaimed, dragging everyone’s attention from Katniss. Out of the window you could see the shiny buildings of the Capitol across the lake. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread every time you approached the Capitol. But here Peeta was, waving at the waiting crowds.

“Better keep the knife. He knows what he’s doing,” you commented, picking up a roll before sliding out of view of the window. You’re sure Snow would punish you if the people of the Capitol saw you in your pajamas.

Making your way into the bedroom, Haymitch followed you. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just have to get ready,” you dismissed, pulling out a sundress. “That was quite the speech you gave Katniss,” you changed the subject.

“She’s arrogant, she’s a fighter, she thinks she can win the games but she’s too arrogant and it rubs sponsors the wrong way.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with rubbing the sponsors the wrong way a little,” you sighed. “May save her if she does win.”

“But she needs sponsors to win,” Haymitch argued.

“You didn’t have sponsors,” you protested.

“Yeah but look at me now, a good for nothing drunk!” Haymitch raised his voice.

“Look at me!” you yelled. “I get dragged out of my home, out of my bed, out of your arms to be a slave to the very same sponsors who saved my life and it makes me want to end it all every day!” Tears stung your eyes now.

Haymitch froze. “You actually thought about killing yourself?” he asked in a broken voice.

The tears began to fall seeing how hurt he looked. You looked down, nodding almost shamefully. “I’m so tired of being used. But I haven’t because of you. Both because it breaks my heart to hurt you that way and because you’ve given me a reason to live.”

“Y/N…” Haymitch said softly, reaching out to you.

“We have to go,” you brushed off, not wanting to deal with what you had just revealed. Wiping your tears you quickly changed before leaving the train. You put on a sweet smile, hoping your eyes weren’t too puffy as you stepped off the train, waving and smiling at the Capitol citizens.

You were quickly brought to the tribute’s building where you met up with the other trainers in the lobby. “Finnick!” you greeted your only friend.

“Y/N!” his face brightened. “How are you?” he asked greeting you with a hug.

“I’m good,” you answered. “Where’s Annie?” you asked, looking around for the redhead.

“She wanted to stay home this year so Mags filled in,” he nodded to the older woman who was listening to Beetee’s rambling. “Where’s your shadow?”

“Uh I don’t know… we got into a little spat on the train over the tributes,” you answered a little embarrassed.

Before Finnick could respond, two peacekeepers came up to you. Both yours and Finnick’s hearts dropped, not sure who they were here for. Games season was when you both were busiest. “Y/N L/N, please come with us,” one ordered.

You sighed in defeat. “Tell Haymitch,” you requested, looking at Finnick. He nodded as you walked out of the lobby, one peacekeeper behind you, the other in front.

Haymitch eventually stumbled into the lobby with the other former victors after quickly downing half a bottle of whiskey. His mind was reeling with the idea that you had wanted to kill yourself. But since you didn’t want to deal with it, he didn’t have to deal with it either.

He walked into the lobby, finding Chaff from 11. “Hey Chaff, have you seen Y/N?”

“Hey, I’m sorry Haymitch, haven’t seen her. I’m surprised you let her out of your sight,” Chaff chuckled. “How are you two?”

“Oh we’re good except we got in a little spat on the train. Nothing big it was just about our tributes. Thanks though, I’ll catch you later,” Haymitch said, already walking away. He searched through the faces of the crowd, becoming increasingly frantic and afraid for you. He continued scanning for yours until he spotted an all too familiar one. “Finnick!” Haymitch called.

“Haymitch! There you are,” Finnick said in relief although he still looked frantic. “Look, I gotta talk to you-”

“They took her, didn’t they?” Haymitch finished cynically. “God I let her get away from me for one minute and they swoop in like-”

“Haymitch she’ll be back before you know it,” Finnick tried to calm him down. “She’ll be alright, she’s dealt with this before.”

Haymitch didn’t say anything, instead pulling out a flask to take a swig. He felt so guilty and angry at himself for not being there for you. He also knew you were scared, every time you came back you were shaking in fear.

Soon after the mentors were allowed to go up to their rooms and Haymitch had to suffer through the long elevator ride as it had to stop at every floor to allow the other mentors to get off on their floors.

When Haymitch reached District 12’s floor he was itching for a drink, his flask having long been emptied. He made a beeline for the bar, pulling out some scotch. He took a swig, savoring the burn as a way to distract himself before pouring it into his flask for later. He then stumbled his way to his room, freezing when he saw a vase full of white roses on the dresser. He picked it up, nearly dropping it due to his anger and drunkenness, bringing it to an avox. “Get rid of it,” he ordered, knowing that it was a sign from Snow that he was always watching.

Haymitch eventually passed out, waking up only when the door whirred open. He opened his eyes to find you looking through the closet to find something to wear. The sundress you were still wearing was a little ripped at the hem and at one of the straps. When you turned around he could see hickies littering your neck and chest. Seeing what someone had done to you Haymitch lurched out of bed, realizing what he had thought were hickies covering your neck were fingerprint shaped bruises. Someone had choked you so hard they left most of their handprint on your neck and arms. Haymitch had seen you in the post sex-slave state more times than he could count but it had never been this bad. “Who did this to you?”

“It’s not like it matters, we can’t do anything,” you dismissed, your voice hoarse from crying or screaming, probably both. You went to move past him and into the bathroom but he grabbed your arm. You quickly pulled out of his grasp, his heart dropping into his stomach when he saw fear painted across your face.

“Oh- no- I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. You know I’d never hurt you,” Haymitch pleaded with you to forgive him. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being afraid of him, the one person who was supposed to protect you. “Let me start a bath,” he said, leaving no room for objection as he rushed into the bathroom.

