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24 April 2018 @ 08:29 pm
fic: Good intentions  
Fandom: Hey! Say! JUMP
Pairing: Yabu Kota/Yaotome Hikaru
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 3,422
Summary: Yabu knew he fucked up, fucked up bad.
Notes: So this was inspired by the photos from Hikaru's 2014 stage play. I talked to a friend about them and we both came to the conclusion that he looked like a yakuza boss, and the fic was born from there. And after a long four or so months of writing, I've finally finished it. I'm prepared for any hate and criticism that might come from this but...it was something I wanted to attempt. Here's to anyone that attempts and reads this thing. Warning for dubcon.

Yabu knew he fucked up, fucked up bad.

He should have known the dry cleaners down the street had been a façade. After all, how many times had he been told to be careful when he left the house, watch his back when he turned the corner? Dangerous powers were at play, making their moves behind closed doors, their decisions exploding into the streets.

Desperation had fueled him, not enough on his paycheck to make ends meet. Crime shows had taught him what he knew about breaking and entering, and it looked easy enough. Had been easy enough. No security system in place had made it easy to take what he needed to make it by.

One day he decided he would payback the little business tenfold for the money he had taken. He had been so sure it would be hurting, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He promised it to himself he would do the right thing, and Yabu knew he would keep it.

Until he was taken.

Groceries were needed, simple things like rice and vegetables to throw together for a simple meal. He wasn't the best cook, barely able to boil water, but cooking was cheaper than eating out every night.

He had walked the same path a thousand times before, his feet having memorized the way, cutting into dark alleyways he knew to walk swiftly through. He never thought twice of footsteps following behind him, their owners usually trying to get home, until a blunt object connected with the back of his head.

The ground welcomed him, hard, and the gravel dug into his palm, cutting jagged lines into his flesh. The only thing he could focus on was the pounding, erupting feeling from the back of his head, as thought his skull had been cracked open.

A rough hand dug into his hair, ripping him upwards from his place on the ground to stare into a beautiful face marred by furrowed, angry brows.

“This him?” the man asked, motioning to his partner to come close and examine Yabu’s face.

“Yeah, that’s him,” the other man said. He had a kinder face, one that couldn’t hurt a fly, but Yabu knew to be wary of men he didn’t know. “Let’s take him back.”

The first man pushed Yabu’s head back to the ground, and he barely caught himself before it collided. “Good idea,” he said, standing to full height. “But I don’t think Hikaru will mind if we rough him up a little first.”

A swift kick to his stomach was the last thing Yabu felt before the world went dark around him.

He didn’t know how long he was out. Minutes? Hours? Days? But when he woke, the cold ground met him once more, as did aching bones and parts of his body he wasn’t aware existed. Something wet slid across his face, and Yabu wiped a careful finger across his temple, wincing at the contact.

Blood. He was bleeding. He couldn't tell from where, everything aching, and the feeling of wanting to flee started to consume him.

A careful look around the room told him what he needed to know. They were in some sort of warehouse, the walls well worn from use, metal stuck into the ground leading skyward to overhead walkways. Clusters of desks occupied one portion of the room, and another had been sectioned off into a little kitchenette. A loud laugh drew his focus to the arrangement of couches he was before, a few men sitting and talking with one another.

“Looks like sleeping beauty is awake,” one of the occupants of the room said, his voice familiar to Yabu, beautiful features tugging at his memory. He hopped up from the armchair he was lounging on and took long strides to where Yabu laid. He nudged Yabu’s stomach with his foot. “I missed your screams. Won’t you let me hear them now?”

“Yuto, you know that’s not allowed,” another man said, kind face scrunching into a frown. “Besides, you already had your fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, Keito,” Yuto said, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “Still want to hear him scream.”

At once Yabu’s mind snapped into place, remembering why these two men seemed so familiar. How they had been the ones to attack him in the alleyway.

There was another man he didn’t recognize with them lounging on a couch. He wore a baggy black sweatshirt with gold details that clung to his frame. Long fingers held a cigarette to his lips as he lit it, taking a long drag before dark eyes settled on Yabu across the room.

