In conjunction with @millenialfanfictionaddiction, we present:
Please Me series! A collaboration of Fem! Dom Readers paired with Haikyuu characters
Edit: This series has dropped, check out the Please Me Masterlist
Each day this week, we will introduce a part of the series as well as their characters! The series will drop Monday August 9th! Every Monday we will post a new batch of characters and stories! If you would like to be included on the taglist for a group of stories or the series, please feel free to reach out!
The fifth and final week will focus on Bondage with Daichi and Bokuto. My contribution to Please Me: Bondage is...
Daichi’s Delight
Your husband comes home from work stressed out and you want nothing more than to help him relax.
Warnings: descriptions of past violence (the doll scene in mulan)
WC: 863
(A/N): it's here! this is basically a short prologue scene n such, nothing super important happens but you'll probably want the context for later >.< part 1 of my haikyuu!xmulan crossover AU! for the @bnhapocuties take two collab (except like,, two months late). haven't written in a while so i hope this is…not a complete dumpster fire??
series masterlist || haikyuu masterlist || bnha masterlist || navi
The sun was a burnt orange, slowly fading to a rich ochre behind the dark, looming shadows of the mountains. You’d been riding almost nonstop for two days now; this landscape was harsh, and civilization was scarce. You hadn’t seen another person in more than two weeks.
“Hiya!” You leaned forward on your horse, bending your head close to his ears, urging him forwards. It would be best to set up camp in a more enclosed area before nightfall; the open prairies were the favored playgrounds of many predators that you had no wish to waste your arrows on. Though you were a master at the bow, making new arrows was a loathsome task—one that you hoped to avoid, if it was at all possible.
Suddenly, your horse lurched to a stop, bucking wildly as if he had sensed something unsavory.
“Baobei, what’s wrong?” you asked, brows furrowed in concern. Houyi wasn’t easily spooked, but as you tried to rein him in, you could see the fear that flashed in his eyes.
Something was wrong.
“Hey, hey, calm down.” You tugged at the reins with both of your hands, glancing around to check if there was something lurking in the shadows that you had missed. There didn’t seem to be, and that only made the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach worsen with each passing second.
Houyi finally snorted and dropped back down on all four legs, but he still tossed his head around nervously, sniffing the air as if he was a skittish foal facing an unfamiliar human and not a full-grown stallion that could trample ten men within minutes.
“Okay.” You rubbed at his neck encouragingly, then hopped down from your saddle. There was a small cluster of trees on top of a nearby hill. It would be as good a spot as any to set up camp; you doubted that you would get very far in Houyi’s current state anyways. You led him up the hill, carefully unsaddling him and giving him a good rub-down (as always). Unpacking the bags from his saddle, you took out a worn mat, rolling it onto the ground, then adding layers of wool blankets and a small wooden block for a pillow on top. Straw was bulky and hard to carry—you had gotten used to the imprints that small pebbles made on your back.
The nights were growing colder. It was normal for this time of year, but it only meant more work for you. You fed Houyi a small carrot (it was a bit wilted, but he didn’t complain) and set out in search of firewood.
When you crested the ridge on the other side of the hill, what you saw stopped you in your tracks.
It had once been a city, but you couldn’t call it that now. Torn banners still hung from tall iron poles, flapping aimlessly in the breeze; the sense of purpose that they had once brought was now reduced to a hollow sign of destruction. Even though the town had once been prosperous, the lovely huts had been reduced to ashes, and the stench of death and decay invaded your senses, carried upwards by the wind.
You gagged.
Yes, you were used to death. You hunted for a living, after all. But it wasn’t this kind of death. This…senseless, depraved, wholesale slaughter.
Sucking in a deep breath, you made your way down the steep hillside. The drop was more precipitous on this side, and you were careful not to lose your footing. You ran through the empty town, searching desperately for any signs of life. The sensations of death were overwhelming—blood splattered the worn cobblestones, and where there was an empty space, it was quickly filled up by the still-falling ash from the charred rooftops.
