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holydayaria · 4 months

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Holding Cell

Yandere Barem Bridge x Reader

Synopsis: You're working with Public Safety and get sent to check things out at the "Chainsaw Man Church". After seeing something you shouldn't have, Barem decides he doesn't want you to leave.

Warnings: fem reader, implied age gap, hostage taking, yandere themes, sexual harassment/assault, attempted non-con.

The bulk of this was initially written right after chapter 140 came out lol ... 4.5k words... tagging @depravitycentral

On the first day of your job, you were given your ID card and assigned to a division. On the second day, you were being sent on your first official mission. Alone.

Your “buddy”, as your higher-ups called it, called out the morning of, leaving this to be a solo task. Normally it would be a big deal, and you’d be reassigned to a different case or given a new partner so you wouldn’t go in alone. However, this time, you were encouraged to just go on your own. Public Safety devil hunters were dropping like flies, and your division was low on staff. Even your new employees remarked that if there was any job to be going alone on, it’d be this one. That you should consider yourself lucky. The “mission” was to check up on a recent church that popped up to make sure no illegal activity was going on. It had gained so much popularity since its opening that it caught Public Safety’s eye. The Chainsaw Man Church; consisted mostly of teenagers and enthusiastic fans. How dangerous could it be?

The church is located in the middle of the city, a high-rise building with a giant Chainsaw Man head on the front. You’re not sure what you were expecting, maybe a traditional church building or a cathedral, but this building looked extremely corporate. You’re hit with a cool blast of air as you walk inside, seeing that the majority of the churchgoers are in school uniforms, high schoolers. There isn’t a front desk or any reception, but before you can look for anyone to guide you through, a short high schooler scurries over to you, nearly stumbling over his feet. He can’t be older than fifteen, he’s already sweating and his dark hair messily frames his face, which is speckled with moles. The kid is already out of breath, hands on knees as he composes himself and straightens out his posture before speaking to you.

“H-i,” He slaps a hand over his mouth when his voice cracks, and he tries again. “Hi- I’m Nobana, Nobana Higashiyama- uh, I’ll be ah- oh, you’re from public safety? You’re the one?” Nobana stutters and stammers over his words, nearly unable to stand still. You smile at him, trying to reassure him that you aren’t here to bite his head off. “Yes, I’m from Public Safety, I got sent out to do an inspection, just to make sure everything’s alright.” You talk slowly, giving the boy time to take your words in. He doesn’t calm down, if anything he gets more jittery and nervous. “Right! Right, I know, they told me… Well, uhm, you can come with me, I’ll show you around!” “Sounds good.” You say, and Nobana only nods. You’ve only just met him, and his mousy demeanor is already beginning to wear you down. Surely this boy wasn’t the only one available to show you around, weren’t there any adults here?

Nobana goes back and forth between topics, clearly not very experienced with giving tours. He does not seem to be very well-versed in social interactions in general. You begin to tune Nobana out as you get lost in your thoughts as he rambles on about the different chapters of the church, and how there are even locations in Canada and Germany. You continue to follow Nobana around, realizing that you’re going to need to speak with someone who isn’t a teenager to do a proper assessment of the place. Nobana suddenly stops in the corridor mid-sentence. He had been showing you the numerous paintings on the wall of Chainsaw Man, all in a very Romanesque style. His face pales slightly, and you can hear cascading footsteps coming closer. Nobana freezes up in front of you and stammers, trying to find the right words. As you look to see who entered the hall, a hand comes down on your shoulder, firm and slightly strained. “Oh, you must be the agent they sent from Public Safety.” The mystery man says, standing right behind you. You get a strong whiff of his cologne, musky and smokey. “Nobana, you can go off now, I’ll take it from here.” “Yeth- Yes thir! Sir!” Nobana nods frantically, looking like he’s about to piss himself out of fear (though that seems to be his default expression), and runs off, tripping over himself and falling as he does.

You turn around and take a few steps back to face the man, unsure what to make of what just happened. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and with a tapered waist. His black hair is tied back into a ponytail, a lock of it falling across his face. His tie is tucked into his shirt’s breast pocket, and you can see his muscles rippling underneath his clothing. A white button-up and slacks. It seems he’s the only adult here, and the only one in the church who isn’t Japanese.. If you had to guess, he could be anywhere from his mid to late thirties. Maybe forty.