Fortunately the Capitol’s plumbing system was way better than District 12’s because the bath filled up with warm water and bubbles in only a few minutes. Haymitch went back out into the bedroom to find you already naked, a small blanket wrapped around you. “I couldn’t stand to be in that dress anymore,” you explained bashfully.

You made your way into the bathroom looking at him hesitantly before you dropped your blanket. “I’ve seen you naked a hundred times,” Haymitch tried to laugh to lighten the mood. You tried your best to give him a smile, dropping the blanket to reveal more bruises before quickly submerging yourself into the tub. As you did, Haymitch came to kneel next to you. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I will be. If this is what I’ll be doing from now on I’ll just have to get used to it I guess.”

“How long have you been suicidal?” he asked gently.

“Hay-” your protests were suddenly cut off by his voice again.

“You’ve been feeling this way for god knows how long and I never even noticed!” he said, mostly angry with himself.

You sighed. “Ever since I realized that this,” you gestured to your body, “would be my life.”

“Y/N I’m so sorry.”

“‘S not your fault,” you dismissed. “You’ve kept me alive. I’m only here because of you.” You reached a hand out to cup his jaw, running a thumb over his cheekbone. He leaned over the tub and you met him half way, enjoying his always gentle kisses compared to the rough ones the Capitol stole from you.

Two days of training went past and the five of you were eating dinner. “Tomorrow is your final day of training and then you’ll be individually evaluated by the game makers for your score so start to think about what you want to show them should you decide to go for a high score to get sponsors,” you advised.

“Katniss can shoot,” Peeta said. “I’ve seen it. She brings deer to us. My dad always talks about how she shoots them right in the eye, keeps the pelts from getting damaged,” he explained both optimistically and with a touch of frustration.

“Okay good, show them your skills and I can guarantee there will be a bow in the cornucopia,” Haymitch said.

“Peeta’s strong,” Katniss added, frustration evident in her tone. “I’ve seen him throw a hundred pound sack of flour over his head.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone with flour,” he protested.

“But you can fight. You have a chance-”

“I have no chance!” Peeta interrupted Katniss. “When my mother came to say goodbye she said District 12 may finally have a winner. She wasn’t talking about me, she was talking about you!” The table sat in stunned silence. I felt for him, it’s hard to go into the arena with absolutely no one cheering you on. He stormed off, Katniss following not even a minute later along with Effie shouting about manners.

Uncomfortable with the lingering tension you turned to Haymitch, a playfully quizzical look on your face. “Why’d he say ‘District 12 may finally have a winner?’ I won 7 years ago.”

Haymitch chuckled into his glass. “I don’t know about you but everyone remembers my victory.”

“That was like 24 years ago, grandpa,” you poked fun at him.

He laughed, grabbing a bottle of wine. “Take your glass,” he said with a mischievous smile. You didn’t question him, grabbing your glass and following him, giggling like a teenager.

He led you to the back of the penthouse where there was a decently hidden set of stairs that led to the rooftop. You stood in awe of the sparkling city below you. “Y’know as hellish as this place actually is it’s very pretty at night,” Haymitch said, taking a gulp of wine.

“You're right about that one,” you agreed, reaching for the bottle to fill up your glass. You turned your attention upward, disappointed to see the sky. “There’s no stars because of all the light,” you commented sadly.

“At least it’s not covered in smog,” Haymitch offered, referring to the eternal coal smoke emanating from District 12.

“Do you remember that night we spent in District 11 during my tour? The sky was so clear you could actually count the stars.”

“Hmm I remember making you see stars,” Haymitch said cheekily.

You gave him a playfully scolding look, “Shut up.” While sex in the Capitol was a job to you— a task you had to complete— sex with Haymitch was about intimacy. You had been hesitant at first, still traumatized by your first experience but Haymitch allowed you to take your time and eventually you were close enough with him to go all the way.

“What?” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Are you seriously going to tell me I’m wrong?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head a little. “Don’t get too cocky,” you giggled. Haymitch laughed too as he tilted your head back to meet your lips in a drunken kiss.

Part I | Masterlist | Part III

#haymitch #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #capitol punishment

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nalyra-dreaming · 1 month ago

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I enjoyed the list of examples of Louis's possessiveness and jealousy. Would you also compile a list of Lestat's possessive/jealous moments? These two are the most insane couple of all time (affectionately).

:)))

Well, in the show there's this incredibly poignant scene (of course™):

Outside of this distinct scene (and Lestat hiding in the bushes and watching lol) it is not so easy to pin down, I think, because we are on Louis' tale... and Louis didn't have as many feeding flings, and actually fed non-human for so long.

We do not have an "unobstructed" view of Lestat in s2, outside (supposedly) the reunion. As I said before, I can't really see the tower scene as having happened the way it was shown, in part also because Lestat was so calm there.

Like, if we take the scene above as close to the truth - and it was used as a key narrative scene for the reveal so the scene itself has to stand - then the Lestat in the tower... is too calm^^.

Because I do think the Lestat there should have been jealous. Would have reacted :)

Lestat wants Louis. Always. Loves him.

But he does not really need to be jealous of others, outside maybe Armand at times, even in the books.

Because it has always been Louis for Lestat, and Lestat for Louis, after their initial meeting.

Which does not mean that they don't feel jealousy, but they are immortal, and things are complicated, and they do realize that, too.

In the books, there is this little phone call between Lestat and Armand, in PLatRoA,, which actually touches upon that, and which I always found very powerful, because a lot is actually unsaid:

“I’ll be there, tomorrow, in Paris, myself,” I said. “I’ll see you then and I’ll see it.” “Louis is going with you?” There was a great deal more to the question than any casual listener might have supposed. Louis and Armand were the pillars of the New York household at Trinity Gate. Louis and Armand had been together for almost a century long before that. “Yes,” I said. “I’m taking him back with me as soon as we wake.” I waited. I stood on the flagstone sidewalk looking at the distant white wall of the old cemetery. It was quiet and beautiful on this Garden District street with its giant black-barked oaks, and the dark silent multistory houses on either side. “I need Louis,” I said. Oh, the old entanglements, the old jealousies and defeats. But what creature in the world doesn’t want to be loved for itself? Even a non-human thing that looked human might want to be loved. “I’m happy for you,” Armand said.

