vampygirls

Bonten x reader

summary:

A stupid night out. A drink you shouldn’t have taken. A club you never meant to enter. One wrong step puts you directly in the sights of Bonten’s most dangerous men. You don’t remember what happened only that you woke up surrounded, questioned, and already considered guilty. Now trapped in their world, every choice you make could be your last.

TW:Kidnapping / abduction

part2/part4

The elevator doors closed with that familiar, almost mocking softness, trapping you once again between Ran and Rindou. The mirrored interior reflected everything you didn’t want to see: your own wide-eyed reflection multiplied endlessly, cheeks still flushed from the adrenaline of Mikey’s quiet interrogation downstairs, hair slightly mussed from where you’d run nervous fingers through it earlier. You looked small. Fragile. Exactly like the disposable errand girl they kept reminding you that you were.

You fixed your stare on the glowing floor panel instead, numbers climbing slowly, deliberately, like the building itself was savoring your dread. The air inside the elevator smelled faintly of Ran’s cologne, something expensive and woody with a sharp citrus edge, and Rindou’s subtler scent, clean linen mixed with gun oil somehow. It was too intimate. Too close.

Ran shifted his weight, leaning one shoulder against the mirrored wall so he could watch your profile without turning his head. His braid brushed the glass with a faint whisper.

“You’re shaking again,” he observed, voice low and amused, but quieter than his usual teasing drawl, almost thoughtful. “Heart racing so loud I can practically hear it over the hum of the cables.”

You didn’t answer. What was there to say? Yes, I’m terrified because your boss just reminded me that every blind spot is a potential death sentence?

Rindou, standing ramrod straight on your other side, finally glanced up from his ever present tablet. His violet eyes flicked over you, clinical at first, then softening just a fraction. “Breathe,” he said. One word. Flat. But the command wasn’t cruel. It was practical, like he was telling a malfunctioning machine how to reboot.

You tried. In through your nose, out through your mouth. It didn’t help much.

The elevator dinged softly at floor six.

The doors parted to reveal the same buzzing hive of controlled violence, screens flashing encrypted data streams, low voices issuing clipped orders, security personnel moving like shadows with earpieces. Kokonoi stood at the circular table in the center of the room, phone pressed to his ear, free hand tapping an impatient rhythm against a stack of ledgers. He didn’t look up immediately, but the moment the three of you stepped out, his posture changed, shoulders squaring, gaze sharpening even before it landed on you.

Ran and Rindou flanked you automatically, one on each side, close enough that their sleeves brushed your arms with every step. Not quite touching. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off them.

Koko ended his call with a single, icy “Fix it. Now.” Then he turned.

His eyes swept over you in one long, assessing pass, face, hands still trembling faintly around the folders you’d carried earlier, posture. He lingered on the way your jacket hung slightly askew, as if the fabric itself betrayed your nerves.

“You took the stairs,” he stated. Not a question.

Ran opened his mouth, probably to deflect with charm, but Kokonoi raised a single finger. The gesture was small, elegant, lethal in its precision. Ran closed his mouth again. For once, he didn’t smile.

Rindou spoke instead. “My call. Faster route. She followed.”

Koko’s gaze shifted to Rindou, then back to you. “Faster isn’t always safer. Mikey made that point clear.” He let the silence stretch, heavy and deliberate. “Variables get people killed. Or worse, noticed.”

You felt the word worse settle in your stomach like lead.

Koko exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp in the quiet. Then he reached across the table and slid a slim black envelope toward you. The paper was thick, expensive, sealed with a small gold wax stamp shaped like a stylized B.

“Next task,” he said. “Delivery. Twenty third floor. BE’s private back entrance. Hand it to the night manager, woman, mid thirties, short black hair, always wears red lipstick. No conversation beyond the handoff. No detours. Back here within twenty five minutes.”

You reached for the envelope. Your fingers brushed his knuckles as he released it, cool, steady skin against your clammy ones. He didn’t pull away immediately. The contact lasted one heartbeat longer than necessary. Not affectionate. Not threatening. Just present, a reminder that even his indifference had weight.

“Don’t lose it,” he added, voice dropping softer. “And don’t open it.”

“I won’t,” you whispered.

He studied you another long second, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look like you’re about to faint. Eat something first. There’s a break room down the east corridor. Five minutes. No more.”

