Sink To The Depths.
Sink to the depths.
The long awaited Christmas Bash Bonten fic, hope it's worth the wait y'all <33
Bonten x female reader
wc. 8.3k
tw: yandere, noncon, dubcon, noncon drug use, murder, abuse, blood, violence, choking, dp, sex trafficking, kinda stockholm syndrome-ish, nsfw, manga spoilers
You’re not entirely sure what it is exactly that stirs you from sleep, only that it’s early, the first rays of dawn light just barely peeking through the window.
Kokonoi’s arm’s slung over your waist, red silken sheets pooling over bare skin, yet even with the warmth of his body lying beside yours, it’s not enough to keep the chill from seeping into your bones. Cool, but not freezing – just on the edge of discomfort.
There’s the temptation to simply roll over, curl up against Koko and drift off for another few hours. You’re still tired, and sleep – even in the arms of a man you despise – isn’t something you have the luxury of squandering. And yet the moment the thought enters your head, you push it aside. Despite the early hour and your seemingly never ending exhaustion, you can already feel the beginnings of restlessness setting in.
You can lie there, close your eyes and will yourself back to sleep, but you’ll only toss and turn – and risk waking Koko in the process.
No, you think, better to try and slip away. Across the hall and largely untouched is the room they’d given you. Your clothes are there, warmer blankets, a bed, your own bathroom with a shower. A far cry from the old, stained mattress they’d so graciously allowed you to use when you’d first arrived.
You can’t remember the last night you’d actually slept in there, but it is nice to have a space that’s just yours – even if it doesn’t truly belong to you at all. Nothing here does. Nevertheless, the thought of a hot shower and some temporary peace and privacy is an alluring one. It’s not just the exhaustion, your entire body hurts from last night, the finger shaped bruises that mar your hips and thighs the least of them.
Slowly – gingerly – you begin to wriggle out from under his arm, trying to extricate yourself without–
“Mmpfh.”
The groan is low and rough, heavy with sleep, and as his arm tightens around your waist dragging you back against him, Koko’s lips brush along your neck, “And where do you think you’re going?”
Your stomach knots. Months ago, you wouldn’t have noticed the faint, warning edge to his tone. Then again, months ago you’d been under the foolish assumption that out of all of them, he was the sane one.
The safest.
“Can’t sleep,” you reply.
He hums idly, long, lithe fingers trailing up your side.
“…That’s not what I asked you.”
He’s not mad per se, not yet. But it’s always a tightrope with Koko; one minute things are fine and you can almost pretend that whatever it is that’s between you two has any semblance of normality, but one tiny misstep; a thoughtless comment, flinching away at the wrong moment, and everything falls apart.
Koko might lack the hair-trigger penchant for violence that some of your other captors favour, but you haven’t been able to shake the unpleasant memories of the last time he’d flown off the handle.
The thought of testing those limits so early in the morning isn’t a pleasant one.
And so you roll over to look at him properly, careful to keep your expression neutral, sleepy even. As if the thought of slipping away from him wasn’t one born of desperation, but merely a whim of your semi-conscious state.
Your reply momentarily gets stuck in your throat, however, when you actually take him in. Naked, propped up against the headboard and bathed in the dim morning light, there’s a certain kind of striking beauty to the man. Even with long, silvery locks mussed and eyes glazed with sleep – those same eyes that flit over your features, narrowed as he awaits your answer.
“I was gonna go take a shower. I still feel all…” Somehow, telling him that you feel gross after spending the night with him doesn’t seem like a smart move, no matter the truth of it. “I didn’t want to wake you,” you amend.
Another half truth. Yet it seems to do the trick in placating him, his expression softening as he presses a chaste, almost affectionate kiss to your lips.
“You shouldn’t have worried. I need to get up soon anyway.”
He smiles as he says it – one you’ve learned better than to believe genuine – laying his hand to rest at the base of your throat. Instinctively, you stiffen, heart skipping a beat. No matter how long you’ve been here, the unspoken rules about leaving permanent damage, you still haven’t been able to shake that innate fear every time their fingers tighten around your neck.
And from the look in Koko’s eyes, the way his smile turns cold, he knows it.
His touch is delicate, teasing almost as his thumb sweeps along the column of your throat, and for a moment you’re confused by the sudden intensity in his expression–
Until he reaches a sore spot; the edge of a shallow cut, courtesy of one of the others, and cruelly presses down. It’s enough to draw a sharp gasp from you; one that’s quickly swallowed up by Koko’s mouth as it collides with yours.
Domineering.
Possessive.
His hips rock eagerly against your own, teeth nipping at your bottom lip – harsh enough to draw blood – and all thoughts of a peaceful, quiet morning go up in smoke.
“But we have some time, don’t we?” he pants between kisses, already drawing your naked body back under his.
It isn’t a question.
Stupid of you to think that it ever is.
—
The glowing red numbers on your old alarm clock tell you it’s a little after three in the morning when the door to your apartment slowly creaks open.
For the fifth time this week.
Squeezing your eyes shut, relief washes over you, the knot in your stomach easing as your brother’s familiar footsteps creep down along the hallway. He’s home. He’s safe, for tonight at least.
And just as you have every other night this week, and the countless nights before that, you feign sleep as he pulls back the curtain of your room, peeking in only to check that you’re where you’re supposed to be.
Tonight, however, he hesitates before leaving.
You can smell the booze and cigarette smoke wafting off of him. The faint, metallic tang of blood that almost – almost – draws you out from your charade. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something stupid and gotten himself in a fight at some dingy bar downtown, but the air feels heavier tonight.
Something’s… off, and so you keep your eyes shut.
There’s a dull thud – the back of his head hitting the wooden doorframe. “Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s gone.
—
“D’ya want some, babe?”
Sanzu’s cheshire grin widens, the scars either side of his lips stretching as you meekly shake your head. The same answer you’ve given every time he’s so generously offered to share his stash.
“Your loss,” he says with an unaffected shrug, shoving you back down to the couch. Just across the hall, in the other room, Mochi and Takeomi are deep in the middle of a discussion about an upcoming meeting, their voices floating down the hall.
You catch a snippet or two, something about distribution and profits – some mid level dealer getting a little too greedy for his own good – but it’s easy enough to tune it out.
And once upon a time, you’d be mortified at the thought that anyone could just walk in and see you like this; half naked and sprawled out before Sanzu like a whore. But this is practically tame compared to some of the other far more public displays you’ve been subjected to in the months since you arrived.
Besides, it’s not like either one of them would be in a position to judge. Only yesterday, Takeomi had you on your knees, sucking his cock under the table while he had his morning coffee and cigarette.
You hadn’t so much as blinked when Sanzu’d come home, splatters of fresh blood staining his pastel suit, and rather than heading into his own room to shower and sleep it off, had made a beeline straight for you. Ignoring the TV show you’d been absorbed in, he’d simply grabbed you by the arm and snapped at you to take off your top.
By now you know better than to argue.
“Lie still for me,” Sanzu instructs, but he’s barely paying attention as he grabs the baggie and taps out a small pile of coke onto your stomach. You watch, steadying your breath so as to not disturb the white powder while he takes out a card from his back pocket and begins cutting it into neat lines.
And despite how many times he’s done this, it never feels any less surreal. Why he chooses to snort drugs off of you when there’s a perfectly good coffee table less than a foot away is beyond you, but you’ve long since given up trying to make sense of the pink haired Bonten executive. All you can really hope for with Sanzu is that if you play along, you won’t get too badly hurt in the process.
A gamble at the best of times.
The leather of the sofa feels odd your bare skin, the room not quite warm enough to be comfortable, yet you’re fairly certain that it’s the way those big, blue eyes bore hungrily into your own that has your stomach tightening and goosebumps prickling at your exposed skin.
And you pretend that it doesn’t send a flood of heat rushing to your cheeks when those eyes flicker down to your breasts, nipples already pebbled, and his smirk widens.
But you only gasp, a shivery, pathetic sound, jerking in his grip – almost disturbing his carefully cut lines of cocaine – when his tongue darts out to swirl around your belly button instead.
The light slap to your face that follows doesn’t bother you nearly as much as the grating sound of his hyena-like laugh.
“I said, stay still,” he taunts, as if he wasn’t the one deliberately trying to rile you up.
You have to remind yourself that it could be worse. That he could have used the knife today, or decided he wanted to share you with the Haitani’s again. That he could just as easily tie you down and paint your skin black and blue, fuck you ‘til you pass out, make you choke on his cock or a thousand other horrible things.
He still might.
Closing your eyes, you murmur a halfhearted apology and let your head tip back as Sanzu leans over your stomach once more, this time with a finger pressing one nostril closed. The sharp snort and the drag of his nose along your skin are bad enough, but it’s the low, drawn out ‘Fuuuuck’ that leaves his lips that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.
Sanzu sniffs again, and even with your eyes shut, it’s impossible to mistake the sound of his belt unbuckling or the hiss of his zipper as he slides it down. Your heart rate picks up, anticipation and not a small amount of uneasiness unfurling inside of you, but you’re not surprised.
You’ve come to learn that Sanzu enjoys three things in life; drugs, sex and frankly terrifying displays of violence. The first two, from your experience, usually go hand in hand. From the dried remnants of blood on his clothes, flecks of it dusting his hands and his pale, scarred face, he’s already indulged in the latter this morning.
A small mercy, you suppose.
You brace yourself for his hands on your skirt, panties being ripped off, or maybe just shoved to the side if he’s feeling especially impatient, so the strange, plastic rustle that comes next takes you by surprise.
Your eyes snap open, head jerking forward just in time to see a little blue pill go into Sanzu’s mouth. And the relief that washes through you only lasts for a split second before his hand is in your hair, yanking you forward to slam his mouth against yours.
It hurts, both the sting of your scalp and the crushing force of his kiss, but the pain gives way to panic as his tongue forces its way past your lips, and you taste artificial sweetness, feel the weight of that little blue pill on your tongue.
“What the fu–”
Sanzu doesn’t let you finish the expletive, clamping his hand over your mouth and squeezing your nose shut.
“Swallow,” he leers.
The drug only takes minutes to kick in.
Warmth begins to seep through your veins. Slowly at first, matching the drag of Sanzu’s tongue along your throat, but it spreads, burns hotter until you’re shifting beneath him, soft little noises escaping you with every touch.
But they’re good noises. It feels good, the way he grabs at you, yanking your thighs apart so he can settle between them.
The press of his cock at your sopping cunt.
And it’s hard to focus, to think as the lights on the ceiling begin to dance, a dizzying haze sweeping through your head. Instead, you focus on Sanzu, the pretty pink of his hair, blue eyes blown wide and that manic, beautiful grin.
You’ve never felt more alive, every nerve ending electrified as he fucks you – you don’t care that you’re in plain view of the others, that you’re moaning and crying out like a two bit whore in a bad porno. All that matters is the delicious stretch of his cock every time he fills you, the buzzing pleasure building in your core with every frenzied thrust.
You’re chasing that high, delirious and in love, and you never want this to end.
—
‘Do you trust me?’
He’d asked you that, months ago now. Another late night, the two of you sprawled out on the old couch in your living room, mindlessly watching reruns of game shows. Or, at least, that’s what you’d been doing – your brother had come in later, bringing the food he was supposed to have brought hours ago, an odd expression on his face.
And the words had just… slipped out. He’d looked almost surprised by them, but glanced at you nevertheless to hear your response.
The answer back then had been the same as it is now; yes. Always.
How could you not, when he was your big brother? The one who protected you, who took you in after your parents left you both orphans at too young an age. He’s never been perfect – a little too rash, sometimes. Irresponsible. Childishly selfish, too, though to his credit he is trying to be better.
He wants the same as you do; a different life. A better one, where you don’t have to work for scraps and every month isn’t a struggle to make ends meet.
So yes, you trusted him. But you never asked for the details, and he never volunteered them.
And you trust him now, even as the pit of unease grows inside of you, and a thousand questions dart through your head. You did what he asked – left work when you got his frantic call, raced home to pack your things.
The only thing you’d faltered on was his last request.
“We have to leave and we have to do it quickly,” he’d told you. “We need the money more than we need those stupid rings, okay? Just… please. Do this for me.”