There is sooooo much in this little passage.

The way Lestat acknowledges here that Armand and Louis were together for a long, long time, and were now at Trinity Gate (even though Louis is there to be safe, and actually goes through his story and ready to get back to Lestat, I talked about that. Still!). The way Lestat knows that Louis is one of the "pillars" of Trinity Gate.

The way Lestat knows that there is jealousy of the love each of them shares with the other, and that he knows... that Louis will come to him.

And Armand knows that, too.

There is another passage in that book, that is often used to point out jealousy on Lestat's part, but, I think the context there is very important. I talked about that in another ask a while back, and actually my take on that is very much the same, so let me link it here:)

#Anonymous #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire #the vampire chronicles #vc #vampire chronicles #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #loustat #armand #loumand #jealousy #book quotes #prince lestat and the realms of atlantis

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y-rhywbeth2 · 10 months ago

Text

Lore: Baldur's Gate #1

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

The City | Demographics | Law & Legal System | Administration & Government | ??? - WIP

Might as well start compiling lore on the namesake of the game...

Featuring the city aesthetic (the depiction of it in-game wasn't nearly grey, damp or claustrophobic enough) and a mostly complete overview of the city and its major areas: the Lower City, Upper City, Outer City, Undercellar and Undercity.

Cultural titbits: like why you can't have animals bigger than peacocks; that you shouldn't live here if you have claustrophobia; how the Patriars clearly have it out for people with hay fever; the constant mould problem; where to go to get a glowing tattoo, a fake tan and the magical equivalent of a plastic surgeon; and why, in fairness to the Banites, the city requires very little effort to turn into a nightmarish police state under the control of an evil deity.

And if your Dark Urge is a sewer gremlin then that's a life choice they're making, not a Bhaalist thing: the Undercity isn't in the sewers.

The city state of Baldur's Gate is one of Faerûn's more important ports, situated geographically between the massive trade centres of Athkatla and Waterdeep. It began its life as a fusion of the early fishing hamlet of Loklee (formed around 0 DR) and the pirate and smuggler hub that formed nearby. It was a popular port with a shipyard and visitor's wharves by 204 DR. The natural harbour the man-made harbour is built on is one of the only places in hundreds of miles that's safe for ships to dock at.

Due to the lack of nearby settlements to form competition, the trade hub attained city status and import early in its existence. It briefly fell under the early kingdom of Shavinar, though this was mostly a technicality and the settlement continued to govern itself and continued to do so when the kingdom fell in 277 DR.

The area was first officially recognised in the history books as the city of of Baldur's Gate in 446 DR.

The primary spoken language of the Gate is Chondathan, however during the Spellplague the city attracted enough refugees to become one of Faerûn's most populated cities, and it's a diverse enough location that many people are at least bilingual (not counting Common): many speak Chondathan, their native/ancestral language and a third.

As a major port the city has always been something of a melting pot and encouraged a policy of tolerance - you don't want to drive away merchants and trade, after all. Likewise, in the interests of encouraging trade, the city has enforced a stance of political neutrality and refuses to be drawn into international problems.

Officially, the city prides itself on being welcoming to all ways of life, to the point where anyone and anything goes as long as they obey the laws and don't rock the boat; even the open worship of the majority evil gods is completely unremarkable - what if you want to trade with a place where those gods are a major religion, after all? While Umberlee is worshipped everywhere near the sea (under threat of tidal waves and drowning in retribution for not worshipping her), Baldur's Gate is one of the few places she has an actual temple.

A shrine to any god - regardless of what their faith does or preaches - can be established in any of the temple districts for public worship, and the law will pay it no mind.

This reputation for tolerance and neutrality means it tends to be one of the first choices for refugees and immigrants looking for a new start. The city is extremely crowded, with many people packed into tight spaces and narrow streets, and its population numbers surpassed the metropolis of Waterdeep decades ago; standing at 42,103 people in the 14th century, it has likely more than doubled since. Visitors often find it incredibly - possibly intolerably - loud and busy, while locals consider them to be backwater farmers who don't know what civilisation looks like.

While the city doesn't discriminate legally against any groups, its reputation for tolerance is somewhat overexaggerated. Peoples who are viewed as monstrous by the Realms at large, such as orcs and other goblinoids, or drow, can expect to feel unwelcome as with everywhere else. The recent wave of unwanted human refugees from Calimshan have a strained relationship with the established Baldurians, who view them as foreign and wish they'd just assimilate and start speaking Chondathan already. The city is a human settlement by culture and demographics, retaining its historical human majority, and while the demihuman minorities are part of mundane everyday life, there have been incidents such as in the early 14th century, which saw the rise of The Sure Helm: a human supremacy group who had an issue with the non-humans in their society and were known to carry out hate crimes on the likes of half-elves and half-orcs if they thought they could get away with it.

On a slightly saner note: you have the freedom of religion to worship a god who demands slaves and blood sacrifice, but it's a bad idea to advertise that... Or get caught slaving and murdering, unless you're a very high ranking priest.

Local bards tend to refer to the city as the Cresent moon in their lyrics and poems, after the shape of the city layout. The musical traditions of the Gate focus on "brassy-voiced tenors" and "delightfully smoky altos".

Baldurians frown on drunk, debauched and disorderly behaviour in public: there's no space for this nonsense and you're keeping everybody on the street awake.