“I’m Barem, I do most of the work around here.” He says, holding out his hand for you to shake. You take it, a bit off guard, with how firm he is with shaking your hand. It feels like your entire arm is getting shaken with it. “Ah, yes, it’s nice to meet you. I just came to do a look around and make sure, uhm, that everything is up to code.” You say, looking up at him. His eyes are so dark that you can’t differentiate between his pupil and his iris. “Uhh, your tour guide, Nobana, said a few things that I have questions about.” You say, and Barem’s smile doesn’t falter. He puts his hands back on both of your shoulders, leaning forward. “Oh, don’t worry, he sometimes isn’t good at explaining things… We can talk, and I’ll answer any questions you have during the rest of the tour.” He muses reassuringly, though you’re starting to regret not pushing for a new buddy to be assigned to your case.

You would later find that a good word to describe Barem would be levitous.

The tour is… something, to say the least. Barem dodges most of your inquiries, keeping a hand on your shoulder or back to keep you from going anywhere without him. He feels more like a car salesman than someone who runs a church. You’re new to the job and have minimal training, but you didn’t need to be an expert to see that something was up with him. If you weren’t being extra vigilant to make sure nothing was afoot, you might have been swayed by his friendly disposition and his attempt at a charming nature, just enough to ignore certain things. There’s something wrong with him. You couldn’t place your finger on what, but it was just something about his eyes, or maybe it was his choice of words, how close he was to you. Barem was overly familiar with you, which was strange in itself. It’s as if every moment with him was one building up to something, like you were holding your breath as the tension builds up in a horror movie, waiting for the jump scare that never comes.

There’s a peculiar tension as if Barem is just waiting for any reason to do something. In the back of your mind, there’s always a sense that he’s about to attack you whenever he suddenly curls an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer in the middle of his talking. Whenever his gaze meets yours, there’s something predatory lurking in his eyes. It’s like he’s intentionally trying to freak you out. Even if you put his eccentric behavior to the side, the church itself was still an issue. The more the tour went on, the more you began to suspect this church was a front for some sort of drug trade or money laundering scheme, there’s no way these people could be this fanatical about Chainsaw Man. Barem shows you to the chapel, with the pews being decorated with chainsaws, and even a statue of Chainsaw Man himself at the end. The chapel was to officiate marriages because people were getting married in the name of Japan's new hero. Barem left out a few details about that process, and you could tell he was being intentionally vague. He was damn proud of it too, subtly making you the butt of a joke that only he is in on.

When you go to the bathroom for a small break, even the damn toilets are Chainsaw Man themed. There’s no way they could afford all of this unless it were from drug money, you think as you press the Chainsaw Man soap dispenser and begin to wash your hands. Maybe they’re part of the yakuza? No, that can’t be right… You step out of the bathroom to resume the tour, passing through the mostly empty cafeteria. It feels like you’re getting closer and closer to losing it when you see the menu serving “Chainsaw Man Flavored Soup”, whatever the hell that was.

“So, are you a fan of Chainsaw Man?” Barem asks as you’re both traversing the hallways of the building. Light shines through the windows, and on the opposite wall are taped-up drawings of Chainsaw Man. Most seem to be done by very young children. “He’s alright I guess, he really does make a mess of things though.” You say, shrugging. “Isn’t that part of what makes him so great? All the destruction he causes is the best part.” Barem laughs, and with each passing minute you begin to understand why this guy freaked out Nobana. “Seeing him fight devils, and get cut up and nearly killed, just to get back up and keep going, it’s amazing,” Barem says, and the way he grins sends a creeping feeling down your spine.

The rest of the tour isn’t anything eventful. No glaring issues, but there’s something wrong with this place. Barem wraps things up within the next hour. For a building with forty-seven floors, only around 10 of them have been refurnished, so he says. Though when on the tenth floor, you’re sure you saw a few teenagers, still in school uniform no less, coming down the stairs from the floors above. By the time it comes to a close, you’re back at the entrance with Barem. He puts a hand on your shoulder, leaning in as he talks to you. “Thanks for coming, if you ever want to become one with the church, you know where to find us.” Barem says, though stepping foot anywhere near this place was the last thing you wanted to do. You nod along and smile to be polite, and the small talk fizzles out pretty soon. “Before I leave– I need to go to the bathroom again.” You quickly add, and you can see that he’s straining to be nice. “Right, sure.”

