anon: Ooooo, I have another archon reader x zhongli. But the reader is electro, the thought of reader using his shocking powers to shock zhongli, I love it
a/n: whorknee simps. Baal’s preferred vessel is female i believe
Zhongli didn’t know what to think.
Well, he couldn’t think, he was far too lost in anything. He was supposed to hate this, so why doesn’t he?
Everytime you shock him, not only does he feel pain, but he feels pleasure too. This was new, but he knew that he only liked it because he was in your hands.
The Electro Archon’s lightning was much different than anybody else’s. Perhaps you controlled it much better. At least that’s what he thinks afterwards, because right now, all he can think of is you and all the pleasure you’re giving him.
“You like that, huh, Zhongli?”
His hands were tied behind his back. He couldn’t touch himself, nor where you touching or fucking him; yet he still felt pleasure.
"Oh, my bad, Morax." He fights against his restraints at the mention of his name, one he hasn't heard in a long time. "You're so pathetic, losing your gnosis to Tsaritsa, and now writhing in pain and pleasure without a fight."
"What happened to the merciless warrior god?" Your hand that hooks under his jaw is warm, burning even. As you smile, looking down at him as if you pity him, electro bursts out of your fingertips. "Oh, that's right! You're the God of Contracts. Eternity over contracts, right, Morax?"
The former Archon is far too weak to answer and his mind is far too jumbled.
With your grip on his jaw, you move his head up and down in a nod. You chuckle at the lack of resistance, "Eternity over contracts. I thought you won a war, Morax."
As you say that, a particularly harsh shock tracks through his body, eliciting a moan from his lips. "Far too weak…"
Summary: Negan’s punishment ends up being much darker than you hoped for expected.
Warnings: Smut/notsfw, dub con (verging on non con), yelling, arguing, degradation, hair pulling, choking, coercion, spit kink, breeding kink, sadomasochism, Negan’s dirty mouth
Word Count: 2.7k
A/N: if you are under 18 or you are sensitive to dark content do not read! You have been warned!
~I should probably point out that I don’t see Negan doing this is in any way. He’s made it clear he’s a respectable man, but… what if he’s respectable up until the point he realizes there’s something he wants and is willing do anything to get it. But that’s why this is called a dark!fic.~
However, if you like the story please reblog and give feedback! Thanks :)
With eager eyes you tapped your phone screen. 10:55.
As another gust of cool air swept past your exposed skin, you shivered. The cream colored dress you wore didn’t do much to protect you from the approaching fall night—nor the wandering eyes of the fraternity. You agreed to go out with a few friends, looking to grab a drink or two, and by nine, get the hell out of there before all the druggies arrived and the drunks broke out into fights. Instead, you still sat in front of the frat house, waiting for your ride on Saturday evening while your friends partied inside.
Where are you???
You texted your boyfriend quickly, shooting a look of distaste at a guy leaning against the doorway. He whistled.
“Ayo, mamí! Come inside, it’s chilly out there.”
Clearly he was looking for a fuck. You rolled your eyes at the catcaller, crinkling your nose, you said you were fine and wanted to be left alone. To your surprise, he actually got the hint and trudged back inside.
Filled with some relief, you sighed watching as your boyfriend’s Aston Martin parked along the curb. The heat from the car blanketed your chilled skin and you sat down humming in content. Breathing in the driftwood and pine air freshener you loved, your eyes closed briefly. Negan chewed his inner cheek as you averted your gaze, seemingly not amused by his lateness.
“Jesus! You look sexy, darlin’,” Negan broke the silence, and rested a hand on your thigh.
You mumbled a thank you and looked ahead at the road. Negan knew he was in the wrong, but damn, it was frustrating how long you held a grudge. Interestingly enough, being late wasn’t a rare occurrence. In fact, Negan had been late many times picking you up before and in the back of your mind, you always felt uneasy when he called to apologize. It never seemed genuine. You wanted to trust him and at times you felt like you had to, however, his “business” calls and coming home late from work never coincided with any plausible explanation.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to my place. Unless that wasn’t your plan.” Negan raised his eyebrows.