The gate has an array of cosmetic services available in the markets of the Wide, where - as well as mundane tattooists and piercers - one can hire wizards in the market to perform cosmetic alterations with transmutation magic: glowing tattoos and other strange illusions, tans, magically affixing gems and jewellery like pieces to your body, changing hair colour, texture and style, changing your eye colour, altering your height or your weight or your sexual dimorphism, etc etc.

It's considered bad luck to harm a cat. Many of the animals moved into the area by hitching a ride on sea traffic, and as they're extremely useful for keeping vermin down both on land and at sea, Baldurians are fond of them.

If you need help carrying your shopping or finding somewhere in the city, most street corners have youths known as "lamp boys" and "lamp lasses" you can hire - so called because of the lanterns they carry at night. With the founding of the newspaper you can also find them hawking the daily papers.

The trade the city brings is the lifeline of the Sword Coast (South), and the only place one can buy foreign and luxury goods in the entire region. That said, these goods come at a significant mark up compared to the prices you'd find in Waterdeep or anywhere in Amn.

The majority of silver trade bars (bars of metal used in place of coins, for ease of transport) are made in the Gate, and the city sets the standards for this form of currency.

The city has always been heavily policed, and is known for being quiet and one of the safest cities in Western Faerûn; Baldurians don't expect much if any major disruption to the city's day-to-day life.

The city has its own City Watch - member of the watch being readily identified by their black helms, bearing a red stripe down one side - however the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company is the first thing that comes to mind when you mention law enforcement; you can barely go more than an hour without seeing at least one uniformed officer.

The City Watch used to be the city's police force, however by the end of the 15th century the Fist has taken on much of their role, and the Watch now functions purely as the private law keepers of the Upper City. They are permitted to live within the Upper City, and positions in the watch are now mostly hereditary.

Even when the Watch was the official city police the Fist boasted an army a thousand strong. By the start of the 15th century the Fist had taken over city patrols in a semi-official capacity. The two groups also overlap, and many of the Watch are also secretly members of the Fist. One in ten people in the gate - Watch or otherwise - are spies and informants for the mercenary company.

They may not be fully reliable as a police force however, as they are known to chose not to deal with some problems, declaring it a problem for the watch to deal with. Notably they do not police the Outer City and refuse to touch anything involving the Undercellar.

The Flaming Fist also has outposts in other realms, where it guards the foreign trade interests of the city, such as Fort Beluarian (a hamlet of 313 people) in the jungles of Chult on the Southern end of Faerûn. Being mercenaries, they are available for hire for any purpose that isn't considered flat out evil.

Of course the heavy policing and massive police presence, to anybody who cares to look closer at the city's outward appearance of security, is a giant tip-off that the city has a thriving underworld. The Thieves Guild is an ever-present force, and the religious tolerance means that there are a lot of other organised crime syndicates (ie the priests), murderers and extortion rackets running around. Such organisations keep close diplomatic ties to the Grand Dukes and the commander of the Flaming Fist.

The weather conditions are typically rain, sleet or fog depending on season and time of day, and the streets and buildings are almost constantly wet either from the weather or the sea. The architecture is almost entirely stone, as it's less likely to rot. The streets are often slippery, and straw or gravel from the river is sometimes thrown over the cobbles for grip. The citizens take advantage of the moisture and damp to use their cellars to cultivate edible fungi. Damp, mould and mildew are a common menace, but it did lead a wizard named Halbazzer Drin to make his fortune by inventing spells that banishes mildew (12gp per casting) and dry out an area without damaging anything (10gp), so services exist if you need to hire them. The spell is not known outside of the city; Drin refused to sell knowledge of the spell to anyone for any price or offer. Due to the damp, the streets have no banners or other hanging fabrics around.

Buildings tend to be tall and narrow, with shuttered slit windows placed high up, which will be firmly shut at night and all day in winter, to keep out the gales and invading gulls looking for places to nest. The extremely narrow streets of the Lower City are full of window planters and hanging baskets of flowers, providing the sole spot of colour amongst the grey. As the city streets are so steep and narrow, the city has a ban on allowing animals larger than a dog into the city (it's too difficult for them to navigate and likely to cause traffic issues).

Boxed in by its thick, heavily fortified city walls and with no space to expand the city has largely built upwards, and the streets are filled with stone buttresses and arches supporting the upper floors.

Due to its stony architecture and frequent overcast, the entire city is often referred to as the Grey Harbour by residents. (This is also the name of the actual city harbour)

The city is built into the chalk white cliffs around the harbour, growing in elevation until the settlement stops at the outermost walls.

By the 15th century, the city was firmly divided into the Lower and Upper Cities, the latter of which is built into the highest elevation, cut off by a wall. In the population boom that followed the mass immigration of Spellplague refugees, many people were forced to make space for themselves outside of the walls, building the Outer City. Beneath the city lies the Undercellar

Descending from the Undercellar is a labyrinth of tunnels leading down into caverns buried beneath Baldur's Gate; housing the ruins of a forgotten era, where the Temple of Bhaal stands over the ruins, surrounded by the restless spirits and walking corpses of undead residents ancient and brand new.

The Lower City houses most of the city, crafts and trade.

With the narrow spaces, cliffs, tall buildings and arches, the city can get rather dark at night. What public lighting is available is maintained by the citizens themselves. The wealthier parts of the Lower City, like Bloomridge, use oil and wick copper bowls, while poorer areas make do with candles in tin lanterns, usually such things are mounted on the walls and ceilings of the darkest corners; but when you want to navigate at night you'll usually be hiring lamp lads.

The Grey Harbour is one of Toril's most famous and best ports, frequented by legitimate merchant captains and pirates alike; many of the families living on the docks are the families of sailors. The area is very industrialised, sporting the shipyard, multiple cranes and railway tracks used to facilitate the moving of goods. The most notable structures are the Harbourmaster's Office, a tiny building with barred windows that deals with all trades and taxes - and the Water Queen's House at the end of the pier, which everybody with a brain makes offerings to and nobody looks too closely at whatever the Umberlant priests get up to in there, because the vast majority of people like breathing.

