Hanma X Reader: Bonten's Princess

Unpleasant Memories

**‼️TRIGGER WARNING‼️**

**Explicit mentions of Domestic Violence**

The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, spilling pale rays across the room. Aominé's eyes fluttered open, a dull ache behind her eyelids, and the strange weight of a body pressed against hers. She could feel the thick, calloused arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, holding her captive. The smell of stale alcohol and cigarettes clung to the air.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Her limbs felt heavy, like lead, each breath coming in slow, shallow gasps. It's not a dream. She wanted to believe it was—she needed it to be. But reality was sharper than the pain in her ribs, more suffocating than the cold press of his body against hers.

Hanma.

Memories—too many of them—came rushing back, unwelcome and vicious. The past she had fought so hard to bury. The night she last saw him. The night he walked through that door, a beast—drunk, high, unrecognizable.

It had been months since she'd last felt this way, trapped and helpless. Hanma's slow descent into addiction had been inevitable. At first, she tried to excuse it, told herself it was the pressure of his violent life. He wasn't happy—she knew that. He never was. But in his madness, in his search for numbness, he drifted further from her. Soon, it wasn't just the pills or the booze—it was the violence that followed.

He kicked the bedroom door open with a force that rattled the walls, his eyes bloodshot and wild. The faint remnants of the night's argument with Kisaki still clung to him like a second skin. He was ranting, his words slurring together as he stumbled forward.

Aominé sat frozen on the bed, her arms hugging her knees to her chest, her body instinctively shrinking away. She didn't know what to do, how to respond. When he was like this, the safest option was always silence.

He raged, not at her—but at the world. The words didn't make sense, but his tone was venomous.

"The fuck was I supposed to do?!" Hanma screamed, his voice a guttural roar, before hurling a glass across the room. It shattered against the wall, the pieces falling to the floor with a deafening crack. "I do everything he says! Every fucking thing! And now he's treating me like I'm invincible! Goddamn it! I'm not Mikey! I'm not Mikey!"

Aominé recoiled, pulling the sheets tighter around her body, trying to make herself smaller, hoping he wouldn't see her, hoping he would forget she was there. But his eyes—those sharp, predatory eyes—were already fixed on her.

"Look at me, you fucking idiot," he sneered, veins bulging from his forehead. He staggered forward, his fists clenched at his sides. His breathing was erratic, fast, uneven. "Always looking at me like I'm some kind of fucking monster. Well, I'm gonna teach you a lesson, princess. You want to gawk at me, huh? You wanna stare at me like that?"

Aominé's heart raced. Her limbs were frozen. Her mouth went dry. She knew what was coming, knew it was inevitable, but it didn't matter. He was already moving toward her, his fists raised.

"I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll never forget." His words were thick with malice.

And he did.

The first blow landed so fast, so hard, it stole her breath. The crack of his fist connecting with her cheek sent a shock of pain through her skull. Before she could process it, his left fist collided with her jaw, the force knocking her head back, the world spinning.

The blows came faster now—each one harder than the last. Hanma's rage was explosive, like an animal caught in a cage, desperate to break free. He didn't stop. He didn't care. His hands came down on her like fists of thunder, each strike a violent punctuation of his pain, his frustration.

"I'm tired of this shit! Tired of this shit!" His voice was frantic, feral. "I'm so fucking tired! You hear me? Tired, tired, tired!"

Aominé's blood was hot in her mouth, her nose split open, her vision a blur of red and black. The pain didn't feel real. It was like her body was being torn apart, but none of it mattered. It was all just noise. The screaming. The beating. The world felt like it was breaking around her.

This is it. This is how it ends.

The thought circled in her head, but the darkness closed in around her too quickly. She couldn't stay awake. Her body was too broken, too exhausted.

---

Hours later, she came to, groggy and disoriented, her head throbbing, her limbs weak. The bed was soaked with blood, her own blood, the sheets a crumpled mess of pain and suffering. He was gone. He'd left her there like nothing had happened.

She didn't have a cent to her name. No bag, no wallet, no phone. Just the clothes on her back and the haunting echo of her fear.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting out. Getting away.

He didn't notice she was gone until the morning. By then, she was already long gone, disappearing into the city like a shadow, leaving behind the wreckage of her life. He searched for weeks. Raged. His violence unchecked, a whirlwind of destruction, until he finally settled into the empty void of her absence.

But now, as she lay in his arms again, all of it came crashing back. Everything. That night. The pain. The fear. The terror of knowing what he was capable of. The horror of realizing that *he would never change*.

---

This was the nightmare she never escaped.

It wasn't just a memory. It was her life. And now, forced back into the clutches of the man who had torn her apart, every inch of her body screamed for escape. But where could she go? When you've been broken down this far, you don't even recognize yourself anymore.

Hanma's grip tightened, but Aominé was too numb to fight back. Her body was still trapped, even if her mind was screaming to run.