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Fright Night

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It’s weird. Kirishima knows that. Everything about it is weird.

But that doesn't stop him and Bakugou from packing a few weekend bags and going out to the forest for Fright Night.

They pack a few pairs of clothes, jackets, extra socks... chloroform. They have a small tent, big enough for the two of them, but more than likely unnecessary. They won’t be sleeping. Bakugou won’t be at least.

The prep is… painstaking. He has to pull every bit of safety rope they own out from the box under the bed. He places it in their extra bag… their fun bag. Along with some clean rags and bondage tape.

And it’s exactly what it looks like. A chase. A catch. A rabid attempt at non consensual roleplay. Something he suggested a few years back, when they had already been together for over a decade.

Bakugou was open to it. He was more than willing, excited even.

So they dubbed it Fright Night. Tried and tested it every so often, eventually perfecting it. They used the standard traffic light safe words, or three taps to the shoulder if Kirishima’s mouth was otherwise occupied. He’s never used either method, because he knows Bakugou’s got him. Knows Bakugou would never hurt him. Trusts him absolutely.

And trust is so important here. Because sometimes Bakugou goes all out, suspends him from a low hanging tree branch, stuffs his mouth, and tapes his eyes. Those are the good nights. The ones Kirishima hopes for and subconsciously aims for.

“You ready?” Bakugou had already thrown the bags in the trunk and locked their apartment up tightly.

Kirishima smiled, laid a light kiss on Bakugou’s lips, “Absolutely.”

The drive to their favorite spot was calm and quiet. But tension filled the car and it nearly gagged Kirishima. He was keyed up and ready to go.

When they parked, he jumped out, grabbed a couple bags, and slung them over each shoulder. They had to set up camp first. That was Bakugou’s rule, have every safety precaution in place just in case. And it makes sense, because Kirishima didn’t actually want to be hurt. Not too badly, anyways.

“Slow down, we have time,” Bakugou always directed them. He had to, because Kirishima was only focused on the game, not on his safety.

“Right,” Kirishima slowed his steps in response and tried to calm his heart rate. It was always through the roof right before they began.

The tent was easy to put up. Their autopilot automatically engaged having done it so many times. When the beds were rolled out and the wood for the fire set up, Bakugou made himself cozy and motioned for Kirishima to join him.

“Alright. Rules,” he stated.

“We’ve done this a million times…” Kirishima was just eager to get going.

“Rule one,” Bakugou started, expression pointed. “The name of the game is Fright Night. You’ll get a three minute head start and if you make it through the trail and back to camp, you get to have me.” Bakugou gave him a cheeky smile.

Kirishima didn’t want that. If only because of the alternative.

“If I catch you first - ”

“You’ll catch me first,” Kirishima sighed.

“If! I catch you first, I’ll have you right on the spot. However I want,” Bakugou rubbed his nose along Kirishima’s jaw, the soft sensation feeling like a jolt to his spine. “I might knock you out though, so make sure you don’t tense up before you fall. I don’t want you to get a concussion.”

“My god, Baku. I know, please.”

Bakugou gave him a pointed glare.

“Start.” He smirked.

Start… as in… “Oh shit.” Kirishima jumped to his feet and took off running.

The trail was easy to navigate. It had to be because the sun was setting and it would be dark in a few minutes. He had a three minute head start, but that didn’t mean shit if Bakugou cut through and ambushed him.

He had to keep moving. The rustling of forest animals and whatever else spurred him on. Had three minutes gone by? Why did he never remember to bring a watch?

The last of the sunlight had finally been swallowed up by the looming trees, and Kirishima stopped running. He was a sprinter, not an endurance runner. He needed a damn break.

The area he stopped in was one he knew well. Bakugou had caught him here too many times, tying him to a nearby tree and taking him from behind. There was a small clearing, one used mainly by hikers and campers to rest in. Plenty of tree stumps to sit on.

His breath was still heaving and his heart was still racing but he had never felt more alive. The game was to make it back to camp without being caught, and he would try his best, but he also wouldn’t be too terribly broken up about losing.

His head swivelled back and forth, every time he heard a sound, a crunch, a swoosh of leaves. Bakugou was definitely on his way, if he wasn’t already here. And that little thought sent a thrill up Kirishima’s spine.

When his breathing evened out, he stood slowly, trying to keep to the shadows. Exiting the clearing was always difficult, but Bakugou prefered to sneak around and not outright expose himself to Kirishima. It made the game that much more thrilling.

He checked each side of the trailhead and decided it was clear, taking off at a brisk pace to get to the next checkpoint.

About five feet past the clearing, he heard a loud crunch and a rush of leaves. His first instinct was to book it. Bakugou was fast but Kirishima could usually lose him in the woods. But his foot caught on something on the ground, sending him sprawling.