“Sure, but you don’t want to go to the bar first? It’s a Saturday night. No one is sitting around at home,” you said matter-of-factly.
Negan tilted his head back against the faux leather seat as his hands tensed around the wheel.
“I just thought we could try again… thought you were ready by now.”
You sighed, rubbing your shoulder, “Not to be an ass, but why the hell would I, a broke college student, want to bring a child into the world? What happened before was an accident.”
“And… I just can’t fathom birthing a baby I wouldn’t be one-hundred percent attentive to. I love you Nee, so fucking much, but I-I can’t. Not now at least.”
“Look, I shouldn’t have brought it up... I’m a shithead for that, okay. Just tired and had a long day,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You know, if I wanted a drink, I could go home and pour myself some scotch. But you don’t fuckin’ like scotch, or bourbon, or really any other whiskey for that matter. So let’s go get drinks.”
You shrugged, “‘Kay.”
In an attempt to relax you, his hand found yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. His fingertips eventually drifted to your thigh, rubbing further underneath your dress. You let out a breathy no and pushed him away.
“Shit!” Negan grunted through gritted teeth. “You’re so goddamn pissy!”
You sat up in your seat and scoffed, snatching off the leather jacket Negan gave you to warm up with and chucked it into the back seat of the car.
“You wanna know why?!” you spat. “First of all, you left me waiting for two hours at some shitty frat house, you never pick me up on time, and now you're tired on the weekend! Your only plans were to drink whiskey and fuck me while you watched a NASCAR race on the tv!”
Negan’s veins were visibly protruding out of his neck, and with white knuckles he slapped the steering wheel. In the most deafening silence, he cut through city traffic. You broke into a cold sweat, heart racing, as the car swerved through an unfamiliar part of town.
“Negan, sto-stop. I know you’re pissed, but you’ve gotta calm down,” you reminded him. Your hands clenched, nails sorely biting at the skin, and they grew clammy the longer your anxiety lingered. The unfaltering scowl still etched onto his face, elicited a gasp from you.
“Oh fuck, please stop.”
Finally, Negan killed the engine in an empty parking lot of a Sears, and to say you were left paralyzed in your seat was an understatement. As his hazel eyes found yours, fear inched its way up your spine. Negan’s pupils were blown, eyes much darker than usual, and he raked a hand hastily through his salt and pepper hair. His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips, and a shallow breath blew past them.
“Take. Off. Your. Seatbelt.”
Negan’s eyes were primal.
“Do it!” Negan sneered.
“Do it,” he lowered his voice, growling, “now.”
Abruptly, he slammed the armrest and you flinched, tensing further away. With a heavy breath, you did what you were told; however, you instinctively clenched your thighs at his demand. That surprised you.
Negan scratched over his graying stubble with a slow nod. You assumed he was thinking of what to say, piecing the words together, so they could roll past his tongue nicely. He pursed his thin lips with a pause before he began.
“I’m not sure if I made it clear that I’m sick of your shit, but I am.”
Glancing past Negan, you noticed the car was unlocked. You nodded with a nervous gulp.
“I can tolerate a lot, but this unappreciative fuckery you’re tryna pull is just not cuttin’ it. You talk to your daddy like that? Back talkin’ and screamin’ n’ shit?”
Breaking eye contact, you shook your head.
“N-no,” you stammered.
“Well shit, princess…” he exhaled sharply, eyes shifting back and forth, staring into yours. “ I have no clue where you got the idea I’d let this slide, exactly,” he pointed out and cocked his head.
Negan steepled his fingers and continued, “There’s a price to pay for that mouth you got on ya.”
Backing further into the seat, you whimpered at his taunting.
Radiating in sadism, Negan’s scowl slowly upturned into smirk. And finally, as he began to fully thrive off your apprehension, his mouth curled into a wolfy grin.
“I’m gonna need you outta that dress.”