It wasn’t kindness. It was logistics. A functional asset performed better when not running on empty and terror. Still, the small concession felt like a crack in the marble wall surrounding you.

Koko flicked his gaze to the brothers. “Escort her. Make sure she doesn’t get creative.”

Ran’s lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Always do.”

They turned as one, guiding you back toward the elevator without a word.

The ride down was quieter than before. No teasing jabs. Ran stood closer than strictly necessary, his arm brushing yours every time the elevator swayed faintly. Rindou stared at the floor numbers, but you caught the subtle way his thumb rubbed the edge of his tablet case, restless.

When the doors opened onto the club level, the change was immediate. The bass throbbed through the walls like a heartbeat, neon bleeding under doors, the air thick with perfume, smoke, and money. You hated how familiar it already felt.

Ran led the way down the staff corridor, same dim lighting, same stone faced guards who nodded once at the brothers and pretended you didn’t exist. The private entrance to BE was tucked behind a false wall panel. Ran pressed a discreet buzzer. A moment later, the door clicked open.

The manager was exactly as described, sharp suit, red lipstick like fresh blood, expression bored until she saw who was delivering. She took the envelope, checked the seal with practiced fingers, gave a curt nod, and that was it.

You turned to leave and froze.

Sanzu was leaning against the far pillar, half in shadow, pink hair glowing faintly under the emergency lights. He hadn’t moved when you entered. Hadn’t spoken. Just watched.

Now he straightened slowly, scarred mouth curving into that slow, predatory smile.

“Little mouse,” he rasped, voice cutting clean through the muffled music. “Look at you. Running errands like you belong here already.”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

Ran stepped half in front of you, casual posture, but the shift was deliberate. Protective. Possessive. Rindou moved with him, boxing you gently between them.

Sanzu’s eyes flicked to the brothers, amusement sharpening into something dangerous. “Protective tonight, Haitanis? Afraid I’ll steal your new pet?”

“She’s on a timer,” Ran said lightly, but there was steel under the velvet. “Koko’s orders.”

Sanzu tilted his head, gaze sliding back to you. He took one step closer. Then another. Close enough that you could see the faint scars pulling at the corners of his mouth when he smiled wider.

“You didn’t scream,” he noted, almost pleased. “Didn’t run. Didn’t even flinch hard. Progress.”

You forced your voice steady. “I’m just doing what I’m told.”

His scarred lips parted slightly. “Good girl.”

The words landed like a spark on dry grass.

Rindou’s hand found your elbow, light, but firm. Guiding. “We’re leaving.”

Sanzu laughed, low and rough, the sound scraping down your spine. But he didn’t move to stop you. He just watched as Rindou steered you back toward the corridor, Ran walking backward for a few steps to keep Sanzu in sight, smile fixed but eyes cold.

The elevator ride up felt longer. Heavier.

Ran broke the silence first, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “You alright?”

The question caught you off guard. Genuine enough to hurt.

You nodded. Couldn’t speak.

Rindou’s thumb brushed once, once, against the inside of your elbow before he let go. “Next time you see him alone,” he murmured, “don’t talk. Just walk. He likes games. Don’t play.”

You swallowed hard. Nodded again.

When the doors opened on six, Kokonoi was waiting, arms crossed, expression impatient but not furious. He took the empty handed confirmation with a single nod.

“Report,” he said.

You did. Every detail. No omissions.

He listened without interrupting. When you finished, he exhaled slowly.

“No mistakes. No incidents. That’s adequate.”

A pause. Then, almost offhand, “There’s protein bars and water in the break room. Take ten minutes. You’re pale.”

Again, not kindness. Utility. But the small permission felt like air after drowning.

As Ran and Rindou led you down the east corridor toward the break room, Ran leaned in just enough that his breath brushed your ear.

“See?” he murmured, voice soft. “Keep breathing. Keep following the rules. They might start getting used to having you around.”

Rindou didn’t speak, but his silence felt different now, less cold, more watchful.

You stepped into the small, sterile break room, fridge humming, single table, fluorescent light too bright. You sank into a chair, hands shaking as you unwrapped a bar.

Outside the door, you heard the brothers’ low voices, Ran’s teasing tone, Rindou’s quieter reply. Guarding. Waiting.

And somewhere deeper in the building, you knew Sanzu was still smiling.

Surviving.

It was starting to feel less like a temporary sentence and more like the beginning of something none of you could stop.