He was right, really. Your parents’ wedding rings may have been all that you had left of them, but if it came down to a choice of having a temporary roof over your head, and food for the next few days… well, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
(You didn’t ask what happened to the money you already had set aside.)
That didn’t mean that watching the shopkeeper sniff disinterestedly before counting out a measly sum wasn’t like selling off a part of your soul.
You trust him, but as you return home, money in hand, and the door swings wide to reveal a dark haired stranger waiting for you in the living room, you wonder whether you should have offered that trust to him so blindly.
—
Tonight is a celebration.
For what, exactly, you’re not entirely sure. Another year of successfully flooding Tokyo with drugs and violence, maybe, more competition wiped from the map – they don’t share these things with you, and in all honesty you don’t particularly care.
The less you know about these things, the better.
Tonight, it means a black dress with a slit to your thigh and a choker at your throat that feels more like a collar. Yet it’s not some packed club in Shibuya that they take you to, but an old, abandoned warehouse down by the docks.
From the outside, the place looks like a dump, looming corrugated walls that were once white bleeding lines of rust and grime, the giant lettering out front faded and peeling. There’s not a soul in sight, the night almost eerie if not for the muted thumping of bass that creeps out from the cracked windows.
You can’t help but think back to the first and only time you’d been brought here, Sanzu and Takeomi driving you out in the early hours of the morning. Of course, it’d been different that night. You weren’t dressed up as arm candy for one, and the three of you hadn’t stayed long – just long enough to watch the weighted black bags sink quietly down into the depths of the ocean.
And you might be tempted to wonder if they had similar plans for you tonight, but the grim truth is that if they wanted you dead, they needn’t go to all that trouble. A bullet to the brain while you slept would do the job just fine. After all, they’ve made it abundantly clear by now – there’s no one left to miss you. No one left to care if your body suddenly turns up in some filthy alleyway downtown.
The thought doesn’t bother you as much as it used to.
“You remember the rules, don’t you?” Mikey asks, glancing sideways when you obediently fall into step with him.
He’s forgone his usual attire for a red suit, the colour bringing a flush of life to his normally pallid complexion. Even the dark circles around his eyes look less severe. Yet there’s something else in his expression tonight, a detached sort of… iciness that’s decidedly unsettling.
Whatever the reason they’ve come here – brought you along with them – you’re beginning to think it has very little to do with getting drunk on high end scotch.
“I remember,” you reply, taking his arm when he offers it.
And you do. Since this whole awful chapter began, you can count on one hand the number of times they’ve let you out of the tower, and the rules never change.
“I’ll be good.”
There’s a slight upturn to the corner of his mouth, but he says nothing more as Sanzu steps ahead to push the warehouse doors open.
You’re half expecting that despite the derelict appearance outside, the interior of the warehouse would be something lavish – that would account for Mikey’s suit, at least, the designer dress and heels they’ve shoved you in.
But it isn’t.
Mikey leads you in, Kakucho and Takeomi flanking either side with the others trailing behind, and the first thing you’re assaulted by is the heavy stench of smoke from cigars in the air – so thick it almost chokes you. There must be thirty or so guys inside, drinking, smoking, laughing, lounging back in their seats and hovering over poker tables.
And then there’s the women.
Young and beautiful, half naked as they flit between the men – some dancing, others balancing trays of drinks and food. You watch as one of them, a girl who could be no older than nineteen, pulled by her waist into the lap of an older man, his fingers sliding under the waistband of her thong. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy cackling with his friends over his own stupid joke.
Your stomach turns, and behind you, one of the others snickers.
Ran, you think.
Mikey, of course, doesn’t break stride. None of them do, tugging you along until three men step forward, the one in the middle – the oldest, heavyset with slicked back hair and a too wide grin – opening his arms in greeting with a short, respectful bow.
“Manjiro, my friends, welcome!”
Mikey blinks. “Junichi.”
The man – Junichi, you gather – eyes you for but a moment, dismissing you entirely as he snaps his fingers and two girls step forward with drinks in hand. “Come, let’s talk. The last shipment just arrived, and I think you’ll be more than pleased with the goods.”
Which is how, twenty minutes later, you find yourself perched on Kakucho’s lap, trying desperately to forget the terrified expressions of the women – girls – stuffed into cages, crying and sniffling and begging–
“Drink,” Kakucho murmurs, handing you a glass of amber liquor. You don’t even pause before knocking it back, wincing at the dry burn as it slides down your throat.
His knuckles graze your side, a low hum escaping him when you readjust yourself, but otherwise his attention turns back to Mikey and Junichi’s entourage. Back to the business at hand. Because that’s what this was to them; just business. Girls stolen, manipulated and lied to, forced into their brothels and onto the streets to make a quick buck.
Drugs, weapons, gambling, money laundering, murder; why not add sex trafficking to the list?
It’s not like you didn’t know this was going on, but knowing something to be true and actually having the evidence shoved in your face are two very different things. Those girls, that–
That could’ve been you.
Kakucho’s arm’s still loosely curled around your waist, but suddenly it’s stifling – too hot, too close, too smothering – and your stomach turns. He’s not even paying attention, at least, not until you start to pull away from him.
His brows knit, but he doesn’t say a word as you push to your feet, unsteady.
No, it’s Rindou, seated across from you on the other side of the table, watching you like a hawk, who pipes up, “Going somewhere?”
His bored expression betrays little, but you hear the underlying message clear enough. Keep your mouth shut, do what we say, and don’t leave our sight. The same rules they always have for you.
You can’t summon the energy to care about that right now.
“Bathroom,” you mutter, and don’t look back.
Except it isn’t the bathroom that you head to, but rather the emergency exit door that lies just beyond them. You’re not stupid enough to think you can run (there’s nowhere left for you to run to) but you need space, and air to breathe that isn’t tainted with stale smoke and too much cologne.
The cool night breeze bites at your bare skin; a thousand tiny pinpricks, but it’s a welcome discomfort. The wind that blows through your hair, the distant thrum of heavy machinery and the gentle slap of waves against the docks, even the aching pain in the balls of your feet from your heels, you hone in on them, let yourself be lost to them – even if it’s just for a minute.
You’re not an idiot, you know that one of them will come and retrieve you sooner or later, that you’ll inevitably have to listen to them chew you out, or worse, have to endure the teasing mockery while they make you apologise for breaking the rules.
But at the sound of the heavy door swinging open and footsteps echoing out, you can’t help the stinging disappointment that washes over you.
“I was coming back, I just… I just needed a minute,” you say, not even bothering to turn around.
The laugh that follows, however, isn’t a familiar one, and you jerk back around to find one of the men from inside leering at you instead. “No need to rush on my account, we got all the time in the world."
A very real trickle of fear slips down your back. You’re not so naive anymore to mistake the expression on his face as anything but pure hunger. Not so stupid as to think that if he did try coming at you, that you’d have any hope of fighting him off – not when he’s a full foot taller than you at least, and built like a tank.
He takes a single step towards you, his grin widening as you skitter backwards, almost tripping on your damn heels. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I wouldn’t hurt a pretty thing like you.”
“I-I’m not–”
Not what? Not like the girls inside? Tits out, stuffed into lacy g-strings and thigh high stockings to bend and serve Junichi’s men. Not like the girls in the cages, terrified and filthy, soon to be plied with drugs to make them nice and compliant.
He knows that. You hate yourself for even making the comparison, but the fact you’re fully dressed instead of just prancing around in your underwear should set you apart easily enough. And he had to have seen you come in with Mikey and the others, to know that you’re with them in all the ways that count.
Which, you realise with another stab of panic, means that he simply doesn’t care.
You’re with Bonten, but you’re not one of them.
Intentionally, he’s placed himself firmly between you and the door back inside, meaning that if you want to run the only option you have is the sprawling labyrinth of warehouses and shipping containers behind you. And that’s assuming you’re quicker than him.
If nothing else, you’ve learned that size doesn’t always impact speed.
You swallow tightly, legs shifting as you brace yourself to kick off your shoes and run if you have to–
“Gonna scream for help, girlie?” he calls out, his tongue swiping along his lower lip as he mirrors your stance. “They won’t hear you in there, so why don’tcha just make this easy and come to daddy.”
The words make you want to retch, but there’s no chance for you to react as the door behind him – the door to your freedom – flies open once more and a familiar figure steps out.
Kakucho’s mismatched eyes, one vermillion, the other a milky white, dart from you – shivering and terrified – to the hulking man standing only feet away, and narrow dangerously.
And if you’d bothered to glance at your would be attacker, you might have seen the way his face pales, how he straightens, hands reflexively coming up in front of his chest in a gesture of peace and apologies start to form on his lips.
But your attention is fixed on Bonten’s number three as Kakucho draws his gun from the holster hidden by his jacket, flicks off the safety, and with a casual ease that still terrifies you, shoots.
Once. Twice. Three times for good measure. The man’s dead before his bullet ridden body hits the ground.
“If you’re not careful, Mikey’s gonna put a leash on you,” Kakucho comments after a beat, stowing his sidearm and carelessly stepping over the corpse when it becomes clear to him you’re not gonna come on your own. “You don’t go anywhere without us.”
There’s a thousand things you could say in response to that, but as he grabs your jaw and forces you to meet his stare, the only words that slip from your mouth are, “Thank you.”
He almost smiles.
—
“Please– please, this…”
You look wildly from the dark haired man to the blonde sitting passively on your kitchen countertop.
“Whatever he’s done, I-I can fix it,” the words spill out faster than you can stop them.
An empty promise, to be sure – they know it as well as you do.
The taller of the two, the dark haired one with a scar slashed across his face, holds a gun in his hand. Holds it easily, comfortably, as if the weapon is merely an extension of his arm. As if he’s held it a thousand times, used it without breaking a sweat. And you know, with a sinking certainty, that whatever it is that your brother’s gotten himself mixed up in, ‘fixing it’ isn’t something that you’re going to be able to do on your own.
But you’re terrified. These strangers have broken into your home, your brother’s gone, and now there’s a gun and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from falling apart.
“I-if it’s money, I have some,” you stammer, reaching into your purse to pull out the cash from the pawn shop. “It’s only a few hundred, but–”
“Stop talking.”
Finally, the blonde speaks – and the rest of your rambling words die in your throat.
Tired, bloodshot eyes bore into yours, “Do you know who we are?” he asks.
Again, your gaze flickers between the two. Surely if your brother had mentioned either one of them, they would have made an impression, but there’s nothing.
He never told you anything, and if you’re supposed to–
“Are you deaf?” the dark haired one snaps when your petrified silence stretches too long. “Answer him.”
Wordlessly, you shake your head.
The two share a look of their own, and the blonde hops off the counter. “Unfortunate.”
He sweeps out of the room, not even sparing you a backwards glance… Leaving you alone with his terrifying friend.
Shit.
Time seems to slow, abject terror coursing through your veins as you spin back to face him, fully expecting to see the muzzle of his gun greeting you, a flash, a deafening bang–
But he hasn’t moved – the gun’s still in his hand, yes, but it hangs passively down by his side. Is this the part where you fall to your knees and beg? He hadn’t seemed moved by your pleading earlier, but just standing there mutely, shaking like a leaf while you scramble for something to do that’ll save you feels wrong too.
“Please,” you whisper, “my phone’s in my bag. Just let me call him and we can fix this, I– I can…”
There’s something in his mismatched eyes that robs you of your words. Not pity, exactly – somehow, he doesn’t strike you as the overly sympathetic type – but more a kind of grim understanding. As if he knows that whatever your brother was caught up in, you are a wholly innocent party – and it still won’t save you from what happens next.
“We’re past that now,” he mutters, holstering the gun as he marches forward to grab you by the arm. “C’mon, you’re coming with us.”
—
“Stop fucking whining, you can take it,” Rindou pants in your ear as another strangled gasp leaves you. “You always do.”
Because they never give you a damn choice.
The bathroom stalls at the bar weren’t built with three people in mind, but somehow you’re sandwiched in there between him and his brother, skirt hiked up, Rindou’s hand wrapped around your throat and your panties stuffed in Ran’s trouser pocket.
Ran fucking your cunt, and Rindou’s cock stuffed deep in your ass.
And it burns, every synchronised thrust bringing a fresh wave of searing pain. The tears come unbidden, and yet the sight of them only serves to make Ran grin, leaning down so he can lick them from your flushed face.