With that, you traverse down the hallway to the bathrooms, then walk right past them to the elevator. You press the button and once the elevator doors open, you scurry inside. It feels like they take forever to close. Anticipation curdles in you, and you wonder if this is a mistake. It goes up to 47 floors. You should just leave. Just tell your higher-ups that the place needs a second inspection - no, they’ll ask why you couldn’t get it right the first time. Just tell them it’s fine, everything is fine. The guides were just a bit weird, right? No, you can’t do that either. Not with a good conscience. You press the button to take you to the very top, deciding to check out there. Before you can give yourself a second to think, you press the button for the top floor.

The elevator ride up is nerve-wracking, and you feel a pit of dread in your stomach the whole way. There isn’t any soft elevator music, nor are the elevator lights very welcoming or bright. It seems like refurbishing the elevator wasn’t the church’s priority, it nearly got stuck in between the 33rd and 34th floors. As the elevator ride comes to a close, you pull out your handheld radio from an inner suit pocket. You fiddle with it for a few seconds, trying to reach through to anyone. The damn thing can barely get a signal. Either there’s something wrong with this building and being this high up, or Public Safety has made serious budget cuts.

You take some hesitant steps forward, the sound of your shoes hitting the tile floor echoing. The top floor is a descending hallway, with many doors leading to different rooms. You aren’t sure where you should even start. There aren’t any windows here, not to the outside and not to the inside of the rooms. The anxiety in you begins to simmer. You made it this far, it’ll be fine. Sure, you maybe should have contracted with a devil before going on your first mission, but they told you it was just a church—a glorified after-school club for today's youth. You keep these thoughts in your mind as you keep walking, looking for any door that stands out as a place to start. You think you can hear a second pair of footsteps, light and unassuming. When you stop walking and look behind you, no one is there. Forcing yourself to shake off the feeling of being watched, you decide to enter the room closest to you on your left. The plain wooden door has a single sticky note on it, reading “returning at 7.” in a scribbled font. It was barely 4 PM, so you either had 3 hours to get in and get out (which should have been more than enough time), or the note meant 7 AM.

You enter the room, and it’s not exactly what you expected. It seems to be a slightly below-average employee break room. There’s a water cooler, a leather couch, and a few side tables. On the wall is a calendar, a corkboard, and a whiteboard. Two things stick out to you right away; the corkboard and what’s on the other side of the room, opposite the couches. A large desk with various computer monitors that all seem to display security footage. There are five monitors in total, how many security cameras did these people have? You focus on the corkboard first, which is littered with photos and scraps of paper pinned on. Some of the photos seem like professional shots, ones that would be used for a school ID or a driver's license. Most are high schoolers, others are Public Safety Devil Hunters. There’s a clock on the wall, the sound of its ticking serving as an auditory reminder that you ought to make this quick. You move to look at the computers, finding that the security footage covers more than the church. There was a live feed of the Public Safety Office, some people’s homes, and what seemed to be a school. Before you can even think about what it all means, the break room door opens, and Barem enters with a relaxed demeanor.

“You really shouldn’t go sneaking around, it’s rude.”

You turn around to face him, your breath getting caught in your throat and for a few seconds, you forget how to function. Barem’s expression is neutral, if not amused, with how things have developed. He’s blocking the door, and though you aren’t completely incompetent, it’s still going to be a challenge to get past him. There’s a total lack of urgency from the man, it’s as though he’s unbothered that you’ve stumbled upon… whatever this is. Perhaps that’s it. He knows you don’t have enough information to do anything meaningful with your findings.