“Hikaru,” Yuto shouted, and the man on the couch looked at the tall man standing before Yabu. His head never moved, only his eyes changing focus. “Won’t you let me have some fun with him? I promise I’ll put on a good show for you.”

Yabu didn’t like how that sounded. If he had already been beaten, what else could they do to him?

“We’ve got to punish him some how,” Yuto continued. He dug his shoe further into Yabu’s stomach, making Yabu gasp. “The guy stole from us. We can’t just let him walk away.”

“He didn’t take that much money,” Keito muttered.

“Not that much?” Yuto snapped. “He purposely broke into our business and took from us. I don’t care how much he took. He needs to learn his place.”

Run, he had to run. The more the two men squabbled the more Yabu knew he had to get away. The words they were throwing around, the methods of torture Yuto wanted to inflict upon Yabu terrified him.

A low voice cut through the argument, silencing their words where they stood. It was commanding, forcing them to listen to the single word it said. Each and every syllable audible no matter the angle you heard it.


Yabu’s heart soared. This was it. It was all over. He was free to go, and he would run home as quickly as he could, put this cursed evening behind him.

Yuto’s words ripped the joy from his heart.

“But what if he attacks you, Hikaru?” His fingers trembled. “I want to be close just incase-”

Those long fingers brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking a long drag. The smoke flowed from his lips as he spoke. “Are you disobeying my orders?”

Yuto seemed to freeze under that gaze, so dark and haunting. It dared Yuto to say something different, to speak out in opposition. What it promised for such insubordination was something Yabu couldn’t comprehend nor wanted to think about.

His backbone straightened, the tremble taken from his fingers. The stone cold personality returned to his form. “No, sir,” Yuto said. “We’ll leave. Come on, Keito.”

The room was silent except for the sounds of stepping feet heading towards the exit.

Keito gave his boss a look from his place on his loveseat before standing with a sigh. “Don’t hurt him too much,” Keito said before following Yuto.

Nothing moved. Yabu was too scared to breathe with the way that Hikaru was looking at him, as if he was something that he could easily squash, like an annoying bug that fluttered around his face. A single snap of Hikaru’s wrist would be enough to take down anyone that crossed his path.

“Come here.”

He couldn’t refuse those words, how strongly they had been formed. He rose from the cool pavement, wincing from how his body refused to move how he wanted it. He hobbled his way closer, taking his time, always feeling those eyes watch him.

Nothing about what Hikaru wanted was obvious, his face a blank canvas for a painter to paint their desired expression across it. Soft but hard, as if he was considering his next move, his next choice of words. Freedom? Punishment? What would he choose? The anticipation ate away at him until the words were finally uttered.

Another drag of his cigarette, fingers tapping away the ash to the ground below, Hikaru said, “Take off your pants. Underwear too.”

Yabu couldn’t move, his body and mind unable to process the words that flowed through his ears until he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Are you disobeying me?” those eyes staring him down, the black surface of the handgun gleamed in the low light.

He threw his hands up, as if he could block a bullet shot in his direction with them. “Stop, stop, stop,” Yabu shouted. His heart racing, he needed words. Something, anything, they needed to be convincing. “Don’t kill me.”

Hikaru cocked the gun.

“You can’t kill me!” Yabu said, mind going too quickly for his mouth to comprehend. “If you kill me. you’ll never get your money back.”

“I don’t particularly care about the money,” Hikaru said, no emotion being reflected in his eyes. “I care about someone coming into my business, taking something from me, and being allowed to walk around with no retribution. But, I hate people disobeying me even more.” Yabu hyper focused on those fingers curling around the trigger. “And I don’t like to repeat myself.”

Yabu never stripped so quickly, fingers fumbling at the button. He could feel the heat of those eyes watching, waiting, and he stumbled over the zipper, jeans getting caught on his ankles and shoes. He kicked them off to get out of everything before a second thought, a second glance, changed Hikaru’s mind.

“Good,” Hikaru said, the soft click to the safety returning to its place filling the room. “You know how to follow orders.”

Long fingers reached deep into denim pockets, procuring a small plastic bottle that was tossed to Yabu. He nearly dropped it, making it fall to the floor, but he managed at the last second.

“Touch yourself,” Hikaru said. His cigarette was slowly burning away between his fingers, and he tapped the ash away once more, never bringing it to his lips.