“Don’t be shy now, show us what a good little cock whore you are, hm? Takin’ us both like this,” he laughs, and all you can do is whimper when his lips crash roughly against yours.
It’s hardly the first time they’ve fucked you together like this, but back home there’s usually some kind of prep– not since the early days have they split you open without a care. Tonight, however, they’re on a tight schedule. Something about a meeting, a late dinner with the boss, the exact reason they’d given escaping you.
‘Just a quickie,’ Ran had promised with a wink when they’d cornered you on your way out of the bathroom, shoving you back into the seedy cubicle before you could so much as try to protest.
Rindou’s grip tightens, cutting off your air supply and making you jolt and jerk and writhe on their cocks, because between them you can barely stand. And every snap of their hips and the lewd, wet, squelching sound that accompanies it sends you closer and closer to the edge.
It hurts, fuck it hurts more than you remember, but as Ran’s hand slips down to where your bodies meet, and those calloused fingertips graze at your clit, your whole body shudders and shakes.
Dark spots begin to appear in the corners of your vision. You’re screaming, or moaning maybe – the choked noises are hard to decipher as your fingers claw at Ran’s back, trembling on your tippy toes when their rhythm starts to falter and instead they settle on a brutal pace to chase their own ends, fucking you deep and hard and fast.
It’s too much, you can’t breathe, and yet when Rindou’s teeth sink into your shoulder and Ran’s cock hits that sweet bundle of nerves that has you convulsing around them both, a wave of pleasure slams into you so hard that for a second there, you’re almost positive you pass out.
Neither one of them lasts long after that; the younger Haitani hammering into your asshole, cursing up a storm as thick, hot ropes of cum paint your insides, his older brother following only moments behind.
And you – oxygen deprived, stuffed to the brim and half delirious with the potent mix of pain and pleasure – tumble off that precipice right along with them.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Rindou’s grip eases off your neck after a moment. “Knew you fuckin’ liked it,” he snickers, pulling himself free. “Our little pain slut.”
Gulping down heaving breaths, you ignore him, choosing instead to collapse against the stall wall, closing your eyes and waiting for your racing heart to calm.
“She always does,” Ran agrees, and you ignore that too.
Already, you can feel their cum beginning to seep down your thighs, dripping down onto the tiled floor. Unfortunately for you, your underwear’s currently balled up in Ran’s pocket.
Swallowing down the last scraps of your dignity, you begin to turn to the older Haitani sibling to plead for them back when, with an audible bang, the door to the bathroom slams open.
Shit.
You freeze, eyes widening as footsteps approach your cubicle–
“Hey, shitheads,” Koko’s voice calls, and the burst of relief that washes over you is palpable. “We’re leaving, hurry the fuck up.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, footsteps receding and the heavy door swinging shut behind him.
“You heard the man,” Ran says, grinning all too smugly as he smoothes down the front of your skirt. “Fix yourself up, princess. Can’t keep the boss waiting.”
—
He’ll come for you.
Your brother is going to come.
The words are like a mantra, repeating them over and over again the only thing that keeps you from shattering completely when you lie down on that lumpy old mattress and will yourself to sleep after another night of being used and fucked and hurt for their pleasure.
He’s going to come and get you out of here, and the two of won’t ever look back.
… It’s been weeks now, hasn’t it? You’ve lost count of the days, one bleeding right into the next. A never-ending cycle.
Maybe you’ll start somewhere fresh, move to the countryside and find a job working at a bakery or a little shop – anything to put distance between you and this. You won’t ever have to wake up and wonder what fresh horrors are in store for you, whether today will be the day that one of them will finally reach their limit and end it–
He’ll come.
He’ll come.
He’ll come.
The tears arrive unbidden, silently streaming down your cheeks and seeping into your pillow while you shake fitfully with tiny sobs. So lost hurtling between misery and raw, flickering hope, that you don’t even hear the door, don’t realise that you’re no longer alone – at least, not until the light switches on.
“You’re not still crying, are you?” Ran – still wearing his three piece suit despite the late hour – asks mockingly, crouching down over your mattress.
You don’t reply as he pushes your hair back to revel in your red eyed, teary expression, but the watery glare you shoot him is answer enough.
His grin widens.
“Aw,” he tuts, “and here I thought you’d be happy to see me, especially when I come with a surprise. We brought it here just for you!”
You tense at that word, surprise, eyeing him warily, “What do you mean?”
Ran’s eyes glitter, and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve been here weeks now, months even – long enough to know that his idea of a surprise likely won’t bode well for you.
Then again, it doesn’t matter whether you’ll like this surprise or not, because Ran’s already straightening up, beckoning for you to follow with that same cruel smirk.
And you’ve learned by now that it’s easier, less painful, when you do as you’re told, so you quickly scamper to follow him.
He leads you to the elevator, presses the button for the 28th floor, and when the doors open again, you’re surprised to find that unlike the upper floors, this one’s hollowed out. Unfinished. Paint markers still on the walls, fluorescent lights flickering from the exposed ceiling above.
As if the construction crew had simply given up halfway through.
Your stomach twists into a knot. Something is wrong.
Ran steps out of the elevator smoothly, offering you his arm when you make no move to do the same. “Don’t wanna keep ‘em waiting,” he says with a wink.
On shaking legs, you reluctantly trudge after him. But as he leads you down a corridor, and the muffled sounds begin to get louder, clearer, and you hear grunting and laughter – someone howling in agony – you falter, tugging at his arm.
“Ran…”
“Shh,” he says, long fingers encircling your wrist and tightening painfully, “you’re gonna be good and stay nice and quiet. Can’t spoil the surprise now, can we?”
Even if you wanted to back out now, and damn the consequences, his grip on you is tight and you’re not strong enough to pull yourself free. So you walk with him, cold dread mounting with every feeble step.
The reasons for which become apparent as you round the corner of the hallway and the space suddenly opens up. There, in the middle of the empty room are three people. Sanzu, Rindou and a third bound to a chair, head hanging low and impossible to mistake–
Your brother.
The desperate noise that claws its way up your throat is smothered by Ran’s hand clamping over your mouth, his arm snaking around your waist to anchor you in place when you try to run for him. “What’d I tell you about being quiet, hmm?” he purrs, his nose nudging at your temple. “We’re just here to watch.”
And while both Sanzu and Rin meet your wide eyed, horrified gaze with amusement, your brother’s facing away from you, slumped over as much as the thick rope bindings will allow.
At the sound of your arrival, however, he stiffens, struggling to lift his head.
“Huh? W-who’s there?” he slurs. Before he can so much as turn, Rindou’s fist slams into the side of his face with a sickening thwack. Your brother grunts, spitting out a mix of blood and spit, and much to your horror, a tooth as the younger Haitani leans down to grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his face back up to sneer at him.
“Pay attention. We’re not done yet.”
But it’s Sanzu who takes the lead when Rindou shoves your brother off in disgust. “You can’t just fuck Bonten over like that, run off and think we won’t come after ya. Have you forgotten who the fuck we are?” he asks.
Your brother heaves in a ragged breath, shaking his head. “No, no, I didn’t– I gave–”
Another blow, this time to his nose, and he bellows out in agony as the cartilage cracks gruesomely and blood sprays.
Your stomach churns, a strangled cry of your own swallowed up by Ran’s palm – but you hear his laugh, soft as a lover’s touch if not for its malicious edge.
He’s enjoying this, you realise, tormenting you by hurting him. They all are.
They’ve fucked you, used you, hurt you. Made you beg and bleed and moan for them, but through it all, you don’t think you’ve ever felt the same bitter, seething hatred that you do right now.
“Gave what?” Sanzu presses, blue eyed gaze darting up to meet yours as that unsettling grin of his widens.
It takes a moment for your brother to answer him, a steady drip of blood seeping down his face as he waits for the pain to subside enough to speak. “Money,” he pants. “And– and her. My sister.”
The words don’t hit you right away. You can’t make sense of them, they–
They don’t make sense.
You don’t realise that you’ve gone completely still in Ran’s arms, that everyone else in the room, save your brother, is watching as your brain tries fruitlessly to process what you’ve just heard.
My sister… My sister…
My sister.
… No.
That– that can’t be right. You mustn’t have heard him correctly, he can’t have meant what you think he does…
He was going to meet you at the apartment.
He told you that he was going to meet you there, you just had to go and sell off the rings first. He– he was going to meet you there. You were going to leave together, but he got held up – that’s why he wasn’t there when you came back from the pawn shop.
He wouldn’t have sold you out, he wouldn’t have just left you… would he?
There’s a sound in your ears, a dull roar growing louder and louder by the second until it drowns out everything else. You’re shaking, you realise, trembling against Ran as you stare mutely at your brother, your supposed protector.
He gave you up?
“And what, ya think a few grand and some stupid slut was enough to wipe your debt?”
The backhanded insult slides right over you, lost to the pounding in your chest, the black, bitter nausea you feel clawing up your throat.
“Fine,” your brother spits, more blood splattering the concrete. “A peace offering then.”
A… a peace offering?
Ran’s murmuring something in your ear, but you can’t make sense of it, not as hot tears finally spill over and your legs start to give way.
He catches you, of course, lets you cling to him like a lifeline. But the hand that strokes your hair tightens and yanks, forcing you to turn back and watch.
Watch as Sanzu’s manic grin fades away, becomes something cold and predatory as he turns back to the table full of tools and takes up his revolver.
You know what’s coming.
Know it, but can’t make yourself move, can’t force a sound that isn’t a sob from your lips when Sanzu raises the gun and jams it against his forehead.
And as your brother starts to blabber, desperate, hoarse pleas spilling from his lips, Sanzu scoffs.
“Fuckin’ pathetic.”
BANG!
—
The sound of the lock turning draws you from your mindless boredom.
You briefly glance over, long enough to see Mikey slip silently through the door, before going back to staring out the lavish, floor to ceiling windows of his bedroom.
The clock on the wall tells you that it’s still early, but already the sun’s setting over the city, golden light bathing the towering skyscrapers. All your life you’ve lived in Tokyo, and yet before they’d brought you here, you’d never seen the city you loved from a bird's eye view like this.
So beautiful, the sky awash with pink and peach hues and scattered cirrus clouds. So… serene looking. The streets below, the thriving hustle and bustle you grew up in, it’s a world away now, the people down there little more than ants scurrying about.
Mikey hasn’t moved, watching you wordlessly from the doorway. Waiting, no doubt, for you to acknowledge him beyond that first cursory glance.
“You’ve been gone for hours,” you murmur eventually.
“I know.”
Distantly, you nod, drawing your knees up close to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Still refusing to look at him. “You locked me in here.”
“I know,” he repeats, and that last vestige of lingering doubt that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t meant to leave you trapped in here when he left goes up in smoke.
And you’d thought that you were spent, all that anger and panic and broken desperation used up hours ago when you’d banged your fists against the door and screamed yourself hoarse.
Even then, you think you’d known the truth, but to hear him admit it with such… such indifference, as if locking you up like an animal is nothing, all those emotions bubble up to the surface once more. Your fists clench, blood pounding and fingernails biting into the palm of your hand and you have to force yourself to stop and breathe for a moment, to calm down enough that you won’t do or say something you’ll regret.
Because you forget sometimes, just exactly who Mikey is and what he’s capable of.
A good thing too, because when you finally deign to turn around and face him, you’re hit with the realisation that something’s off about him tonight. He hasn’t moved so much as an inch, but it’s more than that. There’s a sort of preternatural stillness about him as he stares, an emptiness in his expression that makes the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
As quickly as your anger had come, it recedes, a cold pit forming in its wake.
“Mikey,” you begin, your tone softer as you slide from the same bed he left you in this morning. “Why? I woke up and you were gone and the door was locked and I couldn’t get out. I– was it… did I do something wrong?”
There’s a slight twitch in his jaw, but otherwise his expression doesn’t waver as you pad across the floor to him. He reminds you of a cornered animal, tensed and volatile, dark, tired eyes fixed on your every move when you tentatively reach for him, fingers featherlight as they cup his cheek.
Mikey relaxes, shutting his eyes and leaning ever so slightly into the touch. The knot in your chest slowly loosens at the sight, and you can barely hold back your sigh of relief.