The Gate has little in the way of large fanciful festivals, but specific streets in the Lower City are prone to a centuries old tradition of "cobble parties", where the people living on a street pull up some chairs, benches and barrels and gather outside to share a mild drink, tell stories and chat. An ongoing cobble party can be recognised by the bright rose-red torches that are hung up along the street walls - these torches are made at Felogyr's Fireworks and can be bought almost anywhere in the city.

Bloomridge is as close the Upper City as you can get without actually gaining access, and houses the Gate's middle class. It was initially built in elevated platforms cimbing up the Upper City's walls using magic and Gondian engineering. It's various attractions - including fanciful architecture, florists, artisanal boutiques, fancy open-air kaeth houses (cafes) and dining houses (restaurants; also known as "skaethars" or "feasthalls"), and elaborate hanging gardens and floral arcades - made it attractive to those with wealth but no pedigree.

The district expanded as those who could afford to do so began purchasing and razing the original, less fancy buildings in the vicinity and building estates on the ground where they used to stand. Those who can't quite afford that instead opt to live in high class apartment buildings and flats over the local businesses. Buildings here often have rooftop gardens and balconies with pleasant vistas.

The Upper City is located in the oldest quarter of the city, the Lower City being built outside of the walls and stretching down to the harbour and then having the lower city walls constructed around it. The only gate connecting the two halves is the eponymous Baldur's Gate, the first of the many city gates constructed. It's also heavily guarded and the only gate by which outsiders may access the Upper City; there are numerous smaller gates, but they are exclusively used by patriars and those bearing family livery or bearing a letter of employment signed by a patriar. This district houses the Gate's oldest and most powerful families: anyone who isn't a patriar is either a servant or a watchman, who will most likely be a member of a family that has served a patriar family/the Upper City for generations. The exceptions tend to be a handful of the most successful and affluent business owners whose businesses have become popular enough with the nobility to be welcomed in. Every business and city service in this district exists to serve the upper class exclusively.

It's the most open and colourful part of the city; the shutters and doors are painted in fresh, vibrant paints. The streets are broad and well lit with ornate enchanted lamps; the terrain is mostly flat, unlike the streets of the Lower City, which can often resemble giant staircases.

Businesses that would cause unpleasant smells are banned from the area, and the Upper City maintains many gardens, windowsill planters and trellises where flowers bloom and fill the air with pleasant scents (unless you have hay fever, anyway). Wandering minstrels provide ambient music as they wander the streets - usually a singer playing a lute or harp accompanied by a flutist and perhaps a drummer who may provide a chorus.

They've also got drains, so the streets are less inclined to flood or turn to mud the way the rest of the city is.

There are no inns or alehouses here: a noble who wishes to drink will either host a party, attend a private club, or go slumming in the Lower City.

The Upper City houses the High Hall, also known as the ducal palace; the administrative building that provides a place for feasts, court hearings and government meetings. The meeting rooms are and have always been open for public use, however there is a rule that states you cannot rent a meeting room there twice within 48 hours (to stop people from monopolising the rooms). The High Hall used to be a more grim, military building but has since been renovated to appear more bright and friendly as a PR stunt following a giant riot over taxes.

The other two of the city's temples are located in the Upper City, the Lady's Hall - a Temple of Tymora - and the High House of Wonders, the temple of Gond (who is near enough the city's patron god). The building serves various purposes: a temple, workshops, factories and laboratories. When something deemed ready for the eye is released it can usually be viewed in the Hall of Wonders: a science museum across the street to the temple.

It's also where the Gate's largest marker - the Wide - is situated. It's the only large open space in the city, and the only open air market. Outside of festivals, performances and music is banned in the area. The Wide is usually packed with people forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, and those who are hired to perform deliveries in the Wide are always tall and large, capable of seeing over the heads of the throngs and pushing their way through. Goods are carried atop tall poles that are strapped to the deliverymen's chests or backs. Prices are lowest in the Wide compared to anywhere else, and any transactions that cannot be performed within a licensed store must take place here by law.

Permits to rent space in the Wide for the day are limited, and they usually go to whoever has the money to bribe the bailiff, watchmen and other officials who have sway in over the market's administration - which is usually the merchants of the Upper City.

As well as the usual fare of goods, the Wide offers a large range of cosmetic services including the mundane body modifications and stylists that one would find on Earth, and more esoteric concepts that can only be accomplished with magic; such services and the artisans who provide them are seasonal and ever changing. The Wide is the most colourful spot in the city, and the only place that's the exception to the lack of banners and other hanging fabrics. Historically the Wide was open all day and night, but in recent times the watch has been closing the area at dusk - nobody except for the patriars may have use of the Upper City after dark.

The Wide is only closed if the area must be used for something else, such as public Highharvestide festivals... or because a patriar decided to close it off for private use, such as a ball or wedding.

Just outside of the market area is the rest of the Upper City's commercial area; stores, insurance offices, trade guildhalls, Ramazith's tower and the public entrance to the Undercellar - a flight of stone stairs leading down to a pair of heavy oak doors at the southern edge of the market. The doors are shut, but the Undercellar never closes and if you knock somebody will open them and usher you inside.

The Undercellar is a maze of underground passages lying beneath the city - mostly vaulted stone chambers created from the interconnected and abandoned cellars of the old Upper City, with hidden exits all over the city. Those who know where these exits are tend to guard them jealously, but may be willing to allow the Thieves' Guild access for coin or service. The Guild itself controls a fair few of these exits, and has been working on expanding the network.