The back of your head rested on the cool window as you stared behind Negan and conjured up a plan. You reached behind yourself as if you were undressing, and felt for the door handle, quick enough not to be noticed, you assumed. When Negan’s fingers dug into your thigh, however, you knew it was a dangerous game you were playing.
“Testin’ the wrong man, sweetheart,” he reminded you.
You winced, feeling your skin start to bruise. Realizing this was your only opportunity, you dashed out the car, nearly tripping over your feet with the amount of force used to free yourself.
“What the fuckin’ fuck!” Negan roared, and you heard the car door slam. It was so loud you nearly pissed yourself.
“Get your ass back over here now!” His voice carried across the lot.
All the street lights were dim and the possibility of you making it back to campus —or at least to safety— was slim to none. Tears welled up in your exhausted eyes and you just cried. Possibly you didn’t have the energy to keep going, or you didn’t care what the outcome was, but you stood rigid. Eyes wide, you stared in anticipation towards the dark street where you assumed your boyfriend would appear.
“You can’t run from me, darlin’. When you do that… that’s a ball clenchin’ thing,” Negan rasped behind you, grabbing your arm.
Goosebumps prickled over your body at the familiar voice. You screamed bloody murder, thrashing and flailing as Negan pinned you against the ground. His hand quickly covered your mouth and he warned you to stop. Your brain was fogged and all you could think about was escaping the calloused fingers that ran up your bare thigh. Urging you to pay attention to his ministrations, you felt a hand lightly slap at your wet cheek. Negan leaned over you and his breath fanned your ear.
“I’m gonna bury my cock so deep in this pussy —fill it up with my cum— you’ll never want it to end, doll. But you know damn well I can’t just fuck ya. I need you to want this ‘cause I’m not all…”
In disgust Negan spat, “rapey.”
You whimpered. Not because of how scared you were —no, at how your skin burned hot at Negan’s touch. His hands roamed across your body, making sure to avoid where you needed him most. It was electrifying and that made you shameful. You cringed, fighting the urge to let him fuck you raw right there on the stiff, cold grass. Negan straightened up above you and you squirmed against the confines of his long legs. Cautiously he removed his hand, slick with spit and saliva, and judged if you’d scream again.
“We’re goin’ back to the car, a’right? Now, if you try anything this time I’ll tie you to a goddamn tree. Am I clear?”
“Ye-yes,” you squeaked.
Clenched even tighter, your legs felt like jelly and you couldn’t stand, let alone walk. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder with your dirt covered ass pushed upwards into the air. There was something weirdly daring and erotic about his rash behavior that kept you craving more.
In a swift motion, Negan unbuckled his leather belt and grunted, pulling out his length. The tip was red and raging for some friction, swollen under his hand. You weren’t surprised when you saw he was rock hard and not wearing any underwear, and the corner of your mouth tugged a bit. Negan tossed his head back against the seat as he rubbed himself. When his climax drew nearer he panted, thrusting his narrow hips to match the quick rhythm. After swearing incoherently he stopped, looking over.
“I’m not comin’ unless it’s in that sweet little pussy of yours, so I think it’s best if you ride it, doll.”
You drew your legs together, apprehensive to move a muscle, and you dared not to run again or Negan wouldn’t hesitate tying you up. He’s a psychopath —and although you were fully aware of that fact, your cunt still flooded, begging to wrap around the dick that happened to treat it well.
In a mousy voice, you whispered, “I think we should talk about this. It isn’t right… I don’t think you're okay.”
You were still frozen in place and Negan had enough of your little games. He was having his way, even if you screamed and cried. He knew despite your pleas and your goddamn back talking, that you loved exactly how that night was turning out. Deep down inside, you wanted him to claim your sopping cunt on the fucking pavement as you writhed against his body. Negan was man enough to know where to draw the line, but hell if he hadn’t taken you back to the car, you would’ve easily let him screw you on the grass.
Smirking, Negan snorted, “So now you don’t want to? That’s a damn shame… But we’re not here to make up and have some deep conversation. You piss me off, there’s repercussions. So be daddy’s good girl and let me put this dick to good use.”