You had never wanted to get out of a place faster, but still you stayed, because surely there was something left; surely there had been a survivor, even if there was only one…
In your haste, you tripped over something on the ground and sprawled on the ground, palms stinging. It was soft.
You turned around, eyes catching on a soot-stained object lying in the middle of the road.
It was a doll.
A small doll made of scraps of cloth, buttons sewn on painstakingly, lovingly. Her mouth, once a happy smile, stood out in stark contrast with the devastation of it all. When paired with its surroundings, her smile looked ghastly.
Tears formed in the corners of your eyes. Choking back a sob, you stared at the abandoned doll.
They…they razed a whole city.
There are no survivors.
No, that wasn’t entirely accurate. In the distance, there was a band of men walking away from the carnage—walking away from the destruction that they had caused, as if the lives they had taken meant nothing to them.
You weren’t sure when it happened, but as you sat there, hunched over the broken form of a doll without its owner, shrouded in the shadows of death, your grief morphed into rage. The tears retracted themselves, sinking underneath your flesh and making you seethe in blood-boiling anger.
(if you would like to be added to the taglist, please fill out the taglist form in my navi or send me an ask! if you would like to be removed from the taglist, please let me know! you will also be tagged when each installment is posted—if you would like to be removed from that taglist, please tell me!)
Warnings: fighting (just any generic fight scene really), blood, minor snark??
WC: 2.1k (this is a lot longer than the previous chapter hehe)
(A/N): hehehe part 2 is finally up :p (also check out the series masterlist with the updated synopsis!! quite proud of it >.<) also please ignore the bad titles,, i had an "f" alliteration theme going on and i literally killed all my brain cells trying to come up with SIX verbs that were at least somewhat relevant to the plot for the chapter titles, i'm so sorry asldkjhlfadksh
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read part i here!
Finally…
You stared ahead at the encampment of soldiers, bustling about merrily as if they found joy in living a life of slaughter. As if they had no blood on their hands—or worse, as if they did not care if they did.
“Houyi.” You stroked his neck. “Ready?”
He gave a snort of agreement, tossing his black mane in the air.
I was born for this, he seemed to say.
“Alright.” Digging your heels in, you leaned forward, bow in hand, arrow notched and at the ready.
“Hiya!”
You charged furiously down the hill, kicking up a storm of clay-red dust behind you. As the first soldier looked up in surprise, you aimed your arrow at the wooden post in the middle of the camp and let it fly. You were nothing if not fair, and though you despised these people with your entire being, it would never be said that you fought dirty. Surprise attacks were for the weak, and you were anything but.
Besides, you kind of wanted to see how fast you could take the camp, even with the soldiers alert and ready to fight.
Holding your bow sideways, you let loose three arrows at once, all of them hitting their marks. Three men went down with barely a whimper—an arrow to one’s kneecap will do that.
The soldiers were a mess. You weren’t even sure if they were real soldiers or simply a very large band of mercenaries—surely a real military camp would be much more organized than this. They should’ve sounded the alarm as soon as they saw you charging down the hill, not when three of their men were already down.
You took out three more men with another round of clean shots to the kneecap.
This is too easy.
They were green; young, inexperienced, and jittery—no match for a seasoned hunter.
And you were one of the very best.
You set loose arrow after arrow, hitting your target every single time. Within moments, the area in front of you was empty, save for the men curled up on the ground, groaning.
Houyi slowed down to a trot, and you casually dropped from the saddle, stepping over the fallen soldiers. A white command tent was front and center in the little military camp, no more than five hundred meters away. Slinging your bow over your shoulder crossways—it wasn’t ideal for close-range combat—you unsheathed two scimitars, preparing yourself for a scuffle.
It wasn’t your favorite type of battle—close-range battles were messy and bloody—but you hadn’t had a chance to spar with someone in a long time.
You were also craving revenge for what they had done to the broken village you passed.
Barely concealing a feral grin, you stalked towards the commander’s tent. Suddenly, the tent entrance ruffled, and a man stepped out in full armor, save for his helmet. His hair was a stiff charcoal black—it was shorn short, which was surprising for a man of his presumed station. Most men in this dynasty preferred to wear their hair long, but there was something curious about this one. Tanned olive skin revealed a life spent in the sun, and a grim, determined expression glared at you with unbridled fury.
