Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13947693.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      僕のヒーローアカデミア_|_Boku_no_Hero_Academia_|_My_Hero_Academia
  Character:
      Kirishima_Eijirou, Bakugou_Katsuki
  Additional Tags:
      Train_Sex, Anal_Fingering, Asphyxiation, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Graphic
      Description, Crying, Illustrated, Kink_Meme, Forced_Orgasm, Heavy_Angst
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-12 Words: 1876
****** Rails ******
by GlitterAnonymous, SybLaTortue
Summary
     Kink meme fill for the following prompt:
     "Kirishima gets fingered by a stranger on the train on his way home.
     That is all."
Notes
     Wrote this a long-ass time ago for the Kink Meme and I've been
     wanting to post it here ever since it got a surprise art from the
     lovely and talented SybLaTortue(Which_you_can_view_separately_here!)
     but I didn't wanna post it to my regular account so here we are. I
     may post more things to this account, but only the stuff that's
     either so Edgy or outright Sinful that I wouldn't want it on my main
     (which if you want to see, you'll have to dm me on Tumblr).
     You_can_view_the_full_kink_meme_thread_here.
     My_Tumblr.
Kirishima sprinted, panting heavily as he made for the train station. Taking
those few extra minutes to say goodbye to his parents after his weekend visit
had come to an end seemed like a much poorer idea when he was gasping for air,
rushing to make sure he made the last commuter of the night.
The train was pulling into the station just as he came around the last corner,
and he thanked whatever god was listening as he soared over the platform and
stuffed himself in behind the last of the night crowd, sighing with relief as
he went. Another breakfast with his moms was a nice thought, but not quite as
tempting was the internal reminder of how early he’d have to wake up the next
morning to get to school if he missed this train.
“Wait! Hold the door!” cried a voice from behind him, and as if on reflex,
Kirishima turned back around, spotting the harried-looking businessman rushing
down the platform. As the man approached and the doors began to close,
Kirishima forced his hand through, hardening slightly before the doors could
pinch him, and clasped the man’s grasping palm, pulling him through as the
doors bounced off his hardened arm.
“Close one!” he chirped, flashing a grin at the bedraggled man, who said
nothing, just nodded and shuffled out of sight through the throng of people.
Kirishima didn’t mind - he was pretty burnt out, himself, and was eager to get
back to U.A. and to what he’d come to think of as his home bed.
Kirishima gently pushed between a few commuters to find himself a spot near one
of the windows, holding onto a metal bar to keep himself upright amid the crowd
of swaying bodies. He watched the scenery fly by, smiling to himself until he
felt a hand graze the back of his thigh.
A chill lanced down his spine, but the touch seemed innocent enough, not
lingering for too long - probably an accident. He forced his shoulders to relax
- so much had been happening lately, he was starting to get paranoid.
But it happened again, higher this time, glancing over his ass - and when he
went to turn his head, he found he couldn’t.
He couldn’t move his body.
His heart began to pound a staccato rhythm in his chest. If he hadn’t been
frozen - by someone’s quirk? By some kind of drug? - he felt as if he’d be
shaking all over. It was like he was in unbreakable mode, but without the
knowledge that he was almost invulnerable to attack.
Someone’s hand smoothed over the plane of his buttocks, firmer now, more sure.
A voice sounded in his ear.
“Lucky you reached out to me when you did,” the man breathed, and Kirishima
felt dread sink in around him. “I can’t use my quirk if I’m the first one to
initiate contact. But what else could I have expected from the one who named
himself after the Chivalrous Hero?”
Kirishima swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. “What do you want,” he spoke
clearly, at his usual level.
Big mistake.
His throat locked up. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, and he felt tears
prick his eyes as his heart rate picked up, pounding in his ears even as he
kept fighting, fighting to turn and look, to activate his quirk, anything
except just stand there as he heard a low chuckle and felt a hand snake around
his body, lifting his shirt.
“I want you,” rasped the man - the villain - as he fingered the button on
Kirishima’s jeans. “And I want you to be nice and quiet for me until we reach
my stop, or I’ll suffocate you. Can you do that for me?”
The hold on Kirishima’s throat relaxed, and he gasped for air, blinking back
tears. He tried to look - tried to move - but the rest of his body was still in
an invisible vice grip, stranding him in his own mind. The villain’s hand undid
his button and his zipper, sneaking down the front of his jeans, and he gasped
once again.
“Nice and quiet,” the villain insisted, squeezing Kirishima’s cock much too
tightly to be pleasurable, and Kirishima fought the urge to cry out, instead
drawing in a sharp breath. “Your school’s been getting some pretty bad press
lately… wouldn’t want to sully U.A.’s good name even more by letting this kind
of scandal out.
“And it would be a shame for Red Riot to become a victim so soon after his
spectacular debut,” he continued, sliding a second hand down the back of
Kirishima’s pants and cupping his ass possessively. “Who would’ve thought the
Sturdy Hero would be so easily forced into submission?”
He slid a finger around Kirishima’s entrance, and he choked on another breath.
“Don’t,” he whispered, tears falling now because he was right. He was right,
Kirishima had fought hard enough to make himself seem strong despite his
lackluster quirk, he couldn’t let Red Riot become the name of a martyr when
he’d only just started out -
A fingertip breached his hole, dry, much too dry, and Kirishima hissed.
