The Underground

Fox's Trap

For my dear readers who read the fic for its true content, thank you. And to those of you who only read the smut and complained about there being an actual story: your mom's a hoe. Don't comment about how you only wanted smut and how you didn't sign up for an actual story--it's unnecessary--and you may be lacking intellect and social skills 😔

Warning: Mentions of gore, violence, reference to ED's, and a whole lot of stress in this chapter tbh 😰

Next two parts are chapter 7 from ao3

Oikawa felt sore, his entire body was aching. His eyes fluttered open after what seemed like years, still making him sensitive to the light. He tried moving his arms only to realize he couldn't move at all. He looked down, seeing his arms were tied behind his back.

"Huh?" he rasped, not being able to recall anything.

He couldn't move his legs at all, his arms were bruised and bloodied along with the rest of his body. He let out a haphazard groan as he made another attempt to move but failed yet again. He was stripped of all his weapons and gear; only left with the clothes on his back.

Oikawa looked around the room, he'd gotten used to the dingy lighting as he kept studying the area. It was just an empty room with grimy walls, it looked like he was in the steel factory, maybe in some office by the looks of the rickety desk and tables in there.

The door was right in front of him, just a few feet away. If he could just get out of this damn chair—

He tried to move his weight to the side, so the chair could fall over and break, but it didn't budge. He looked down to see that the chair was stuck to the floor, bolted down to prevent any movement.

"Fuck," he growled.

The creaking of the door opening brought him out of his senses, he slowly turned his head up. A man entered the room, closing the door behind him as he glared at Oikawa.

Oikawa grinned, "Well if it isn't the spawn of Satan himself. How've you been, Atsumu?"

Atsumu marched up to him, "Don't talk to me like we're old friends or something."

Oikawa chuckled, "I guess we weren't exactly friends, but you were my protege. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Fuck you," Atsumu seethed. "You're still the same douchebag from all those years ago. I still owe you an ass beating for what you did to my arm."

"Oh, what," Oikawa narrowed his eyes with heavy sarcasm in his voice, "I was only training you to be better. I'm sure at some point all teachers break their student's arms to teach them to stop being a fucking baby."

The blonde brought his fist up and delivered a blow to the side of Oikawa's already battered face. Oikawa turned his head back to face the man, still grinning at him before he spat his blood onto Atsumu's face. Atsumu's expression morphed from simple irritation to a look of blinding rage. He pulled his gun out from the back of his waistband, but the door opened again before the man could pull the trigger.

"Careful with that thing dummy, you might shoot yourself," Oikawa teased.

"Atsumu, you know he's doing it to get a rise out of you, right?" the man entering the room said. His silvery hair and dark tips painted an even wider smile on Oikawa's face.

"Kita," Oikawa sang. "Buddy, how're the folks? Grandma taking her meds on time?"

Oikawa's casual demeanor made Kita sigh, "Why did you kill thirteen of my men, Oikawa?"

"Technically I killed eleven. Two of your men were stupid enough to shoot themselves," Oikawa tutted.

"That's because you used tear gas on them, you motherfucker," Atsumu barked.