You bared your teeth and tightened your grip on your scimitars. This was going to be fun.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He clasped his hand over a broadsword sheathed at his side, pulling it out with the signature clang of steel sliding against steel. “Who are you?”
“Vengeance,” you replied airily. The man frowned, looking confused.
One…
You smiled, the wicked grin gracing your lips matching the wicked curve of your scimitar.
Two…
Your hood flew back, revealing you in all of your glory. You didn’t mind. You were confident that none of these people—scum—would live to tell others what you looked like, anyways.
Three…
You charged.
No battle cry surged from your lips—silent hunting habits were hard to break—but as he met the first slash of your blades with the side of his broadsword, you grunted at his strength.
Not many people could withstand one of your attacks, much less both at the same time.
This was going to be fun.
Quickly sliding one of your scimitars from underneath the deadlock, you twirled it around in your hand and aimed a slice straight at his torso. He stepped to the side, twisting his own broadsword so that it knocked your other blade to the side. Instead of continuing to retreat, he slanted his body at a forward tilt, catching your right wrist with his hand while pushing your other hand aside with his sword.
You hissed in pain as he twisted your wrist, forcing you to drop your blade. Feinting with your left hand, you sliced a deep gash on his right thigh, right in between two metal plates of armor. His grip on your wrist loosened, and you were able to put some distance between the two of you.
You charged forwards again, aiming your remaining scimitar low, towards his knees. He dropped into a defensive crouch, broadsword held out low in front of him. You smiled.
Just as he was preparing to meet your blade in a clash of steel, you jumped. Leaping upwards, you stepped on his wrist—he dropped his sword with a clang—and hooked your left leg around his waist, using it to pivot on his back. Wrapping your right arm around his broad shoulder, you brought your blade up until the tip of it kissed his neck.
He gulped, the movement drawing forth a slight trickle of crimson blood.
“Why? Why did you do it?”
He eyed the blade warily. You loosened it slightly so he could talk.
“Do what?” he asked, though his attention was caught on the fine workmanship of the scimitar.
“Kill all those people.” Your little scuffle had attracted quite the crowd—understandable, since it seemed like this man was somewhat of an important figure in this camp. Still, none of his comrades—or underlings—dared interfere, seeing as you were the one with the upper hand here; you could slit his throat before one of them even took three steps forwards.
“We haven’t killed anyone…yet,” he answered, confusion laced in his tone. “I’m overseeing trainees. They aren’t ready to fight.”
Ah. That explained the incompetence of the soldiers.
“But the village…?” You frowned, brows scrunching up in confusion. There was no mistaking what you had seen.
His expression darkened. “We came too late.”
Oh.
Cautiously, you lowered your blade from his neck. Yes—it made sense. He was obviously dressed in imperial commanding gear. Why would imperial soldiers slaughter their own village?
Well, now you felt a little silly—and guilty—for attacking their encampment without having done your proper research.
The other men gingerly stepped forwards.
“General Sawamura! You’re losing a lot of blood!” A young soldier with hair the color of a bright carrot pointed out worriedly. “You should probably go to the tent…Dr. Azumane can treat you there.”
The general nodded in agreement, wincing slightly as you hopped off of his back. He walked towards the medical tent, obviously trying his best not to limp.
As he left, it became clear that the other soldiers were unsure of what they should do with you.
A man with hair the color of pewter and a cute mole under his left eye (you assumed that he was the second-in-command) led you to the general’s tent, where you awaited his arrival. Minutes later, he hobbled inside the tent, limping, but proud.
“I thought you had to get your leg treated,” you remarked, noticing the lack of bandages on his thigh, blood still dripping in rivulets down his leg and marking pools on the dusty ground. “So impatient to see me already?”
“Had to make sure you weren’t going to run away,” he answered, a defiant light sparking in his charcoal eyes. “After all, you did take down nearly twenty of my men.”
The corner of your mouth quirked up, a ghost of a smile teasing your lips. “Oh?”