- but he was being manipulated, he was obviously being manipulated, if he cried
out now then -
The villain buried that finger to the knuckle, sliding in much too fast, much
too dry, and it hurt. Oh, it hurt.
- then maybe he’d be suffocated, maybe he’d even die, he didn’t know how this
guy’s quirk worked or for how long, but if it meant that he was off the streets
-
All too quickly, a second finger joined the first, stretching him, stinging at
the rim and dragging at him deeper inside.
- if it meant he was off the streets -
The villain thrusted his fingers upward, inward, much too fast and much too
hard, and before Kirishima could scream his throat was clamping shut again, his
heart pounding harder and harder and faster and faster, fighting for oxygen,
and Kirishima’s head was hurting and his vision was tunneling and the villain
was thrusting again, and again, and harder -
- and Kirishima was an idiot, he was an idiot for trusting and being willing to
offer a hand to anyone and everyone, literally and figuratively. How many times
did his compassion have to get used against him before he fucking learned -
“Promise you’ll be good?” whispered the villain, relinquishing his quirk’s hold
on Kirishima’s throat, “Promise you’ll be nice and quiet, Riot?”
“I promise,” Kirishima wheezed, forcing the syllables out among gasps, as
quietly as he could manage. “I promise,” he sobbed, tasting his own tears on
his tongue.
And the villain thrust his fingers again and Kirishima bit his own tongue to
keep from crying - or moaning - as he hit something in him that made his entire
body thrum. He hit it again and Kirishima couldn’t fight back a whimper.
“You like that, little hero?” hissed the villain, his second hand braced on the
front of Kirishima’s thigh. He thrust his fingers again and Kirishima almost
mewled - maybe he really did - and he saw stars.
The villain withdrew his fingers, then, and Kirishima almost let himself feel
relief before they came back - not just two anymore, not even three, but four
of them, dragging at his hole, making him cry out despite himself and feel the
force of the villain’s quirk clamp down around his throat once again.
His head hurt. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. He wondered if he
was going to die like this. He wondered if he would pass out before the villain
could finish the job, if maybe he’d wake up back at U.A. with no memory of this
ever having happened.
But the villain knew what he was doing, and just as Kirishima’s vision
shuttered with black he released him, letting him desperately inhale and
exhale, unable to keep his miserable whimpers from escaping as the man abused
his prostate, thrusting harder and faster as tears gushed down Kirishima’s
cheeks. He glanced around using just his eyes, seeing nothing but turned backs
and his own ruined reflection in the window.
With one final thrust, Kirishima’s vision went white as he felt sticky warmth
burst from his groin. He sobbed one final time as the man withdrew his fingers,
hearing the intercom announce that they were approaching their next stop.
“I’ll be getting off here,” whispered the villain in Kirishima’s ear, his vice
on him still holding fast. “My quirk only lasts for fifteen minutes after first
contact. When you are back in control of your body, you will get off at your
stop and go home just as if nothing happened. You will not tell anyone.” He
gripped Kirishima’s hair in one hand, driving home his final point. “We will
know if you tell. And trust me, the other guys will do much, much worse things
to you if they have a reason. Don’t give them a reason.”
And with that, the hand disappeared from his hair, the presence gone from
behind him but the man’s quirk still in effect on Kirishima’s body as more
people pushed to fill the space the man had left. Kirishima breathed as the
doors closed and the train started up again, rocketing past dark scenery,
windows reflecting the drab, fluorescent interior. Kirishima gazed upon his own
unnaturally pale face under the overexposed lighting until he felt the
invisible hold on him release.
As subtly as he could, he zipped and buttoned his jeans and wiped at his eyes.
He kept looking out the window, curiously numb, praying the common room would
be empty when he got home.
It was only when he’d already gotten off the train at the U.A. stop, when he
was away from the crowd, that he collapsed on the ground and began to breathe
in and out rapidly, much too rapidly, sobs wracking his body as he gripped at
his gelled-up, spiky hair. All of that, he’d endured all of that, not saying a
single thing when he’d had the chance.
It shouldn’t have mattered whether he survived the encounter. They could’ve
caught him. They could’ve brought him in and prevented this from happening to
any other poor soul.
“Kirishima?”
Kirishima stiffened. He turned his head.
Bakugou was standing down the train platform, staring at him with a flat
expression.
Of course.
He’d completely forgotten that they were supposed to travel in groups at night
now. He’d asked Bakugou to pick him up from the train station.
And Bakugou was close, suddenly, too close, his expression contorted in rage as
he took Kirishima in, the tear tracks on his face, the red eyes, the disheveled
clothes. “Who did this to you,” he growled.
Kirishima opened his mouth, wanting to say nobody. Wanting to say that nothing
happened, that he was fine.
Instead, he broke down sobbing.
Bakugou’s hands were shaking. He curled them into fists, like he was going to
punch something, but then they relaxed. He reached out to Kirishima.
“Come on,” he said measuredly, gently putting his hands on his friend. “Come
on,” he said, putting his arm around Kirishima and pulling them both up. “Come
on,” he said, supporting Kirishima’s weight all the way home.
Kirishima just cried.
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