Good, you think, you can work with this.
“It wasn’t a punishment,” he mutters.
“Then why?”
His eyes snap open, “So you wouldn’t go wandering.”
You jolt back at the sudden bitterness in his tone, the hand you have on his cheek slowly falling back to your side, “Mikey–”
His expression darkens, “Have you forgotten that I own you? You’re mine,” he snarls quietly. “I don’t owe you shit, and if I wanna make sure you stay where I fucking left you, you should be thankful I don’t just chain you to the bed.”
You shake your head desperately, scrambling backwards towards the bed. “No, t-that’s not what–”
“Shut up,” he snaps. “You still don’t get it. The only reason you’re not rotting away six feet under right now is because I let you live. You’re not here to settle a traitor’s debt, you’re here because your life belongs to me. You belong to me.”
He closes the distance between you in an instant, cornering you up against the bed frame. One harsh shove and you’re falling onto the mattress with a yelp, the air knocked from your lungs. Mikey doesn’t waste a beat, clambering up after you and yanking at the silk robe you’d thrown on that morning, tearing it from you before turning his attention to his own clothes.
“Mikey, please, just wait–” you gasp, only to fall silent at the dark glare he levels at you.
Grabbing you by the hips, he roughly flips you – ignoring your undignified yelp – drawing your ass back up until you’re on your knees, face shoved into the sheets. You only try to rise to your hands the once – he shoves you back down with a muted growl, one hand curling around the back of your neck to keep you in place.
Stay down.
And you suppose that you should be grateful that he takes a moment to spit on your cunt, before he lines his cock up and sinks himself inside of you.
You don’t know how long he fucks you for, how many rounds he goes, only that by the time he finally pulls out, spent and panting, the sky’s an inky black and every inch of your body aches.
He doesn’t say a word as he collapses beside you, but truthfully you don’t expect him to. Whatever it is that’s just occurred between you two, it’s changed something fundamental. Broken something, and even as you lie there mutely trying to comprehend it, you realise on some instinctive level that there’s no fixing this now, no going back.
But Mikey isn’t the only one utterly spent. There’s no tears left for you to shed tonight, and you’ve no energy to fight it when, after a minute or so, he lets out a frustrated grunt and pulls you close, shifting until you’re lying nestled against his side.
In the darkness of his room, no noise but the soft sounds of your breath and the warmth of Mikey’s body next to yours, drifting off to sleep should be easy. And yet, despite all that, and the bone tired exhaustion weighing you down, you find yourself oddly awake, staring once more out the massive windows.
Watching as a soft blanket of white snow begins to cover Tokyo.
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Not so friendly reminder that I do not condone the actions in this post! This is purely for entertainment purposes, so please do not replicate anything you read in this post. You are responsible for your intake on the internet. If you or a loved one is in a situation similar to this or anything on this blog, please reach out for help! With that, enjoy!
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note: this will be part of a series/universe. you're welcome to request more barbarian bakugou that will likely become part of this story ! Part 2 is on the way but it will be much darker than this part !
synopsis. your mother had always taught you to uphold your manners. And so you did, even towards the barbaric prince who kidnapped you.
WARNING(S): Obsessive tendencies, unhealthy relationships, abusive themes, swearing, kidnapping, nudity, mentions of murder, light mentions of attempted sexual assault
The rumors swept through your village like wildfire; the barbarians were coming.
No one knew if it was true, but that didn't stop multiple families with small children from packing up and leaving before they could find out. You would have as well if you had the proper time to pack your most valuable assets. Instead, you dedicated yourself to helping watch the children for the families leaving.
You'd spent nearly the whole day collecting herbs for the local doctor, and hadn't gotten the chance to get back in order to know what was happening. Of course it'd only been maybe 30 minutes since one of your neighbors returned from hunting, screeching about how the red-eyes prince and his people were coming this way. But for you it'd been 6.
Oddly enough, it was a lot like what happened to your last home.
You felt as if you were cursed by those wretched barbarians. Only a few months ago had they raided and destroyed your home village. By pure coincidence did you survive, sent away that day to make a fur trade in place of your father. You'd avoided their wrath once, but the odds were against you and you doubted you could do it again.
You believed it to be your fault for not being their to help protect your previous neighbors, you refused to feel that pain and regret once more.
Even as they rode into the village, buildings burning up into flames and the small streets getting wrecked, you still didn't run. You almost couldn't move at first, freezing in place as you saw the chaos increase around you. Only the sound of screaming could bring you out of your trance. Without any further hesitation, you took off running into your home. You'd been caring for four young children as their parents rushed to pack, and they hadn't yet returned to pick them up. If you were completely honest with yourself, you knew it was probably likely a few of the parents left without them to avoid the risk of dying themselves.
Once the front door was securely shut behind you, you glanced around the room to see that the kids you were watching over were huddled together in a far corner to keep from being seen by passing berserkers. Putting a finger to your lips, you motioned for them to follow you quietly. Swiftly moving to the closet, you pushed away the box that lay on the ground. Pulling up the ugly carpet, there was a hatch. It took quite a bit of effort from you for it to be opened, but as soon as the cellar door came loose you helped each child in safely.
They'd be scared, sure, but overall the environment you created down there wasn't so bad. Rather than a blank, dirt filled room with spiders, it was clean, sheets and blankets covering all surfaces. It served as both a ‘club house’ and storage for things you couldn’t quite fit upstairs and you didn’t want to be stolen.
"Here." You whispered, returning to the door and handing a handful of candles to the oldest boy, "Stay in here until you can't hear anything, okay? There are matches under the bottom step. I'll do my best to come back for you. Be quiet, alright? Make sure to keep quiet.”
The boy was only about 9, but he seemed to have the most understanding of what was occurring outside. When he tearfully nodded, you closed the hatch, pushing the carpet back over it and shutting the closet door.
Maybe you should look for their parents, or leave them a note of some sort in their homes telling them where their child or children are. No, a note would be too risky, wouldn't it? What of they were killed or dropped it or someone else found it, then a barbarian would read it and come slaughter the kids. You couldn't just run passed them and hand them a note, you had to explain to them where their kids were.
Before you could get another thought in, your front door was suddenly kicked in. You let out a scream and crouched to the ground in fear. Brown eyes met your form, a dark chuckle escaping the large, dirty looking man. Finding your wits, you stood, backing yourself up against the far wall of your house. The man didn't seem to be in any rush to catch you, instead watching you in amusement. He was covered in blood, you noted, and you could smell the smoke on him from across the room.
"There you are, little babe. Do you know just how much trouble you've put us through?" He took a step closer, "A real lot. Our leader sure wants you."
His eyes scanned your body, a more suggestive look gracing his ugly face, "I can see why, shit. Maybe I should just try you out for myself first, m'sure he won't mind too bad, huh? Don't reckon anyone would care if they heard you screamin'."
He still hadn't moved and you knew that this was it: your moment. You turned around quickly, pulling up the window and diving out before he could grab you. You could hear his angry shouts and steps as he ran to yank you back in. But once he put his hands on the wood, you turned, grabbing the edge of the window and pulling it down with all your might onto his fingers. The shout he let out was gratifying, but you had no time to sit and bask in it.
You were shocked with yourself, you'd never hurt any person nor animal in your entire life. Your mother always taught you that kindness and generosity would get you everywhere you needed, and it truly had until now. You believed the woman who raised you, but this wasn't something that could be fixed with a few gentle kisses. At least, you doubted it.
Running between the broken houses, you noticed that the only ones on fire were on the east side. Although your home was probably going to be safe on the west side, you knew where most of the children were from. Hopefully, their parents had stuck around and looked for them. But as of now, the only person you'd seen was that evil barbarian.
Lost in thought, you found yourself tripping over a discarded broom.
Gods, you needed to stop thinking if things like this were just going to happen.
Unlucky you, it appeared as though your yelp of surprise caught someone's attention.
"Tch. Fuckin' finally." You heard a deep growl behind you as you froze from your spot on the ground.
You barely even processed that someone was there before you were roughly lifted up into the air. Large hands were around your waist, holding you up as vermillion eyes looked smugly into yours.
"How's my sweet little mate been, hah? 'Didn't realise you were a clumsy little bit." He chuckled up at you, amused by your tripping about 30 seconds before.
"Uh-um," You struggled in his grip, not enjoying the way he kept you hovering in front of him, "could you pl-please let go?"
He snickered below you, finally lowering you to the ground but not releasing his hold on your waist, "Holy hell are you fuckin' cute. Can't wait to bring you back."
He was much larger than the man that attacked you in your house, over a head taller and muscles much more defined. Much more attractive too, clear skin and messy blonde locks. Now that you were on the ground, you almost missed being in the air. His didn't seem so threatening then.
"I- I really have to go. Would um- would you please let go of me?" A weak and stupid request, you doubted it would work. But it's not like you could compete with him physically so asking nicely may have been your best option.
"Nah-ah, Baby. You're mine now. Been mine for awhile. So stop fuckin' squirming." His voice came out as an aggressive growl, but it didn't look like he was trying to hurt you. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you close to his chest so he could look at you better.
"You're my mate. Got it? My princess 'n shit."
Once thrown over his shoulder, you began to struggle once again, "No! No thank you, sir, really. Um- I really- just uh- can't!"
You yelped as he pulled up the skirt of your dress so he could place a wet kiss on the bare skin of your thigh, nipping at it before soothing the sting with his tongue, "You're a polite little thing. That's cute 'n all, but seriously shut the fuck up."
You whimpered, looking hard at your surroundings. You'd only been walking a few seconds, but you were shocked you hadn't seen anyone yet. He was bringing you to the rest of his men, you knew it, so you had to make you escape soon before you lost all opportunities completely. Passing a wooden pillar that held your neighbors tall front porch up, you grabbed hold of it and kicked yourself off your captor. Not giving him a chance to grab you, you jumped from the ground and began sprinting the opposite direction. It was awkward with one shoe, having lost the other one diving out of your window earlier, but you didn't think you could deal with stepping on broken glass with both feet. Your best bet was to run into the forest nearby, better not to run home and risk the children's safety or running into that bad man from earlier.
You could hear the blonde barbarian laughing cruelly behind you, much closer than he had been second ago. You should've expected him to be fast, he chased and murdered people regularly. Why was running a good idea again?
"Got'cha." He grabbed hold of your dress, effectively yanking you back into his body. You were weakened and out of breath, but he was barely even breaking a sweat.
"Such a sweet little thing, and then ya had to go and be a goddamned brat." He held you almost too tightly, bringing a hand up to move your hair, exposing your neck to him, "It's fine, you'll learn to fuckin' listen."
He nuzzled his face against your skin for a moment, applying a few gentle kisses to the area before licking and sinking his teeth into your neck. You cried out in pain, all the fear and exhaustion suddenly catching up to you. The last thing you felt was his warm tongue running over your bloodied wound before passing out.
×
When you woke up, you were on a horse. You didn't open your eyes right away, but you could both feel and hear the rhythm of its footsteps. You weren't alone of course, you were cradled close to someone's chest. After allowing yourself a few seconds to think, all the fear and recent memories came flooding back. You knew who was holding you, the smell of caramel, smoke, and blood was familiar enough. He must have felt you were shaking because it didn't take him long to hold you tighter against him, glancing down to check on you.
You squinted your eyes closed once again after the two of you made eye contact, an amused snort coming from the barbarian in response. He didn't say anything, choosing to let you look around whilst he kept a close eye on your movements.
The sounds of laughing, shouting men is what you notice first, your eyes still squeezed shut. It's nothing but unsettling to you; these men just destroyed an entire village, murdering innocent people and likely children.
Oh gods, the children!
"We have to go back!" You squeaked, perking up and pulling on the barbarians beads, eyes wide and focused on his face.
He scoffed at your panicked expression, his anger building up already, "We're not going back, Brat. You're mine now and you're going where I go. So sit tight and keep your damn mouth shut."
You paused, thinking to yourself. You couldn't tell him about the children, could you? He'd likely either go back and kill them or wouldn't bother bother going back at all. Their people were ruthless, it's possible they'd already burnt your house down or killed the kids themselves. You couldn't see around just yet, the barbarian's massive size blocking your view, but you could tell there were maybe 50 men following behind you based off the voices. No way to escape now, but maybe later once you're settled. The vermillion eyed killer couldn't watch you forever.