“What is all of this?” You finally ask, clenching your jaw. If you pulled out your ID and raised your voice loud enough to tell him that he was under arrest, would he listen? Would your radio work this time, or would he catch on to your bluff? You really should have asked for someone to accompany you on this mission. The corners of Barem’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk, and the tension in the room is so thick not even a knife could penetrate it. You find yourself stuck, paralyzed by anticipation. You’re both waiting for the other to make the first move. “What do you mean?” Barem pretends to not understand what you’re so worked up about, still occupying the doorway. That, coupled with the lack of windows, makes the room all the more suffocating.

“I should go.” You say after a heavy pause, and as you walk to the door, Barem surprisingly moves out of the way to let you pass. Walking into the hallway feels like a fresh of breath hair, but that air is quickly knocked out of your lungs. A large hand finds its way into your hair, yanking your head back before slamming it against the wall of the hallway.

You wake up on the floor, your head pounding and your shoulders having a dull ache. There’s something in your mouth, cloth and smelling of something familiar. Some cologne. It puts a bad taste on your tongue. The room is doused in a cold, fluorescent light. From what you can see, it’s the same break room you just tried to leave. It takes you a few minutes to gather your memories, from entering the church to going into the elevator, and…

Barem.

The devil himself stares down at you as if it was on cue that you regained consciousness. Your hands are zip-tied behind your back, though he left your feet alone. Barem grins uncannily, hands on his hips as he looks down at your helpless form. His tie is gone, now being used as the gag to keep you from cursing at him. He’s looking at you like you’re a piece of meat. “Glad to see you’re awake.” He quips. His eyes trail your body, looking for anything in your pockets that stands out, like a knife or a hidden gun. Even some keys could be a danger if you got your hands free. He gets down on the floor, squatting down on his haunches to get a better look at you. Your brows are furrowed and through the gag he’s put in your mouth he can hear your mewling and protesting. His eyes glaze over your rear and without warning, he reaches into your back pocket to pull out your wallet and your keys. Barem ignores your shrieking and the way your body jerks away from him, even after you’ve realized he isn’t going to cop a feel. He stands back up and opens your wallet to get a good look at your ID. Your full name, age, the date of your hiring, and all other personal information. “Ha, I was right, you are a new hire.” Barem grins, eyes returning to you.

You glare back at him, writhing on the ground to try and free your hands, the zip tie digging into the skin of your flesh. “C’mon, you can do it,” Barem says, mocking you with false encouragement. He laughs at his joke and your frustrated expression. You struggle for a bit longer, and Barem decides to show some mercy on your poor soul. He crouches down closer, forcing you to lay still on your back as his hands find your wrists. “Is it too tight? Here, I’ll loosen it for you.” He says, before tightening the zip tie to an unbearable degree. You let out a muffled shriek of pain as the sharp plastic tears and breaks your skin. Barem leaves the zip tie like that, giving you a pat on the shoulder. Barem pockets your belongings, his hand going to your hair and tugging harshly on it. He forces your head to turn at an uncomfortable angle so that you’re forced to look at him.

His eerie grin is gone, replaced with a flat expression. “So, what do you think? Should I kill you?” He asks, his voice low and with no affect to his tone. “You nearly caused a lot of trouble for us. Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to stick your nose into other people’s business?” Barem scolds, as if you’re somehow in the wrong here for doing your job. He lets your head drop by releasing your hair and begins to walk around the room, going behind you and out of your sight. He’s off doing writing in a notepad to the side, occasionally glancing back at you. You twist and try to move onto your side to see what he’s doing. You feel like a beached whale in some aspect, and when Barem glances once more at you, the sight oddly intrigues him. Barem pauses in his writing to watch you with mild amusement as you try to get on your own two feet.

“You came to look at the computers, right?” Barem asks, leaning down and grinning at you. His disposition has suddenly returned to that creepy friendliness with little provocation. Before you can react, he’s already grabbing you up off the floor and sitting you down on his lap while he sits on his chair. You let out a muffled noise, squirming and trying to get away from him. It only seems to excite him, a low laugh coming from his throat. One arm is curled around your chest, just above your breasts, so he isn’t touching you too inappropriately. His other is around your waist, keeping you pressed against him with your back to his chest. He holds you in place, having you watch the multiple monitors. Cameras around the church, which was now mostly empty save for a few kids staying overnight. Some cameras were around the parking lot, and a few more were in another building you didn’t recognize. Some were pointed at the Public Safety office, and another seemed to be in the hallway and entranceway of a high school. Barem adjusts you on his lap, having you now sit on his thigh, slotting it between your legs. It’s awkward, in more ways than one, but he doesn’t say anything.