Before he could respond, the entrance to the tent fluttered again, and a large man—even taller than the general—scurried in, his chestnut hair gathered at the nape of his neck. He seemed unduly nervous for someone with such a large physique.
“Ah, doctor,” the general greeted him. “Thank you for coming.”
So this was Dr. Azumane, you realized. From his bulk, you would’ve assumed that he was one of the finest soldiers here. Apparently not.
“You should’ve waited,” the doctor said, staring reproachfully at the general’s leg.
“It appears that we have a flight risk on our hands,” General Sawamura countered. “I couldn’t very well just let them go.”
You bristled. “I wouldn’t have run! And besides, your soldiers could have swarmed me in seconds if I tried!”
“Thank you for the assurance,” he quipped drily. “I will take that into consideration the next time someone barges into our camp”—he winced as the doctor tightened his bandages—“and shoots arrows into my sentries’ knees.”
Okay. Fair point.
“Well, I followed you guys from the town, so forgive me if I mistook you for the raiders that slaughtered an entire village,” you countered, though you did feel a slight twinge of guilt.
His expression darkened, a muscle in his jaw ticking at what was probably an unpleasant memory. The doctor looked up worriedly, tying off the last knot in the bandage and leaving the tent, presumably on his way to treat the other unfortunate soldiers who had stood in the face of your wrath.
“We had nothing to do with that village. Not anymore.”
“Not anymore?”
There was a storm brewing in his eyes, and you wondered if you had pried too far into events you did not yet understand.
“My father was guarding the mountain pass. They were taken unaware by the Huns,” he said, after a long silence.
Your breath constricted in your throat.
“Oh.” It came out like a whisper, the only air you could force past your lips.
“Don’t be,” he said curtly. “You weren’t there either. You couldn’t have helped.”
Settling back on the cushions, he sighed before changing the subject.
“So what are you, exactly? An outlaw? Fugitive?” He leaned closer, squinting. “A mercenary?”
Well, you supposed he could put it that way.
“Nomad,” you answered simply, not knowing exactly what you were yourself.
“Not a Hun, anyways,” the general regarded you critically. “I saw the scimitars. Huns don’t use those, and even if they did, they looked far too well-crafted. Not meant for brute force, anyways.”
You had spent many moons trading pelts and herbs to earn enough jade to purchase the twin weapons from the finest blacksmith you knew. They were custom-ordered, the grips fitted to the exact measurements of your palms—your most treasured possessions.
“Your horse is in the stable, by the way.” The general shifted his weight on the cushions in the tent. “He’s a fine horse, that one.”
You nodded in agreement. A man who didn’t appreciate horses was not worth talking to at all.
“Can I get my sword back?” you asked with as much politeness as you could muster.
He stared at you, then raised an eyebrow. “You want your sword back? In my camp? After you attacked my men? When we still don’t know where your loyalties lie?”
You gave a huff of irritation. “Well, I told you it was a mistake, wasn’t it? And my swords are rather important to me.”
“And my life is rather important to me,” he retorted.
“General, should I take their other one as well?” the gray-haired man interrupted, stepping forwards. You had almost forgotten that he was in the room—he had been silent ever since he’d brought you here. Narrowing your eyes, you laid a hand threateningly on the hilt of your scimitar. The general eyed you appraisingly, then held up a hand.
“I don’t think they’d take too kindly to that. Best leave it be for now. But you will not”—he directed a pointed glance at your hand, still clasped over the grip of your remaining scimitar—“under any circumstances, use that against my men. Or me,” he added, apparently not trusting you to not find loopholes.
“Can I still have my other one back?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“But you let me keep this one!”
“Yes, because you would’ve slit both of our throats if any of us tried to take it from you, and you know it.”
“…fine.”
And so it was on a fine sunny afternoon that you found yourself being corralled into a soldier’s tent, held on a temporary tent arrest.
(if you would like to be added to the taglist, please fill out the taglist form in my navi or send me an ask! if you would like to be removed from the taglist, please let me know! you will also be tagged when each installment is posted—if you would like to be removed from that taglist, please tell me!)