"River in about 50 yards, Boss!" A voice shouted from the left.
Not facing that direction and unable to turn, you tilted your head back for an upside down view of a blonde barbarian. He looked quite odd, even more so from your angle, and had a black bolt running through his yellow hair. He glanced your way for a second and smiled quickly before riding ahead. In your opinion, not that you could form much of one without knowing him, he wasn't like the others you'd met. He was smaller and more outwardly goofy. It relieved for a second until you remembered all the things he must've done to your home.
Your neck ached again now from where you'd been bitten earlier. Your grogginess kept the pain at bay for a bit, but moving around seemed to remind your body of what happened. You didn't want to reach up and touch it, scared of what you'd feel.
Without any more protest you lifted your head back up and and leant against the red-eyed man's chest. He seemed to like that, you noted, hearing the less-aggressive-than-usual grunt leave him.
It only took another two minutes to reach the river the bolt-haired guy was talking about. If you were lucky, this was the same river that was close to your village. If you kept track of where you went from here, then once you escaped you could follow it back.
You flinched when your barbarian adjusted your position suddenly, (yes your barbarian, what else could you call him at this point?) allowing you sit side saddle on the horse as he got off. Having been gifted the opportunity to get to know your surroundings, you glanced around seeing many large men getting off their horses and settling down for a break of sorts. Taking advantage of your distracted state, your barbarian roughly pulled you down by the waist, relishing in the small yelp that left your lips. The small, high-pitched sound seemed to draw a few others' attention as well, drawing some quiet chuckles from the men. You looked away from them, slightly embarrassed as well as frustrated.
They're all sick fucks.
"C'mon." Your barbarian grunted, not wanting you attracting too much attention just yet. He had a tight grip on your left forearm and right side of your waist, leading you further up the river in front of him and away from the others. Still with only one shoe, you repeatedly stumbled, but he just kept shoving you along in response.
Only after the two of you were alone, out of view from anyone else did he release you. You turned around out of curiosity and watched him discard a satchel you didn't notice he had until that moment. But then he started removing more items: his furs, beads, then arm sleeves. You couldn't decide which was scarier: surrounded by all those other men or alone with this one. Running wasn't smart just yet, the way you needed to go was towards the group of those sadistic killers. This one was terrifying, yes, but he didn't give off the same energy as the dirty man that tried to do bad things to you before. He wasn't going to try to touch you like the other one, was he?
Your eyes started to water silently once he returned to you, beginning to remove your clothing as well. He growled at your shaking, an unspoken sign to shut up. Maybe it wasn't what you thought, his pants were still on after all. But the thoughts you used as an attempt to comfort yourself didn't hold up once he reached your undergarments. It's like he sensed that you were about to put up a fight because as soon as you started struggling and pushing him away, his hands wrapped around your arms and pulled you close.
"Stop it- ! Let go, please!"
"Fucking quit!" He barked at you, making you jerk your head down silently, tears continuing to fall as you did your best to pull away.
You were no match for his strength and determination though, and after a few minutes of fighting, he was able to successfully strip you completely. Your sobbing dissolved into hiccups at this point, but your head didn't go back up. Instead, your eyes were focused on your bare feet, your left shoe being thrown off when the warrior was ridding you of your underwear.
"Stop pouting, Dipshit. I'm tryin' to clean you for fuck sake." He pulled you up onto him, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, walking the two of you into the stream.
You hissed quietly at the feeling of cold water hitting your body, but it was comforting after such a stressful day. You felt better after learning that the red-eyed man was just washing you, but you still weren't comfortable by any means. Being so close and nude to a brutal murderer you didn't even know brought tears to your eyes once again.
You were submerged up to your chin now, the cool water soothing the bite mark on your neck. You couldn't reach the bottom but your barbarian could, so there was no getting him to let go of you. He used the depth of the water as an excuse of course, he wouldn't let go of you even if you could reach. Your legs weren't around him any longer, nor were your arms in an attempt to distance yourself from him as much as you could. He still held you tightly though, his left hand gripping your thigh and the other trailing over various parts of your body.
His hands were so much bigger than yours. You knew this before, but it was a lot more obvious when he lifted his hand to your face, wiping the dirt and soot away. It would've been calming if you were with someone you knew and loved.
"What's your name?" You asked him, coming back up from under water so you could rinse yourself.
"You call me Katsuki." His hands moved from your shoulder to your throat, not squeezing but still threatening, "Nothing else, got it?"
You nodded, gulping down your fear of how easily he could drown you if he wanted to.
"Good." He pressed a forceful kiss to your lips then another to the bite mark he gave you.
You whimpered, pulling sharply away from him a bit, which he oddly didn't seem to mind too much. In fact, he didn't mind at all; he wasn't moving a muscle. Looking back at his face after too long without action, you noticed his gaze trained on the wooded area behind you. Hearing a twig snap from the same direction, you jerked your head over to see what was there, only to spot nothing. You would've looked longer if it wasn't for Katsuki tucking you into his chest and sinking a few inches further into the water as if to cover more of you.
"What is it?" You whispered, face now level with his shoulder.
"Some fucking extra I'm about to obliterate." He hissed out, "C'mon, we're getting you dressed."
He picked you up, carrying you out of the river to place you gently on the grass, making sure your back was facing the way of the men were set up. Not wanting Katsuki to see any more you then was necessary, you pressed your legs together with your arms over your breasts. He left you to put your own undergarments on, busying himself with getting redressed, but kicked your dirty dress away before you could grab it.
"Try a-fucking-gain." He spoke smugly, handing you the satchel he brought along. He watches you carefully as you crouched in the grass, opening the leather bag to see what was inside.
The dress wasn't what you expected to come from barbarians. Even females wore fur and leather. But this article of clothing was nothing of the sort; it was made of beautiful, sheer, pale blue fabric. It was made to fall off your shoulders, with a few brightly colored flowered adorned at the the top. The sleeves were elbow length and were thin enough you could see your arms through them. The length wasn't very long, only reaching just above your knees, something your mother told you was unladylike. It looked like something a princess or fairy would own.
"My mother made that for you so ya better fuckin' love or she'll beat both of us." Katsuki muttered, eyes gauging your reaction for any signs of anger or disgust.
"It's very beautiful, sir. But-"
"Katsuki."
"Right, I'm sorry. It's- um- lovely, Katsuki. But isn't it a bit short?" You tried to translate your feelings as delicately as you could, not wanting to risk angering the man before you. Especially now that you knew his own mother made it.
"Who fuckin' cares? What's it matter anyway? You're for my eyes only and I'll fuckin' end anyone who looks at you too long. If you like it, then wear it." He was starting to get angry, you could hear it. Dismissing his unsettling words, you decided to wear it. Not only did you feel forced, but you also didn't want to waste such a pretty artie of clothing.
Katsuki watched you the whole time as you slipped into the delicate fabric. Unfortunately for you, it tied in the back like a corset and you needed help, but you didn't need even need to ask before he was tying it for you. You were surprised at how gentle he was doing it, having been nothing but rough with you so far. Maybe it was that he respected his mother's craftsmanship. He was just as gentle leading you back to the group; settling for holding your hand rather than grabbing at your body.
When you returned to the rest of the warriors, not one of them looked your way. You guessed Katsuki meant it when he said no one was to look at you unless they want to be killed. The blonde lead you back to his horse, giving you strict instructions to stay, then left you alone for the first time since he saw you.
"Kaminari, you fuckin' dunce!" He shouted, walking further into the crowd of men.
He wasn't in your line of vision anymore, and that scared you. Not only were you without any form of protection with killers all around you, but you think you can see the one that was harassing you before you met Katsuki. The big, dirty one who cornered you in your house. Yeah, it was definitely him and he was looking right at you too, a look on his face you couldn't describe
You whimpered, backing up to stand on the other side of the horse to block his view of you, looking over its back to try to spot Katsuki. He wouldn't let anything happen to you, you're sure. Not after all that big talk about you belonging to him and such. Failing to find the large blonde, you glanced back over to see the man closer than he was before. You think a few others noticed what he was doing because he backed off after someone tossed a rock at his shoe. And although he was ignoring you once more, you still felt terrified of him.
"'Fuck happened to my little mate?" Katsuki asked when he returned after another minute, noticing the tears on your face and bad effort at hiding yourself behind his horse.
As protective as he seemed to be, you didn't think you should tell him what happened so you just shrugged in response, allowing him to hug you close. After a few minutes longer of everyone shuffling around, it finally seemed time to start moving again. Katsuki pulled you up with him on his horse, tucking you against him as he did last time before leading his people off.
×
It was likely around midnight by the time Katsuki helped you off the horse again. It would've been pitch black if it wasn't for the sheer amount of torches coming from what appeared to be Katsuki's camp ground. You were tired by then, worn out mostly from the crying, fear, and stress rather than any physical exertion. Katsuki didn't appear tired at all; his chest was puffed out with perfect posture. He looked like a strong leader. You don't know what he left you to talk to Kaminari about earlier, but you learned that Kaminari was the yellow-haired guy with the funny bolt running through it.
Katsuki didn't want to let you walk, refusing to put you down in favor of carrying you wherever he wanted. There were maybe a hundred tents throughout the area, but no one in sight besides the others who returned with the two of you.
"Are there not more of you?" You asked as he carried you towards the largest tent in sight.
"They're in their tents." He mumbled, "'Not allowed to see you yet."
You wanted to ask more, but you were so tired and the big bed you were just introduced to looked so inviting. The tent you were in was decently dark, the only light coming from outside, but you could tell it quite large, easily the size of the main room in your house. Katsuki placed you down on the bed, tucking you into the red sheets and fur blankets as gently as he was capable of.
"I'll be back, little mate." He kissed the side of your head, teeth nipping your earlobe lightly before he released you and left the tent altogether.
You were asleep as soon as he let go, but less than an hour later you were awoken once more by a large figure joining you in bed. He tucked himself behind you, leaning his face into your neck, the scent of caramel and smoke thick on him. You were fading in and out of consciousness, but felt the distinct sensation of a tongue grazing the bite mark on your neck. Your whimper was shut down by a deep growl.
"Sleep, you damn brat."
_____
A few things to know lol:
Barbarian Katsuki is quite a bit larger than regular katsuki: abt 6'5"-6'6"
I write the reader to be pretty petite but nothing like height or weight will ever be outright clarified
This was pretty tame for barbarian bakugou, but his more violent behavior will be brought out in future parts where our polite little reader is not so polite
You can give ideas and request certain things for future parts any time cuz I'm pretty into this lmao
Kirishima is in the next part '-'
but so is shady dirty man
pls excuse any typos or grammar mistakes, I swear I'm not illiterate
- Admin Duckie
Mental Health Collab
A/N: Nekoma College Au, everything is the same but they’re a university team in the American Midwest, Severe Social Anxiety/Panic Attack!Reader, Kenma is a sweet babie in this.
TW: Large Groups, Panic Attack, Loud Sounds, Tornado Siren
Kenma barely remembers to lift his head when Coach Nekomata leads another unfamiliar student into the gym at the end of practice. There’s something familiar to him about your stance, your body language, the way you orient yourself just slightly less than perpendicular to the group, so that you can avoid any direct gaze.
“This is y/n.” He says, eyes sweeping across the boys, a warning.
“Are we finally getting a girl manager!” Lev blurts out, “Because it’s about time!” There’s a smattering of chuckles and Yaku kicks the giant boy in the ankles, hard.
“No.” Nekomata clarifies. “She’s at the head of the pre-med program and she’s going to be our on-call sports medic for the rest of the season. Do not,” He eyes Lev and then Yamamoto, “Overwhelm her. She’s a professional, here to do a job, a job we’re paying her for.” He nods at you to introduce yourself. You shove your shaking hands in your pockets, you need this money, you need this money, for textbooks.