It's also the playground for the criminal underworld of the Gate. The Undercellar's public image is that of a rather unprincipled festhall (a specific form of adult entertainment venue in the Realms that serves as a fusion of casino, bar, lounge, spa, brothel, playground, BDSM scene, LARPing club and so forth), which in a way, it is. Due to its dangerous reputation, it's incredibly popular, especially with those who are trying to look edgy and dangerous (particularly teenagers).

If one is openly carrying weapons, you can expect the armed guards stationed in the room to start following you closely; otherwise they'll leave you be. The guards are unlikely to care much about any disturbances, so long as they don't start disrupting everybody's business. Customers are not to venture further into the Undercellar without permission and an escort.

And behind that edgy, but mostly harmless veneer visitors play at and never see past is the real Undercellar, which is every bit as dark as its rumoured to be.

The Guild has its offices down here, and other rooms are used for varying purposes by other criminals. Want to put a hit on somebody, watch somebody get murdered in a Bhaalist red room, smuggle people or whatever crimes against humanity you feel like seeking out, this'd be the place to do it.

The Undercellar is policed by nobody except the criminals who do their work down there; whatever might take place down there, neither the Watch nor the Fists have any desire to know about them if you try and bring them to light. Want to avoid bad things? Don't get involved with the Undercellar.

The sprawling, pitch-black maze - if one knows how to navigate it - is a good way to get around the Upper City without detection. Somewhere down there is a passage that goes deeper, leading further into the earth and into the Undercity.

The Undercity is, clue in the name, the dead remains of a city buried beneath the living Baldur's Gate (specifically the original city that became the Upper City). At its heart is the Temple of Bhaal, and the city is inhabited by Bhaalists, alive and dead; the original, now undead, inhabitants of the undercity and any victims of the temple that have joined them.

The Outer City, Cliffgate and Blackgate are not technically parts of the city, being constructed outside of them.

The soil surrounding the city is little use for agriculture, but it is sufficient for grazing, so most farmers are the likes of shepherds and cattle farmers. As livestock and large animals are not permitted inside the city, cattle markets, stables and such businesses will be found there. Many of the less pleasant businesses, such as butchers and tanners, have relocated here to spare the rest of the city the smell and mess.

Much of the structures are semi-permanent in nature, and the areas are not subject to official oversight or in possession of any particular infrastructure. They aren't policed by the Fist or the watch, the area is near enough lawless, and crime is frequent. "Security" tends to be overseen by the Guild, and while the government doesn't tax outside the walls, residents still have to pay their dues to the local thieves and thugs.

The Outer City is as crowded as the Lower City, but less sanitary or orderly: these places are dirty, loud, smell a lot and tend to be quite dangerous. Many of the residents are farmers, criminals and foreigners and immigrants of varying generation who can't afford or find a place in the city proper.

The Blackgate is the historical slum area, and grew around the inland-facing Black Gate to the North West, growing around the Trade Way connecting The Gate to Waterdeep.

The Tumbledown district, located in Cliffgate outside the city gate of the same name, is the middle child of the expansions, leading down the cliffs. The land was owned by the Szarr family generations ago, before they were all (supposedly) slaughtered by a rival family in the night. Tumbledown is an extremely foggy area, full of graveyards and tombs, and rumours abound that the ghosts of the dead Szarrs haunt the streets there and steal people away. People do disappear there, but most people are sceptical that it's due to ghosts.

The Outer City is a newer, larger slum that grew around the Basilisk Gate and spread along the Coast Way - the road between the Gate and Athkatla - as the city population exploded at the end of the 14th century.

Immigrant communities have taken the opportunity to build their own settlements in the Outer City, styled in their own architectural styles, such as Little Calimshan; a tenement on Wyrm's Crossing is exclusively occupied by halflings; Whitkeep houses a gnomish community who does most of the city's tinsmithing; half-orcs lodge in Stoneyes; a shield dwarven community is located in Shieldgate.

These communities are considered outsiders by most Baldurians, and generally there's no love lost between those inside the walls and outside.

#...the Durge player in me is looking at all the various ways one could go undercover as an assassin I must admit #Karlach is actually a good example of how surnames work in the Realms: she was born/raised in Cliffgate so it's her “surname”#long post

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salubriwrites-blog · 2 months ago

Text

I was on a train for 8 hours so I wrote smut

I am still mentally ill for What In "Hell" is Bad? so I needed to get it out of my system. Andrealphus is my sweet baby, and this one is for the Andrealphus wanters. I intend to add a full on smut chapter later, but here have some fluff.

I start my Lycawise week stuff tomorrow so I am gonna go stress about that for a bit ^^; enjoy some fluff for now!

UPDATE: Its done :3

You Chose Andrealphus

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Gusion said flatly, shoving Beleth aside. “The daughter of Solomon does not want to ride along and watch you shoot angels all day.”

That wasn’t entirely true, you thought to yourself, you didn’t mind seizing the learning opportunity that could come with being with Beleth. You didn’t know how the rules of the road in Hell worked, but how hard could they be? With his cool way of speaking and not-fucks-lost demeanor, it was easy to imagine you as the Bonnie to his Clyde in an angel waste land.

“Oh yes,” Bathin said sarcastically, examining his nails without looking at his brothers. “She’d much rather sit in a morgue instead and watch you dissect them.” That would be interesting too, if she would be able to take notes and ask questions about how different angel anatomy was from human or devil. And then ask for an in depth demonstration of those differences, you thought with a squeeze of your legs.

“Yes, thank you for agreeing with me, Bathin,” Gusion clapped his hands enthusiastically. He was able to conveniently ignore the eyeroll that Bathin gave him as he turned back to Beleth.

“Actually,” you spoke up in the comedic lull, but you were cut off by Bathin.

“You’re both too blood thirsty for a human. She is a fragile thing who could break if you aren’t careful. Angels are dangerous things dead or alive, and her blood would be on your hands if you are negligent.”