Questions filled Yabu’s mind. Why? What? Had he even heard Hikaru correctly, those words passing through his lips incorrectly. But he remember his warning, remembered everything that had passed through those lips, and Yabu didn’t want to risk having Hikaru snap.

He settled on a simple question, hoping not to draw out his fury. “How?”

“Like how you would when you think about a dick fucking you raw.” Those dark eyes never moved from Yabu’s form. “Don’t tell me I have to walk you through the steps.”

“N-no,” Yabu said, words forming before his mind could think them through. For good measure, he threw in a, “sir.”

“Good,” Hikaru said, placing the gun beside him on the couch. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

He kept watch of Hikaru as Yabu inched backwards, trying to gauge if it was all right if he used on of the empty couches. Hikaru never reached for the gun, one hand settled on his lap while the other was preoccupied with his waning cigarette. He still moved slowly, wanting to make sure he didn’t do anything to accidentally anger the man.

The couch was soft, far softer than Yabu had imagined, his body sinking into the cushions as he pressed his full weight onto it. He bent one of his knees, digging his heel into the couch. Yabu popped open the bottle cap, squirting a fair amount of whatever substance Hikaru had put in it, onto his fingers, hoping and trusting it would be something slick.

“Like this?” he muttered, cheeks flaring as his fingers circled his rim.

“Exactly.” A puff of smoke followed Hikaru’s words.

The first finger was met with resistance, not wanting to slide into Yabu’s ass no matter how much he lubed it. Nervous energy shot through his bloodstream with every passing moment as he tried to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t control the shakes, his hands not obeying him like he wanted.

Scared. He was terrified. That the show he was putting on, the meager one where he crammed his fingers up his hole for the other man’s enjoyment, wouldn’t be enough to spare his life. That Hikaru would grow bored of him, preferring to see Yabu’s blood spill onto the floor than whatever this…this thing was. And Yuto and Keito would return quickly enough to order one of their goons to dispose of his body.

No matter where he looked, no matter what his eyes focused on, Yabu could always feel those eyes watching him, never straying once from his body as his ass slowly opened up, allowing him to work another finger inside. Two fingers stretched him wide, spreading the tense muscle. Slowly sliding in and out as he fucked himself.

Yabu went a little too deep, fingers brushing his prostate, and a low, deep moan fell from his lips.

He covered his mouth with his free hand, eyes going wide. He hadn’t meant to, what was that? Was he really getting turned on by all of this? That wasn’t possible, couldn’t be possible, but a gentle touch to his cock confirmed it all, the length slowly growing hard to the touch.

“Quite the whore aren’t you?” a low voice asked, and Yabu’s eyes were met with cold eyes, a glint of something he couldn’t quite understand in them. “The lot of you disgusts me.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground, embers dying a slow death. “So desperate for sex, you’d fuck the first person that walked through the door to get off.”

He didn’t like the words coming out of Hikaru’s mouth, but Yabu knew he couldn’t stand up to them. Merely bit back his words, working a third finger into his body and stretching himself further. Everything he was doing was in the name of keeping himself alive. He only needed to be ordered out, back into the streets and away from this retched place, and Yabu could forget everything that happened.

“And look at you now,” Hikaru said, the words passing through Yabu’s ears no matter how focused he was on the sensations he was building in his body. “Not making enough on your street corner, so you stole. So used and abused no one wants to fuck your gaping ass.”

With every word flying around, hitting every wall of the warehouse, Yabu wanted to crawl into his own skin, give him some place to hide. He felt like a whore, paid for the show he was putting on yet he wanted it all to end, particularly the words Hikaru was throwing around. He felt like nothing, no one important, and yet the need to come was so thoroughly engraved in his body he needed to.

The order was clear, cutting through the warehouse with such certainly every syllable was articulate. No misunderstanding, nothing with another meaning. Three words. Three short words. Two commands.

“Stop. Come here.”

Yabu slid his fingers from his ass, heart beating against his rib cage as he returned to Hikaru. All the while those eyes watched him. Dark, something hidden behind them that Yabu still couldn’t understand, as if they were still calculating out a master plan yet showed nothing at all.