“H-hi.” You choke out, giving them a quick nod. Kenma is staring at you, while everyone goes around and says their name, there’s something about the shape of your profile, the air in your voice sounds like a gentle breeze, maybe it’s your eyes, wide and nervous, but he wants to reach out touch you, to see if you’re as soft as you look, as you sound. He rarely feels the desire to enter another person’s space, it’s strange. But it’s like, he can see where your soul concaves. He can feel your hands shaking in their pockets, can estimate the angle of your slumped shoulders, he can see how perfectly you’d fit nestled against his chest. He must be visibly zoned out because Kuroo reaches over and touches his shoulder.
“You’re staring, Kenma.” Kuroo says, in an uncharacteristically low voice, reserved for sincerity. “She hasn’t noticed yet, look away.”
Keep reading
This is so adorable omg
𐑺 ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ RAMEN, BAKUGOU KATSUKI
it’s hard to fight off your cravings for instant ramen, even when it’s so bad it gets you out of bed.. but you did always prefer when your boyfriend made it
summary. fem reader. pro hero bakugou. you share an apartment. fluff ﾉ sfw. he calls you a dumbass, sorry. petnames; babe. wc, 900.
note. dropping this out of the blue because it’s been in my drafts for a few weeks and i want rid of it :,) but my first post for bnha & bakugou so hopefully it’s not horrible hehe!
you can recall faintly that it’s somewhere between two and three in the morning as you struggle with the packet of ramen in your hands, and the rustling sounds seem so much louder when it’s just you alone in the kitchen of your apartment. your eyes are still heavy with sleep and the faint lights of the city outside just barely peek through the blinds when you offer them a slow blink.
you exhale when you finally hear the flimsy packaging between your fingers pop before the silence settles for a few moments, and you swear you can almost taste the noodles already as you work to remove the ingredients from their packet carefully.
you sort of enjoy the sounds from the city as you try to work quietly, setting the flavour sachets out in their place infront of you as you sigh softly. you let yourself bask in it, in your dimly lit kitchen as you stand in only your pyjamas, exhaling contently until it’s cut off by a deep mumble that sparks a warmth in your chest— although it still manages to startle you when it cuts through the solitude.
“what’re you doing, dumbass?” bakugou grumbles and you jolt gently, whipping your head to the doorway to follow the sound of the intrusion. but you soften before you smile when your eyes meet the drowsier vermillion gaze narrowing back at you.
his cheeks are puffing, his face still flushed from sleep and his lips are pulled into a pout as he looks at you through the messy blonde hairs framing his face. the cheesy pyjama pants you got him for his birthday hang low on his hips and it makes your heart squeeze when you offer them a lingering look that makes him burn.
“i.. got hungry?” you blink, mirroring your boyfriend bakugou’s pout and you watch his eyebrows pull into a frown before he snorts, taking a few steps to close the distance between you both so he can peer over your shoulder to look down at the ramen in your hands. the close proximity allows you to feel the natural heat of his palm rest on your hips and the way he breathes out a laugh at the sight.
“you’re not eating that shit, babe.” the blonde sighs, following his words with a kiss on your cheek before his hand on your hips turns you to face him, allowing you to admire the way the moonlight kisses his features through the open window of your kitchen. you think it’s charming the way he still blushes when he notices you staring, a stark comparison to the pro-hero dynamight that most other people knew him as— the kid down the street’s idol and the face on the billboard. but this is just who he is when it comes to you, he loves you despite everything else.
you assume bakugou’s about to throw you over his shoulder and drag you back to bed though, tuck you under the heavy, inescapable weight of his biceps and muscles and keep you pinned against his chest, especially with how seriously he took his sleep schedule. you’d always joke that your boyfriend was like a heated blanket— one you’d like to tuck yourself under for eternity, but if anything that only proves how urgent your cravings really are.
but he seems to pick up on your train of thought when he notices your shoulders slump, your fingers still holding the packet of noodles tightly as you suddenly avoid his gaze. you don’t pick up on the way his features soften before he lets out a long, drawn out sigh,
like he didn’t have this idea in mind since he found you.
“tsk—just wait, alright.” bakugou huffs and you perk up at the gruff tone of his voice when he’s tapping at your hip and helping you jump onto the kitchen counter. so you offer him a giggle in response when you watch his lips smooth into a softer kind of smile when you kick your feet happily, he’s trying and failing to hide the lovesick look in his eyes with a scoff after.
he moves naturally around the kitchen, grabbing a few ingredients from the cupboards before he rests the pot on the stove, reaching his hand out to take the ramen that’s still resting in your palms with an expectant look.
“you want it, right?” bakugou breathes and you blink, keeping your silence before handing it over and you feel your heart bloom when his fingers linger on yours a little longer.
“you’re coming back to bed after this.. and don’t think i’m letting your ass get away so easily next time.” the blonde grumbles and you smile before kicking your feet once more because letting yourself be loved like this feels nice, you think. it’s just you and him, somewhere between two and three in the morning in the quiet kitchen of your apartment. there’s no five course meal or fancy setting but you still feel so loved when you look up at your boyfriend and realise his eyes are already on you.
and you soften when you realise that the love you found in bakugou katsuki was best felt like this—with the moonlight pooling around you both as he cooks you your favourite packet ramen past midnight because he remembers you said it tastes better when he makes it,
and he suddenly doesn’t care that he’s got an early patrol in a few hours, because these moments, are meant as an “i love you” from him to you.
© gojoath. do not copy, repost, modify or translate my works. please refrain from copying my layouts / themes.
the story you reblogged said weiterlesen so i was like wait a damn minute and did the math, i feel mad stalkerish now 😩
this might be really weird but are you by any chance german ? 🥺im sorry if this is a weird question
Yepp I'm german😋 How did you know?🤔
his redemption | 01 | bakugo x reader
synopsis ⤸
after unknowingly moving in next door to a renown gang-leader, you are thrust into a foreign world tainted by the scars of his past. will you be able to help him redeem his sins before they finally catch up to him?
chapters ⤸
next ᝰ
themes ⤸
fem! reader, 18+, gang au, gang-leader! bakugo, doctor! reader, dark fic, one night stands, friends with benefits, unrequited feelings, mutual pining, smut, graphic depictions of violence, kidnappings, mentions of blood, dubcon
word count ⤸
5.1k
a/n ⤸
this is yet another story that originated for a different fandom, but i love this story so much, n i really want to finish it one day, so i’ve decided to rework it for bakugo. pls note that this’ll be on the darker side, so pls check the tags before you read (i’ll be updating them as i write). pls, pls let me know what you think!
reblogs, are appreciated ~
bakugo katsuki is no stranger to women, much to your dismay.
this is a fact that you learn just a few days after moving into your new apartment block. on the first morning of your arrival, you’d exchanged introductions with the rest of your neighbours, only the angry red eyed man with the blonde ‘fro—as new neighbour denki had described him—hadn’t answered your polite knock, despite the fact that the man’s apartment is situated just a wall away from your own. you’d left with the promise to return the next day.
come the second morning, and you had been so sure that you’d seen a man of denki’s exact description, standing out on the shared balcony, a cigarette in hand. however, by the time you’d made your way down the hall and stepped out onto the concrete, said figure had disappeared from sight, and once again, there was no answer at number 34.
by the end of the third day, you were beginning to wonder if he existed at all.
however, by nightfall, you are made all too aware of his presence.
after yet another tiresome day of unpacking your belongings, you’d been rudely awoken by the sound of loud, chaotic laughter in the early hours of the morning. at first, you had thought that you’d imagined it, considering the apartment next door had been seemingly vacant since the day you’d moved in. but when you hear the noise again, followed by the sound of a low, gruff voice—a man’s voice, you realise—you can only heave a heavy sigh. you try to give them the benefit of the doubt, hoping that they’ll be quick to go to sleep, only for your hopes to diminish into thin air when you then hear a breathy moan.
the man’s voice follows, evidently deeper than his female company, and in turn, you roll over in bed, holding the plush cotton of your pillow over your head. you aren’t sure what time it is, but you suspect that you have just a few hours to get some rest before you have to be up for work.
however, despite your prayers—and much to both your annoyance and horror—the red eyed man with the blonde ‘fro proceeds to keep you awake until six o’clock in the morning. when you are then forced to haul yourself from the comfort of your bed, it is with an exhausted sigh, your eyelids drooping heavily. rubbing a finger under your eyes, you go about your morning routine, readying yourself to start the day with a much needed cup of coffee.
exactly forty-seven minutes later, you are leaving the apartment, pausing to ensure that the door is locked tight behind you. but just as you step out into the hall, the door to number 34 quietly creaks open.
you glance up to see a scarcely dressed woman exiting the apartment, attempting to tip-toe into the hallway as she swings the door shut. light brown hair messily dragged into a bun, she carries her heels in one hand, purse in the other, her clothes haphazard as if she’d rushed to get dressed. she wears a scowl that matches your own, and you conclude that the brunette has indeed become the victim of a rude awakening. you watch her, a brow rising as she then turns and lets out an admirably high-pitched shriek at the sight of you stood before her, arms crossed over your chest.
‘o-oh god,’ she all but exclaims. ‘you sure scared the crap out of me, lady!’
you don’t bother to apologise.
you eye the woman with a look of disapproval, your head tilting to the left at the sound of the door to number 34 swinging open once again.
denki had been right, you think to yourself as you take in the wild mess of blonde hair that hangs across his forehead, tousled and unkempt. and his eyes are a strikingly angry shade of crimson, you’re surprised to see that that fact is also true, your own boring into where there’s a scar that cuts through his left brow. he’s tall. much taller than you’d imagined, clad in what you guess to be a makeshift set of pyjamas—a loose tank-top and a pair of jogging bottoms, the waistband hanging dangerously low on his hips.
you blink up at him, immediately tensing as you realise that he’s caught you staring, those scarlet coloured orbs focused on you. awkwardly clearing your throat, you attempt to save face by taking a small step forward, thrusting your hand in front of his face.
‘h-hi,’ you grimace at how your voice stutters. clearing your throat, you offer your name before forcing a small, but polite, smile, ‘i just moved in next—’
‘i know.’
he completely ignores the brunette as if she’s not stood right before him, and this only causes her scowl to deepen.
your outstretched hand falls to your side, quickly realising that he’s not going to return the handshake. ‘oh... well i tried to—’
‘i know,’ he interrupts again, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. the movement has the lines of his biceps tensing, and you belatedly chide yourself for allowing your eyes to dart to the offending muscle, glaring at his skin. the man looks at you, expression bored, ‘heard you knockin’.’
‘oh,’ involuntarily, your shoulders slump, before your brows pinch together, barely concealing your annoyance. you fail to do so, it seems, as the man before you makes a little noise at the back of his throat before the reds of his eyes languidly drag down the length of your body, before trickling upwards. you grip your handbag a little tighter, teeth clenching together. ‘well, as i said, i’m—’
‘new neighbour,’ he cuts you off once more, voice now lilting upon a tone of amusement when you don’t bother to mask the glare that now mars your features, ‘i know.’ and then, to your surprise, he leans forward, offering his hand. ‘bakugo,’ is all he says as you reluctantly accept his handshake. his hand is warm, his grip burning into your skin, the length of his fingers much longer than your own. you almost relish the touch of his palm until you remember just what he had been doing that had kept you awake all night, and instead, you all but snatch your hand away.
‘and i’m camie,’ the brunette snaps from your right.
bakugo’s eyes flicker to glance at her, somehow appearing to have completely forgotten that she’s been stood beside you. expression bored, he hums, ‘camie? thought your name was—?’
‘wow,’ it is you who interrupts him this time.
camie scoffs loudly. she almost looks as if she wants to cry and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for her, glaring at him on behalf of the other woman, who—without saying another word—rushes down the hallway as best she can without shoes on. you gawk after her, wincing when the main door slams shut, listening as the noise ricochets down the hall, an echo following in its wake.
‘tsk,’ bakugo tuts, as if disapproving of the noise. a frown is pulling at the space between his brows when you look at him, his eyes darting to bore into yours, his expression lacking any form of remorse.
you stare back, incredulous. and because you simply can’t help yourself, you sneer, ‘is that how you treat all women?’
bakugo doesn’t appear to appreciate your curt tone, his spine straightening until he’s standing a little taller, gaze sterner.