“Oh no,” Beleth and Gusion said together, whirling on devil, both ready to explain how they would take care of you with the utmost professionalism and tenderness.

Meanwhile, you huffed your bangs out of your face and crossed your arms, trying to think of what to say to get them to pay attention to you.

Your visit to Abyssos so far was… interesting, if you were forced to put it politely. Lord Belphegor greeted you at the gates of, bowing respectfully at the presence of Satan, brushing your hand with his lips. It put the King of Gehenna at ease when the devil prince didn’t immediately try to jump on top of you like every other devil who’d mistaken you for Solomon. After making several promises to Satan that you’d be safe and cared for, the Lord of the Nephilim offered you his arm and off you went.

It was when Satan seemed well and truly gone that Belphegor let out a yawn that could shake the pillars of heaven, and dropped all propriety. “He can be such a hard ass,” the lord groaned, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. “Let’s get you to the palace and figure this all out.” Flying over Abyssos, you saw the good and the ugly parts of this level of Hell. It was damaged and razed similarly to Gehenna, but it seemed that places associated with the Prince of lust had been targeted in particular. It was jarring to see districts that had once been for sex and drugs were leveled with unholy precision, as if whole swaths of city had been cut from the fabric of this world.

Prince Beelzbub’s home looked less like a regal castle and more like a warehouse home to raves. The “throne room” was just a large dance floor, and on the stage where a DJ’s booth might sit was instead an empty throne. The Nephilim stood in firm military form as you and the lord burst through the iron double doors.

“Gentlemen,” he said darkly, eyes narrowing at the three devils as though he knew that he had just missed catching them in the middle of something naughty. “I present to you the Daughter of Solomon. She is here on special orders from the King’s regent, and one of you will- wait.” You started as he raised a finger and counted out the handsome devils in front of him. “Where is Andrealphus?”

“Hunting, my lord,” one of the dark haired ones replied, bowing his head as he spoke. “We tried to summon him but… You know how he gets.”

Thinking to himself, Lord Belphegor counted the three men out one more time before sighing tiredly. “I will address him myself when he returns. In the meantime,” he paused again to yawn, and the three devils looked at you for your response. You didn’t know how to respond, this was a Lord of Hell yawning, what were you going to do? Call Sitri to smite him down for his disrespect? Believing you knew better, you just smiled placidly as the Lord finished. “I will leave the three of you to decide who will tend to the Daughter of Solomon. I need to rest.”

“Oh wait, what?” You asked after him, now deciding that this was the time to step out of line. You weren’t so sure about being left alone in a room of three, good looking veterans of war, who were also devilishly watching you.

It wasn’t so bad, you decided as you sat on the edge of the stage, one elbow on your knee as you watched them fight. Who would be your personal servant, guide, and whatever else you needed? Watching them argue among themselves that they knew better than the other about your preferences to pass the time. Even though none of them had even spoken to you yet. As you were wondering when they would notice that you had just left, a pair of shoes scuffed over the stage. The steps were shambling, as if whoever it was was feeling for the way forward. Looking over your shoulder, your face twisted embarrassingly into awe at the creature approaching.

He was tall with gorgeous hair contained into a singular, bloody braid. His all black attire contrasted like night and day against his pale skin, along with the dark scars down his face. One even seemed to be choking him, it wrapped around his neck like a serrated brand. The damaged skin grappling and strangling for territory at his unblemished skin. Atop his head were dark horns, spectacular as death herself, that twisted like great constellations from his blonde lock. All of these beautiful traits almost offset how upsetting it was to see that he was also doused in blood.

As he drew near, eyes looking forward and seemed to watch the shouting match at risk of escalating to fist throwing, you checked yourself. You owed this man an apology for having such a visceral reaction to his appearance. However as you uttered a slew of begging pardons, the devil - no, angel? - continued to watch cautiously past you. A pair of wings, angel wings, dragged on the stage behind him.

“Uh, guys? Why is there an angel here?” You asked, scooting away as the creature shuffled to the edge of the stage. That’s when you noticed what else dragged behind him, something in a fishing net that left a smear of blood on the stage in its wake. Even more angel wings, all of them varying qualities and methods of brutally removed.

Surprise, surprise, the devils didn’t hear you say that either. At the seeming mention of his appearance, the beautiful monstrosity dropped the bundle and took a seat on the stage near you. “I am not an angel.”

“Then what is this? Some kind of disguise?” You asked, now having the courage to step out of line and touch the thing’s wings. They felt pretty real, so you were interested to hear his excuse.

“A mark of my shame, a reminder of betrayal,” the man said, soft spoken like Sitri but intimidating and feral like Amy.

“Is your name… Andrealphus?” You asked, remembering that one had been busy initially, “hunting”.

All signs pointed to yes, but still you waited to hear him respond. “It is, and you must be the Daughter of Solomon?”

“I am,” you said, suddenly feeling bashful, he was so sweet and well spoken that you were the one to feel childish for being rude. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Please accept my deepest and sincerest apologies,” he began, turning to face you now but something was still odd about his gaze. Like he couldn’t bear to look at you, he stared past and toward the stained glass windows. Feeling self conscious now, you tried not to tilt yourself into his line of sight. “I got… carried away on my patrols, and lost track of time when the Lord Master Belpegor appointed me to return for your reception. Please,” reaching back now, Andrealphus pulled the net of amputated wings to his side. “Accept the bounty of my hunt as a symbol of good will and promise to do better.”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before you could feel your thighs slick with arousal. This had to be the hottest thing anyone could do, bringing you the spoils of their angel hunt for you to enjoy first. Andrealphus stopped to gasp mid sentence as you realized that you were going to leave a heart shaped finish on the wood, and you wondered if he may have sensed what he was doing to you. Still, you tried to play it cool, if only he would look at you, especially after all this back and forth.