For a few seconds, it’s almost okay. The two of you remain still, Barem watching with amusement as your gaze darts from screen to screen, camera to camera. His hand shifts down to your hip, and his leg moves slightly. Up, then down, and he’s trying to move you against him, trying to create friction between his leg and your crotch. You catch onto it after a few moments, not realizing right away. Immediately, it sets off alarms in your head, and you nearly fall off of his lap entirely and onto the hard floor with how much it makes you nearly jump out of your skin. Barem easily catches you, guiding you back onto his lap. “Aha ha- you’re so jumpy; like a mouse. How did you even get hired?” He teases, moving you up so you’re properly sat on his lap now and not just on his thigh. “Your ears are ho,.” Barem remarks regarding their temperature, his fingers coming to feel the shell of your ear. He’s right, they are warm. He’s so close, you can feel his breath tickling your skin.

Not only that, but he can see from this angle your eyes welling up, and if you were anyone else he might have felt a twinge of disdain. It was a good look on you, though, and he almost pities you. “What do you think I should do with you? Do ya think you can keep your mouth shut and not tell your boss about what you saw today?” You nod, though Barem doesn’t seem convinced. The thought comes to him that you’d make a good house pet. You don’t seem that hard to train. How lucky is he, to get a young, fresh-faced devil hunter in his grasp? He doubts you’d be useful as a hostage or bargaining chip with Public Safety, but he’s sure he can find some personal use for you.

“Here, you want a better look?” He asks again, suddenly moving you off of his lap and bending you over the table, your face squished against the multitude of papers on the surface. Barem stands as he does this, caging you in with his erection pressed right up against your ass. One of his large hands finds its way into your hair, smoothing it over and petting your head, the other resting on your hip to keep you in place. You kick back at his shins, scuffing the leg of his pants with the bottom of your shoe. Barem only laughs, not reacting beyond that. “Oh, you’re cute, you’ve got lots of energy,” He says, moving his hands to the waistband of your slacks. He ignores your shrieking and repeated attempts to get away from him, his hands going over the curve of your ass, feeling up his new prize. “Maybe if you keep making all that noise, Chainsaw Man himself’ll hear you and come to your rescue.”

The mobile phone on the desk suddenly begins to buzz and ring. The ringtone is a song from a commercial that was advertising Chainsaw Man steamed buns. Barem leans over you to reach for it, thus forcing the hard edge of the desk to dig into your flesh even more. You wince, and he flips open the phone and holds it up against his shoulder. “Yeah? What is it?” He says flatly, and you can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying. Barem is still touching you, his hand going from caressing your hair, back, and hips. “I’m kind of busy.” He says after a moment, and then falls quiet again as the person on the other line talks continuously. Whoever it is, they seem to be of equal ranking in the church. Barem sighs and looks up at the computer monitor, displaying the variety of security camera footage. “Yeah, alright, I’ll come down in a minute,” Barem concludes, not bothering to say goodbye as he hangs up the phone.

With that, he sets the phone down on the desk. Barem takes you by the scuff of your neck and drags you over to the couch, unceremoniously pushing you onto it so that you’re lying on your back. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, maybe an hour,” Barem says; any enthusiasm he had for assaulting you now replaced with a blank stare. “You just stay here, alright? We can have more fun together once I get this taken care of.” With that, Barem leaves the room, and there’s an audible click when he closes the door behind it, now locking it from the outside. You’re trapped, forced to listen to the sounds of the clock ticking away, a constant reminder of the predicament you’ve found yourself in.

#“why did u make barem like 38 he looks 25-” I LIKE OLDER MEN #i spent so much time proofreadinf this im so tired of it fuck it lets hit upload #i saw him in chapter 140 and went crazy i had to have this man yawll #barem x reader #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #flamethrower x reader #flamethrower devil x reader #yandere chainsaw man #yandere chainsaw man x reader #yandere csm #yandere csm x reader #barem bridge x reader #yandere barem #yandere barem bridge #_barem #_csm

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