‘she got what she came for.’
as if you could forget the way that he'd kept you awake all night. your frown deepens, ‘i’m sure.’
he looks as if he doesn’t know how to reply. or maybe his unnerving silence is purposely aimed your way because you’ve managed to hit a nerve. you’re not sure.
but once you check the time on your watch, you realise that you have just twenty minutes to make your way to work. ‘shit,’ you curse softly, rushing to turn away without another look in his direction. yet when your hand curls around the handle of the entrance door, he calls out to you again.
‘see you ‘round,’ he says lowly. your neck cranes to glance at him from over your shoulder, fighting back the urge to shudder once you catch sight of the scowl he aims at you. within the blink of an eye, he’s smirking, the whites of his teeth gleaming as the corners of his mouth stretch. unnerved, you stumble enough to lose your footing, just managing to catch your balance on the doorframe. bakugo’s eyes squint down at you, ‘you be careful there,’ he mocks, waving a hand, ‘... neighbour.’
you all but run out of the apartment block, exhaling with relief once the door slams shut.
and all the way to work, you dawdle.
the introduction to your new neighbour wasn’t what you’d planned at all. you’d hoped that the two of you would exchange pleasantries, maybe occasionally share cups of sugar, if needed. but after just one meeting, you already regret being so eager to meet him.
and new neighbour denki certainly hadn’t warned you about how annoying the red eyed man is. how rude he is.
how frustratingly hot he is.
as soon as that thought enters your head, you shake it free.
you remain lost in thought until the moment you reach the clinic, almost walking face-first into the glass door. huffing down your embarrassment, you hope that no one notices the way that you stumble your way through the reception and towards your office, barely remembering to breathe a morning greeting to ochaco, who waits for you at the front desk.
the dark-haired woman scuttles after you, closing the office door as you busy yourself with discarding your coat and bag onto the two seater couch before heavily slumping in the chair at your desk. ochaco places a file onto the desk, offering an apologetic look as she watches the way that you warily eye the folder.
‘he’s new,’ she tells you, soft spoken and smiling sweetly when you glance up at her. ‘he signed up last—’
she’s interrupted by the sound of the door flying open so violently that it roughly smacks back onto the wall behind. mina bounds into the room, clapping her hands excitedly, beaming. she wraps a strong arm around ochaco’s shoulder—who squeaks with surprise when she almost topples over—and squeezes. ‘did you tell her? did you, did you?’
ochaco points at the file on the desk, ‘i was just—’
‘oh my god!’ mina exclaims, interrupting. ‘you have got to see this new patient—i begged nemuri to let me have him, but she said some shit about professionalism—that stone-faced bitch. i mean, how the hell am i not professional?’
you stifle a laugh, leaning back in your chair.
mina’s hands are snatching up the file before you can take a peek. ‘god,’ she groans, dropping the file back down so that it smacks against the surface of the desk. ‘it’s so unfair.’
‘i’m sure,’ you hum, ochaco giggling behind her hand.
‘just wait until you see him. i can’t believe nemuri is letting you have him.’
you let the comment slide, reaching for the file and flicking the first page open. but as soon as your eyes fixate onto the photograph that is paper clipped to the information sheet, you bolt upright, slack jawed.
mina calls your name, frowning at your reaction, and when you don’t reply, her grown deepens. ‘okay, i know he’s hot but—’
‘i know him,’ you snap at her, glowering.
‘you do?’ mina asks, dubious.
you drop the file to the desk, head in your hands as you groan loudly, ‘he’s my new neighbour. i met him this morning.’
the curl of mina’s grin is now mischievous, ‘oh?’
you grimace, ‘don’t look at me like that. he’s not hot at all. he’s such a... a... whore.’ ochaco’s eyes widen at the insult, cheeks red. you elaborate, jabbing your index finger at the file, ‘i bumped into his one night stand this morning... he didn’t even remember her name. asshole.’
mina snorts, ‘just your type then,’ she laughs at your annoyed expression, ochaco’s one of concern.
‘i can’t believe this,’ you groan again, head tilted back as you peer up at the ceiling. this is just your luck. of all people, of course it had to be you to be assigned as his doctor.
‘maybe you could ask nemuri if someone else—’ ochaco starts, words dying on the tip of her tongue at the sound of mina clearing her throat. the brunette woman swallows, stuttering as she corrects, ‘o-or maybe you could recommend that mina—?’
‘yes,’ the pinkette cuts her off, hand forming a fist as she grins, eyes gleaming with glee, ‘this is perfect.’
you lift your head to look at her, bewildered, ‘it is?’
‘uh, duh?’ mina looks at you as if you’ve suddenly sprouted a second head. ‘i get him as free eye candy, and you get to fuck him without getting into trouble. you know, conflict of interest and all that crap.’
‘i’m not going to f—’ you clear your throat at the poor choice of wording, ‘i’m not going to sleep with him, mina.’
she almost looks offended, ‘come on. he’s hot. and he lives next door, so you know, no walks of shame.’
you run a hand over your face, ‘sometimes, i honestly... really question why we’re friends.’
ochaco titters at this and mina pretends to have not heard you.
‘i’ll ask nemuri if i can hand him over,’ you relent. ‘if you want to deal with him, then be my guest. rather you than me.’
mina completely ignores the bitter bite to your tone, sighing dreamily as she stares down at the folder, the first page flipped open to show his picture. the three of you peer down at the photograph with mixed expressions of curiosity and distaste.
‘he’s not bad looking,’ ochaco offers.
you huff, ‘don’t encourage her. please.’
her smile is gentle, ‘i just think it wouldn’t be too bad if you... had some fun.’
‘see?’ mina’s arm is wrapped around poor ochaco’s shoulders once more, ‘she gets it.’
‘okay, i’m not listening anymore,’ you stand from your seat, shutting the folder with a flick of your hand and then ushering your friends to the door, ignoring mina’s exaggerated protests. you gently push them out of the office, pausing to grab at the white lab coat from the stand by the door. ‘i’m not sleeping with him and i don’t need to have fun—don’t give me that look, ochaco, you’re just as bad as—’
‘ladies,’ the three of you look to the left to see your senior practitioner standing with a scowl slanting across her forehead, heeled foot tapping against the linoleum flooring. ‘we must not be busy enough if you have time to be chit-chatting in my clinic.’
mina’s lips purse. it is no secret that both she and nemuri have a love-hate relationship, their constant bickering often subject to many jokes shared amongst the staff body. nemuri’s temper, matched with mina’s childish stubbornness is no fight that any of them particularly enjoy witnessing, especially after the time nemuri swung for mina’s head when cleaner-boy-turned-prankster sero had convinced the pinkette to jokingly lace nemuri’s alcohol with laxatives during an after-work party. luckily, she hadn’t consumed the liquid, but she had been angry enough to leave a mark on mina’s cheek for a week afterwards.
you, on the other hand, as well as ochaco, much prefer to remain on nemuri’s good side. the woman does sign off your pay-checks, after all.
‘actually,’ you start, faltering when narrowed sky-blue eyes glide over to you, unimpressed by your attire. heeding the unspoken warning, you quickly swing the lab coat over your shoulders, shoving your arms through the respective holes. the palms of your hands are flattening down the fabric as you dare to ask, ‘could i have a word?’
nemuri eyes you, a dark brow quirking upwards.
‘please?’ you urge.
nemuri glances at the other two women who stand behind you, and whilst you can’t see their expressions, you can already picture the annoyance on mina’s face. ‘do you not have work to do, ashido?’ nemuri barks, and ochaco is already shuffling away before the older woman’s anger can be aimed at her.
smart.
you hear mina click her tongue, but she doesn’t argue back, and you listen to the clacking of her heels until they quieten behind the slam of a door. nemuri’s gaze lingers on you for a second longer, and then she’s turning away, leading the way to her office. once inside, nemuri takes a seat behind her desk, the woodwork cluttered with paperwork. she points a manicured fingertip at the chair opposite, and without question, you follow the instruction. lowered into the comfortable seat, you wait for the older woman’s attention to focus on you, watching as she searches the pockets of her own lab coat. when she can’t find what she’s looking for, she grumbles under her breath, quickly giving up.
settling back in her chair, her stare fixates onto you.
‘now,’ she drawls, teeth bared as she smiles. ‘what can i do for my favourite student?’
๑
it is dark when you arrive home, soaked through from the rain that had poured from the heavens when you were just minutes away from your apartment building.
you’re not sure of the time, but you suspect that it’s well past midnight, kicking your sodden shoes off at the door, barely remembering to shove the key through the lock. dumping your purse on the small dining table, you shrug off your coat, shoving the damp material into the washing machine, along with your stockings. a trail of water follows you to the bathroom, your fingers snatching a clean towel from the radiator. however, you don’t get the chance to dry your hair, as a loud knocking at the front door has your spine stiffening.
exhaustion has you debating on ignoring whoever is at the door, but when they knock again, the loud thumping is now desperate and repetitive.
‘alright, alright!’
you’re unlocking the front door, yanking it open, ready to reprimand the visitor for making such a racket. but as you pull open the door—only for a heavy weight to suddenly slump against you, enticing a winded oof! from your lips—the words die on the tip of your tongue.
‘what the—?’
staggering under the extra weight, you struggle to remain upright. recognising the flash of blonde hair that tickles your cheek, you heave the man up into a standing position.
‘bakugo? what on earth are you—?’
he grasps at your arms, using your shoulder to balance himself as he hauls his body to lean against the doorframe with a strained wheeze. his face is unhealthily pale and you notice the beads of sweat that have collected upon his forehead, threatening to trickle down the curve of his cheek. heavily lidded eyes blink down at you and his voice rasps as he says, ‘need help.’
you see it then; how he’s clutching at his ribs, his body trembling as the length of his spine presses against the doorframe. your eyes widen at the startling amount of blood that soaks a crimson stain through the fabric of his light-coloured t-shirt, the thick liquid smeared along the bumps of his swollen knuckles. your rain-soaked skin is forgotten, the towel closing over the back of his hand, adding pressure.
‘w-what happened?’
‘you. you’re... a doctor... ain’t you?’ his eyes are squeezed shut, his breath wetly rattling from between his lips, the lower one split.
you stare at him, ‘how do you—?’
‘help me,’ bakugo hisses, gaze smouldering as he grunts in pain when you press harder. ‘please,’ he adds reluctantly, the word forced out between gritted teeth.
pausing to kick the door shut, you guide him into your small apartment, carefully supporting his weight as you walk him toward the bedroom, lowering him to the mattress as gently as you can. he strains out a groan of pain, eyes screwing shut, and you easily forget any form of annoyance that you’d harboured towards him, grimacing as you gently nudge his hand out of the way to peel his shirt back.
unsurprisingly, the wound is fresh, deep enough that it’s still weeping, but not so deep that you can see fat. it’s a relief and you allow the emotion to sag your shoulders, a breath escaping you. you slide the towel over his skin once more, pressing hard.
‘keep pressure on it,’ you order. fingers shaking, he does as you say, clamping down onto the towel that has already begun to morph into a brilliant shade of red. the sight is a concern, and you rush to grab the first-aid kit from the bathroom before returning to kneel beside him, pausing to look over his prone form. he appears to have formed a fever, so you decide on opening the window, allowing a trickle of cool air to flow into the room, chilled by the rain outside.
suppressing a shudder, you hope that it’s enough to ease his fever, your hand moving his aside to check the wound once more. it’s a few inches long, the cut clean. you can sew him up—you’re more than skilled enough to do so—but you’d much rather him be checked out at a hospital. you voice this opinion to him, only to be shut down almost immediately.
‘no,’ he manages to gasp around a tense moan. ‘no hospital.’
‘but—’
‘i said,’ he hisses, head raising from the mattress to glare at you, ‘no fuckin’ hospital.’
you bite back a retort. it’s no use arguing with him, especially when he’s bleeding out onto your brand new bedsheets. ‘fine,’ you relent, tone brash and eyes hard. ‘i need your shirt off.’
he eyes you dubiously, warily.