“This is beautiful, but these are a little big for me to just carry around for myself,” you laughed, and his eyes finally looked closer in your direction. It was the vacancy in his eyes that made you squint and ask yourself out loud. “Are you… blind?”

At the same time, the entity was plucking dozens of feathers from one of the larger wings, gathering them up in an elegant handful. He held them out for you, shoving his hand almost too close for comfort. “Show me where you’d like to be decorated, then.”

Andrealphus’ laughter was hard to hear over the still bickering that you were no longer following. “I am, but don’t worry, my other senses are sharp as ever and help me get around.”

Aw fuck, you thought to yourself as you squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to stifle the smell. It only got worse when his breath hitched in his chest again, and you knew he was catching your aroma.

“That’s… interesting,” you began awkwardly, looking to change the subject. “Well, yeah you can put them in my hair… here,” reaching you, you took Andrealphus’ hand and twisted his fingers into your roots. “Wherever you want to put them.”

Wordlessly with interest and caution he loosened where you had gripped them, the angel navigated your hair. At first you had been afraid of the blood that stained the fine, black leather gloves, now though you fought to lean into it. Bloody fingertips left a rosy sheen behind as he ran hand over fist through it. Somehow though you were not disgusted or frightened of it, as if Andrealphus was wordlessly regaling you with the stories of his conquest. Eyes fluttering shut, you held on tight to the moan that gathered in your throat when he touched you. Little, probing touches that dragged on into soft caresses with his knuckles and the brushing of the angel feathers. The tingling feeling, like little beads of tickles rolling over your cheeks, was orgasmic.

You waited until his hands were off of you to frown your disappointment that he stopped. “Well, if I’m going to be decorated, it would make sense that you match me.”

His eyebrows creased downward at your proposal, but sat still as you took his braid between your fingers. The handsome devil’s eyes closed the same way as yours had, and he put his hands in plain sight, folded up tight over his lap. As if he was showing you that he was remaining chaste. It was a good sign as you fixed the bloodied and mangled feathers into his hair, sometimes even sorting through the wings that he had brought you to find softer downs. Maybe you could have him take you to where the angel’s bodies had fallen and he could kiss you on a bed of their bones.

“How do I look?” Andrealphus asked when your hands reluctantly pulled back, touching his braid to feel where you had adorned him.

The blood was the perfect contrast to his monochrome look, but you couldn’t just say that out loud. “You look nice,” is what you said instead.

“How do you look?” He asked second, smiling wide with too many teeth as you swooned. At this rate, you were going to leave a permanent water stain from your sex because of this angel. “Describe yourself for me.”

“Uhm,’ you started, running your hand over your face as if trying to remember your features. “I have purple hair, it’s long.”

Angling his body to face you, Andrealphus propped his chin on his elbows and smiled dumbly at you while you detailed your futures. Where your moles were, your stretch marks, and your scars, you listed them all and he painted a picture of your beauty.

“So,” you said after you finished, dropping your hands slowly from your face. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to try and sneak your fingers across the little space between you and touch him. “Now that I’ve done that; how do you think I look?”

“Hm,” he said critically, deliberating heavily before giving you that wide smile like a shark. “You look nice.”

Once again you got annoyed at how the three devils still fighting overpowered his laugh, and you whipped to glare at them. Were they even arguing about you anymore?

“Would you take me away from here?” You asked the fourth devil, expanding your hand bravely now, clasping your palms together. “They are too loud and frankly, I don’t like any of them.”

“You don’t wish for any of them to be your guardian in the Abyssos?” He asked, seemingly surprised even though Andrealphus was helping you to your feet. Feeling for the ends of it, the angel dragged the bag of disembodied wings with you off stage.

“No, I choose you.” You said confidently, wondering how long it would take for them to notice that you were gone. Sooner than you expected, as the throne room’s metal door hadn’t closed yet when Andrealphus laughed again. You heard this one, and your belly tightened at his soft tenor. It was not like the deep voices of the other devils, rolling like thunder and crashing like waves. He reminded you of the wind blowing iridescent fields of grain on a clear day. He almost bumped into you when you stopped to shudder.

“They’re arguing again.” He explained, pulling his black leather gloves away to reveal delicate fingers, long and spindly.

“What about now?” You asked, watching him stretch an arm out for you to take, just as Lord Belphegor had.

“They’re blaming each other for not realizing you’ve left.”

“Well,” stunned silence fell over you as Andrealphus opened his wings, which were also blood stained. They didn’t look to be in much better shape than the wings that he had dropped at your feet. “No one was stopping them from talking to me but themselves so, their loss… are you going to carry me?”

“I can, if you want, or we can walk,” the angel offered, seeming to strain as he lifted the wings and stretched them as though they were weights.

“Why don’t we walk? I can lead the way,” you decided and as though he had already made up his mind, watched as Andrealphus approached you with an outstretched hand.

“Will you be my eyes, please? Once we get to the square I’ll know where we are and can show you around.”

This first day in Abyssos so far was nowhere near your original expectation, but after the rough start it wasn’t so bad. At least now you felt like you could engage in a conversation instead of just being the topic. Holding his long fingers, you led the way down the steps from the house of Beelzbub, counting out the steps for Andrealphus so that he wouldn’t stumble. You were surprised by how easily he kept up with you, and how easily he clung to you.

“What are you seeing?” He asked simply. “No one has ever told me what Abyssos looks like. I want to know what this place is like through your eyes.”

Oh Andrealphus, you thought to yourself as your stomach tightened again with feeling. Keep asking me things like that and I’m gonna show you a whole slew of new things. You didn’t say that, though. Instead you held a hand to your eyes and looked far over the rooftops.

“All of the rooftops are flat, with furniture and bars. The windows are full length to let the sunlight in.”

#andrealphus #whb andrealphus #fanfic #fluff #andrealphusxreader #femme mc #current wip

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