Their knees were almost touching, so very close. At any moment Hikaru could strike, arm extending and curling around Yabu’s neck, pulling the breath from his lungs until he slowly starved for it. He would probably watch, a little smirk on his face as one more piece of trash was wiped from the world.

But a hand curled around Yabu’s shirt, ripping him off of his feet and throwing him onto the couch. Disoriented, confused. He tried to get up, push himself off of the couch, but a firm hand pressed his skull into the cushions. Cigarette smoke filled his lungs, and he tried not to gag on the scent.

“What are you doing?” Yabu gasped, trying to thrash about, but the hand holding onto him was strong.

Hikaru’s voice was cold, freezing Yabu’s blood in his veins as he spoke. “Teaching the whore a lesson it’ll never forget.” And the sound of a zipper being tugged down filled the air. “Follow orders or I’ll make this difficult.”

Yabu knew what was coming from a mile away, and he knew Hikaru was going to fuck him. He wanted to fight back, to get away some how, to protect himself, but he held back. Hikaru was a leader, that much he was certain of, and one that favored those that followed direct orders. If Yabu disobeyed…Hikaru’s gun was still close by, and nothing was stopping the other man from putting a bullet in Yabu’s head. No matter how scared Yabu was, of the pain, the humiliation, of everything that would follow, he wanted to live more.

He bit his tongue as a half hard erection pressed into him, far wider than his three fingers could ever be. Yabu clasped his hands together, giving something to focus his energy on instead of trembling muscles and trying not to cry out.

A small groan filled the air, and Yabu forced himself to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Breathe and he would survive. Breathe and it would be over before he knew it. Breathe and he could leave.

The best solution was to let Hikaru do what he wanted, slowly building up a hard, deep rhythm that had Yabu clutching at the sides of the couch. He bit back the yelps when Hikaru was a little too rough, his pants slowly increasing in volume with every thrust he gave.

“Come on, whore.” A firm hand dug into Yabu’s hair, tugging hard. “Moan for me. Moan like the whore you are.”

He dropped his jaw, letting any sound pass through his lips, forcing out moans when he wanted to yelp in pain. Hikaru’s fingers tugged hard on his hair and pulled Yabu’s head back so hard he thought it would snap. It hurt, everything hurt, and he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes with every hard slap of thighs on thighs.

Yabu counted. He counted the lines on his fingers. Counted the creases on the couch. He counted to one hundred. Anything to pass the time as each thrust tore into his body, and he waited for it all to end. Waited for those thrusts to falter, for them to become more and more erratic. Until they slowed, more slick from the come filling his ass as Hikaru worked himself through his orgasm.

A push sent him into the couch, his hands scrambling to grab something to keep him from tumbling off the edge. Yabu froze when he heard a small click, unaware of the origin, eyes clamped tight as he waited for what followed.

A zipper being tugged up, the smell of fresh nicotine flooded the air as Hikaru’s footsteps drew farther and farther away. It was only then that Yabu allowed himself to relax.

Until fresh footsteps marched into the room, a pair of them. Three people Yabu didn’t recognized stormed in, and he scrambled to cover himself. The men didn’t seem to care, two clutching hard to Yabu’s forearms, dragging him as the last picked up his clothing and followed after.

His mind was a whirlwind, never settling on one thing for long. This was where it all ended, where he died. Hikaru had, had his fun, and now he was going to end it all. Have his lackeys finish the job so Yabu could never speak another word.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged, trying to free himself, but their grip was strong. “I’ll do anything just don’t kill me.”

A door was ripped open, and the two men threw Yabu to the asphalt. He felt his leg tear on the rough surface, and he couldn’t contain the cry of pain as his clothing was thrown after him. The door slammed shut behind them, a lock clicking in place. The message had never been more clear:

Leave and never return.

Yabu let his heart return to a normal speed in his chest, no longer racing and banging around in its cage. He let himself cry, to get rid of all of the sorrow and humiliation he felt until he could build a wall around his memories, blocking out the last however many hours from his mind. He created a story, a reason for why he was so disheveled, all of the bruises and scabs that would eventually form.

It was only then he stood, dressed himself, and walked away, never looking back.