‘it’ll give me more space to work,’ you clarify. ‘plus, it’ll be much cleaner. it’ll decrease the risk of—’
‘yeah, yeah,’ he grunts, making a move to sit upright, his abdominal muscles tensing. only, he collapses straight back down, quickly followed by a pained wheeze. ‘i-i can’t...’ he suddenly forms a fist, slamming it down on the mattress beneath him with a frustrated curse, ‘fuck!’
your hand closes around his, ‘it’s fine,’ you try to calm him, slightly panicked by his small outburst. you don’t think that he’ll hurt you—or at least, that’s what you hope—but the clenching of his fist and the welling of his darkening orbs has your stomach knotting with nerves. lest you allow it show, though, your expression is forcibly neutral, ‘don’t move. i’ll just use scissors.’
he huffs a noise of disapproval but doesn’t move, so you open up the first-aid box, throwing the lid open so harshly that it almost snaps from the hinges. grabbing the scissors, you make quick work of slicing through his t-shirt, his brows pulling together at the sound of the fabric tearing until you tug it from under his back, throwing it to the ground. he grunts as you accidentally jostle him, but you pay no mind, already reaching for the anti-septic wipes.
‘this is going to sting,’ is the only warning you spare him.
‘just hurry the fuck up,’ he snaps, only for the expanse of his chest to vibrate with a pained growl when you smooth the first wipe over the wound. his hips jerk upwards, head falling back against the bed.
‘hold still,’ you snap, elbow roughly digging into the soft tissue of his hip in order to keep him still. he mumbles something under his breath but you aren’t listening, cleaning his wound with a practiced pace. as you work, you are privy to the sight of the family of scars that litter his torso. there’s one, long and jagged, that traces from his right hipbone to his navel, the edges uneven. you dread to imagine what could have caused it. there are a few smaller scars that encircle his left collarbone, splattered down to his nipple, another large one that expands across his ribs, disappearing as it curves around to his back.
you know that you shouldn’t be staring.
he’s a patient.
but that doesn’t stop you from admiring him. because despite the scars that taint the golden kiss of his tanned skin, and despite the fact that the heat of his blood warms your hands as you work, congealing in a way that makes your nose crinkle, you can’t help but agree with mina.
he really is a sight to admire.
the blood-flow ceased, you ensure that the wound is thoroughly cleaned before proceeding to select a sterile needle, ripping open the packaging with your teeth. squinting with one eye closed, you guide the thread through the loop, shuffling closer on your knees.
‘’kay,’ you breathe. ‘gonna close you up now.’
when you receive no reply, you look up, only to see that the pain has rendered him unconscious. it’s probably for the best, you conclude, pushing the needle through his skin and forming the first stitch. with practiced ease, the stitching is neatly formed in short timing, cleaned and bandaged with careful precision.
after, you pack away the first-aid kit, careful to not wake him when you move from the bed to discard the used wipes and the bloodied needle. in the bathroom, you scrub your hands clean, drying them before returning to the bedroom to gently remove the stained towel from his curled fist. you discard the fabric of his ruined t-shirt into the bin, setting the washing machine to cycle after shoving the towel in to join your coat.
closing the bedroom window and switching the light off, you collapse into the chair by the vanity table. tiredly, you eye his sleeping form, his skin illuminated by the dim light emitted from the lamp in the living room. a thin sheet of sweat coats his forehead, blonde hair now appearing a light brown as it is dampened. his lungs expand and deflate at a slow, but even pace, and you know that he’s out of danger, despite the pool of blood that has crusted the bedsheets. you’ll have to replace them.
for now, exhaustion catches up to you now that your adrenaline has settled, and it only takes seconds for your eyes to droop closed.
๑
it feels as if just minutes have passed when your eyes snap open to the sound of someone swearing loudly.
bleary eyed, you jolt upright, double taking when you remember that you’re not alone. bakugo is now sat up, much to your surprise, however, you aren’t able to get a good look at him when he turns his head towards you.
because there’s now another person in the room.
hair as crimson as the blood that his friend had shed, with the red of his eyes to match, eijiro kirishima looms over his friend. he’s also tall, maybe even taller than the blonde haired man hunched over on your bed, his body equally as fit, biceps bulging as he hooks an arm under bakugo’s armpit, yanking him to his feet as if he weighs nothing.
you are on your feet in seconds, hands reaching with the intention to push the man with the blonde ‘fro back to the mattress. but before your fingertips can even touch him, kirishima is unkindly shoving you backwards, glowering as he gives you a once-over, jaw ticking.
‘move it, lady.’
‘he’s in no fit state to move,’ you protest.
kirishima barks out a laugh, easily balancing bakugo on one arm as he rudely jabs his index finger in your face. ‘trust me, he’s had worse.’ he waves his hand, indicating that you move, ‘now be a sweetheart and move over, i need to get him outta here.’
you stare up at him, eyes narrowing as his frame towering over yours as he takes a threatening step closer.
‘listen, lady,’ he seethes. ‘soon, this place’ll be swarmin’ and i need’ta get him outta here before they get here. he can’t fight like this.’ bakugo makes a noise, appearing on the brink of unconsciousness once more, head lolling against kirishima’s shoulder. you aren’t even sure how the redhead managed to break into your apartment in the first place, but you don’t need to question the mild panic that he allows to pass over his features, clearly concerned for his friend. he doesn’t wait for your reply, barging past as he hauls bakugo from the bedroom.
you follow after them, protesting.
‘you could re-open his wound!’
kirishima uses his spare hand to pull the front door open, ‘like i said, he’s had worse.’ he makes to pull his friend out of the apartment, but you halt him with a hand on his clothed shoulder.
‘w-wait!’
much to your relief, he does, watching as you disappear into the kitchen, noisily fumbling around in one of the cupboards. on rushed feet, you return, pressing a bottle of pain-killers into the palm of his hand. ‘at least make sure he takes these. they’ll help him,’ you plead. kirishima eyes you, expressionless eyes critical as he silently regards you. you’re not sure what he’s looking for, but he seems to approve, nodding once as he shoves the pills into the back pocket of his jeans.
just as kirishima is hauling him over the threshold, bakugo manages to lift his head, eyes barely open as he looks at you.
‘i owe you,’ he’s barely able to exhale, features twisting in pain as he clutches at his bandaged side. and then before you reply, they’re gone, disappearing out of your line of sight as the door to the apartment block closes, announcing their departure.
for a long time after, you stand in the doorway, waiting.
waiting for what, you do not know.
eventually, you lock the door before returning to the bedroom. the apartment is now eerily quiet as you listen to the sound of police sirens shrieking in the distance. slumping back into your chair, you rest your elbows on your thighs, pressing your face into the palms of your hands. you inhale, breath shaking as you wait until the sirens have faded into silence.
the entire encounter feels like a damned dream, but the blood-stained bedsheets are the only evidence of bakugo’s lingering presence.
and with a chest-heaving sigh, you suspect that this won’t be the last you’ll see of him.
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
aoba johsai, one darling
.word count. 2.7k
.warnings. yandere, polyamory, swearing, degrading, manipulation, some explicit mentions, threats, dubcon-ish? .author’s note. some headcanons right now since i’m not great writing yanderes yet! i hope you enjoy it though, and hopefully i’ll be able to write full fics for our favorite obsessive boys some time soon. characters are all aged up, they are first-, second and third years in college!
↦ The instigator is most likely Hanamaki. You could be their new manager or a particularly enthusiastic part of the cheer squad, the point is they notice you. The type of overwhelming warmth and energy you bring to the team is refreshing, since you care about encouraging every single one of them just as much as their fan-favorite Captain.
↦ So while Iwa is most likely the one to bring you up in casual locker room conversation, Hanamaki is the one who makes it his mission to return that affection.
↦ Makki is charming and kind, so it’s no wonder you’re glad to spend time talking to the handsome man a class up. He takes time between classes to come see you, chatting about anything and everything.
Keep reading
Teaser: Streams & Sheets 🔞 | JJK
Word Count: 10k+ words (im sry) Pairings: gamer!jungkook x reader Genre: gaming au, slice of life, established relationship
Summary: Nobody expected famous twitch streamer JJK to trend online when his mysterious girlfriend accidentally makes a cameo in one of his livestreams. The chaotic problem in question? You streamed a live sex tape. ( kofisips' masterlist )
Warnings: the holy trinity (smut, angst & fluff), dom!jungkook, long haired jungkook in a man bun and brow piercing, jungkook with his alphabet username (rip), unprotected sex, creampie, degrading, oral (f & m receiving), face fucking, multiple orgasm, slut shaming, dacryphilia, ass play, online humiliation, mentions of unsure breakup that's not clear with the characters, over thinking, slight ddlg
read: reply to this post or send an ask to be included in the taglist :)
As he takes a sip from his coffee, he hears your huffs and struggles to open the strawberry jam you wanted on your toast. He doesn’t intervene just yet, he stays quiet and waits for you to finally give up.
Mentally, he counts from one to three, then you turned your head and faced him with a pout, whispering his name in a soft voice, “Koo?” Your eyes emulated like that of a doe, “Can you help me out?”
“Alright, give it to me,” he chuckles, reaching for the jar and twisting it open with ease. Handing you the strawberry jam, he smiles as he watches you spread it on your toast merrily, “Anything else my baby wants?”
You hum as you thought, “Hmm, a cup of tea would be nice.”
Jungkook will never admit this, but he loves it when you ask for his help.
No matter how big or small it is, he’s willing to do anything you ask of him. Just call him in those three simple letters and he will literally cross an ocean just to help you out. Running errands is also just a breeze for him all because he knows you’d be needing help in reaching the high shelves or simply carrying anything you bought.
As selfish as it sounds, he adores the way he feels needed by you. He’s fine being called pussy whipped, the guy just loved taking good care of you.
During the first half of your relationship, he may or may not have gone overboard in looking after you. It came to a point where you felt somehow too dependent on him even when he says he doesn’t mind at all.
“Koo, I have hands,” you say sternly, pulling your heavy luggage away from his grip. Raising both of your hands in the air, you move it closer to his face, “See? I have two!”
“Baby, can’t you see this is too heavy for you to carry?” He retorts, not letting go of the handle.
For the rest of the ride to Busan, you stayed quiet. Too quiet for Jungkook’s liking. He would spare you a glance from time to time but not once did you ever meet his gaze. He didn’t understand why you had such a sour mood over a mere luggage, especially not when he’s always done things for you even when you don’t ask.
When the silence was too much for him to bear, he finally spoke to you first, “Baby.” You finally looked at him, alright, but with an annoyed glare. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was just trying to help.”
“Not a big deal?” Your tone is slightly raised, making his forehead crease. He knows you’re about to call him by his government name next, “Jungkook, you’re always doing things for me, which I appreciate, but I can’t…I can’t keep feeling like a burden all the time.”
His eyes widened at your sudden outburst, “I– Y/N, I never meant for you to feel that way.” He reached for your hand, but not grabbing it. All he does is graze his finger over your knuckles soothingly, “I’m sorry if me constantly helping you made you feel like a burden, but I swear I just love to do things for you.”
Looking at how apologetic he truly was, there was no way you could stay mad at him. Letting out a sigh, you scoot closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder, “I understand, Koo. Just…just let me do things on my own and step in when I call for you.”
Bringing the back of your hand to his lips, he leaves a soft kiss and smiles against your skin, “Okay, love. Sounds fair.”
His favorite part of the day ever since the both of you had decided to live together was waking up entangled in silk sheets and seeing your face first thing in the morning. If there's any scent he can attribute to you, it would be the smell of coffee and cinnamon.
That's the thing about you. You weren't a shot of espresso; you were a shot of tequila that burned a line to the throat. Aside from that, you were also good at playing video games and could smoke a whole team out if you decided to make gaming a career.
Like a support in the game, you revive him to be the best he can be. The love you give is enough for him to forget all the lower back strain he suffered from sitting on his chair for too long.
put on a show
Hanamaki Takahiro x f!reader (ft. Mattsun, Iwaizumi, Oikawa)
summary : cockwarming Makki during an online gaming session with his best friends, who were very clueless to what your boyfriend was up to. But one little mishap caused by forgetfulness, reveals it all
words: 3.5 k
warnings : smut , nsfw , voyeurism, unprotected sex, cockwarming, masturbation, webcam sex i guess, slight degradation
a/n: was supposed to post this Makki’s birthday but had to re-edit parts. anyways, can you tell I’m obsessed with the Seijoh third year line up. Their just so gosh darn fine. Plys, this idea totally did not come up during a lecture that was boring me to death. Anyways, enjoy and give Makki some lovin.
ღ tip me on ᴋᴏ-ꜰɪ ღ
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