He laid still for a minute, and listened. The forest was silent. No crunching leaves, no snapping twigs, no Bakugou. So he sat up, felt around for the thing he kicked. It was soft and… had handles. The fun bag. Inside was the rope and some extra rags, but he saw that the chloroform bottle was conspicuously absent. The tape was missing as well. He looked around frantically, his eyes nearly useless for seeing more than vague shapes in the darkness.

As he attempted to stand, a ragged hand slid over his mouth.

“Fuck!” Kirishima’s voice came out garbled as the dark forest got darker. The shapes he could barely see before got blurry and there was still not a single sound.

Another arm flew out around him, keeping him locked in place, even as he squirmed and attempted to get away.

The arms were strong… stronger than he remembered Bakugou being. Was he working out a bit extra without Kirishima knowing?

There was still no sound, Bakugou usually grunted at least, making a little bit of noise to let Kirishima know it was him.

Kirishima’s world faded out with one thought occupying his mind… What if this wasn’t Bakugou?


It was still dark. As far as he could tell it was still Fright Night and he had just been caught by Bakugou. Maybe.

But his eyes wouldn’t open, his hands were tied up above him and his legs were tied below him, spread out with a bar… he didn’t see Bakugou pack a spreader bar.

He could feel dirt under his knees and a cool wind over his naked body.

He could feel… and hear. He thought he could hear. There wasn’t anything covering his ears, but then there were no sounds he could register either. No crunch of leaves, no gruff voice of his boyfriend.

He attempted to speak, but the same material covering his eyes was also over his mouth. And inside it felt like cotton was soaking up his saliva.

When he finally fully registered the situation he was in, he began to panic. If this wasn’t Bakugou…

They were too stupid about this. They went to the same place every Fright Night, somebody could have seen, they would’ve known his entire route. They could have planned.

And then he felt it. A soft brush of hand across his stomach. There one minute and gone the next, void of noise, void of heat. The person who took him was next to him this whole time. Silently watching him panic.

Was that Bakugou’s hand? Were his hands soft? Kirishima couldn’t remember, couldn’t stop panicking enough to bring up his memories of Bakugou’s hands.

So he thrashed in his bindings instead, tried to jerk his arms out of the rope. It gave a little, but pulled itself back up, sprinkling something over his body in its wake… leaves.

He was still outside.

The hand that brushed across his stomach came up and rested on his throat. A warning. One that Kirishima didn’t give two fucks about because he kept thrashing. He needed to get out of there and find Bakugou, because god knows what this pervert did with him.

But then it squeezed. And it squeezed. And he should have paid attention to the warning because he couldn’t breath. Another hand came up to his nose and squeezed that as well. He might have lost consciousness. He might have blacked out.

And when he came to, the hands were gone. A dull ache in their place. And there was something attached to his cock, cold and all-encompassing.

“Shhhh,” the person whispered against his ear. The simple noise too quiet to tell if it was his boyfriend or not.

Then a switch flicked. A light click from one side to another, starting what sounded like a generator.

If he could open his eyes, they would have bulged from his head as the thing around his dick started sucking. A vacuum, too cold and too hard to be a mouth. But pressure and suction are still pressure and suction, so he got hard almost instantly.

It was awful and wonderful, all in one. This is what he wanted tonight but he wanted it with Bakugou, wanted Bakugou.

He started thrashing again, trying to pull himself from the machine. But a body pressed against his back and those same hands started roaming around his stomach and thighs. Bakugou… would try and calm him down like that… would try and make him comfortable in an uncomfortable situation.

“Shhh,” they whispered again.

The hands rubbed soft circles on his hips, moved from his chest down, his stomach and landed just under his balls. It felt delicious. Like an easy Sunday morning when he would wake up to find Bakugou rutting into his back. Like every night when he’d rub Kirishima’s feet after a long day of work.

He melted into the body behind him. Relaxing once he felt the familiarity of those movements.

Another switch flicked, and the sucking got stronger, went faster, got… wet? The hands moved from his front to his back and started rubbing circles on his hole. Pressed in delicately, and pulled out roughly. Had Kirishima moaning behind the gag and tape.

And his orgasm hit him harshly. Blindsided him. Exploding behind the tape covering his eyes, slurped up by the machine attached to his dick.

But the machine didn’t stop, didn’t settle down, wasn’t taken off. And the person behind him let out a sinister chuckle in response to his squirming. It kept going. Those soft hands pulled away but the machine was still attached, milking him.

He sat there for what felt like hours. No other sound but his own whimpers and the machine. He came three or four more times. His knees hurt from kneeling and he felt pinpricks in his poorly circulated arms.

The only relief he received was when the person pulled the tape and gag from his mouth. He could breathe freely, could moan and cry.

“Please, Bakugou. Please,” he didn’t even know what he was begging for, still wasn’t even sure if it was Bakugou.

“Shhhh,” came the voice again. And those hands, soft and perfect and beautiful, cupped another rag around his mouth. He breathed it in, knowing it was the chloroform, knowing he would pass out any minute now. Still unsure if the person drugging him was Bakugou.