Without hesitation, he reached under your dress for your panties and tore them off. You whimpered wanting to cover yourself. You fended off his persistent hand as it slipped between your legs, but your body betrayed your trepidation.
“I don’t think I can do this… please,” you gasped as he continued. “It’s so— sto-op, oh f-fuck!”
Negan leaned closer to you and he quickened his movements the more you grinded against his touch. A familiar warmth grew in the pit of your belly and you whimpered. Shame. As your breathing changed, heavier with lust, his name fell from your lips. You gritted your teeth as he sped up the teasing between your folds —yet still embarrassed, you fought him off and squeezed your thighs together. Your eyes drifted to his face and he frowned with a tsk, eyebrows furrowing. Sweat clung your ass and the leather seat as you awaited your punishment. Suddenly, he collared you by your throat, constricting you of airflow and shoved you far against the headrest. Negan’s face boiled, glaring with enraged eyes.
“Fuckin’ done with you…” Negan breathed, his face merely inches from yours.
“A man like me thinks with his cock… and right now?” he inhaled, “My cock is telling me to claim that hot pussy. I don’t care if you don’t like it. I don’t care if you cry. And trust me, once I get goin’ I don’t fuckin’ stop.”
Your stomach lurched at his words. Negan wove his fingers through your h/c hair, pulled loosely into a bun and forced you over the seat and on top of his seething frame. He pulled your face to his and kissed you roughly, invading your mouth with his wet tongue. His hands slid up your trembling sides and eventually rested around your neck. Negan pulled away with a hiss and manually pried open your mouth, spitting directly onto your pink tongue. He urged you to swallow. Cringing, you moaned and grinded your heat against him fervently, a dark chuckle escaped his lips.
“You’re so nasty. You’re so fuckin’ nasty, doll,” he growled.
A hand slid down and rested on your sex, drawing circles on your clit, over and over. Wary but nearing your limit, you rutted yourself against his fingers and let out a strangled moan. There was nothing worse than trying to escape a man who knew your body like the back of his hand. Each touch made you weak. Negan pulled away and watched as your juices ran down his fingers and he gave an approving nod. Clearly impressed with how quickly you were wet for him and he felt himself stir underneath you.
You needed more. Negan needed you worse.
Without warning Negan thrusted up into you in one fluid motion. A yelp got caught in your throat as his cock impaled you repeatedly. Your mouth gaped open from the sensation and Negan took it as an opportunity to slip his fingers inside, against your drooling tongue. He paused to pull out slowly and pushed back in you with a deeper thrust to relish in the tightness of your pussy and the way the arousal coated his cock. He surprised you with random strokes against your g-spot, that sent you heaving over his shoulder and moaning lusty, broken sentences into his ear.
“Ah, shit! Keep doin’ that… keep clenchin’ around me me, doll,” he slurred, smacking your ass harshly and your eyes rolled back.
He grabbed your face, glistening with sweat, and held your gaze with his desire filled eyes, peering at you from under hooded lids.
“This is where your pussy belongs,” he whispered above your lips, his voice dripping with a cunning tone. He tongued his cheek cockily and slammed into your convulsing walls, grunting wildly. “Bouncin’ on my cock and taking every inch! You’re mine, darlin,’ always will be. Don’t ever forget it.”
Negan rubbed your clit again, causing your orgasm to bubble over and you chanted his name like a mantra. Your back painfully dug into the steering wheel, but you were so drunk off pleasure, the pain quickly subdued. Chuckling darkly, he continued fucking you until he came, spurting ropes of come inside you.
“Good thing you’re not on birth control. Would’ve taken years to try again if I didn’t swap that shit out.”
Realizing what he’s done you tried to pull away, kick him, anything. Cursing and screaming, you clawed at his shoulders, smacking at his face to make him pull out, but he refused. You sniffled as a tear slid down your burning cheeks and you wiped it away bitterly. Negan held your hips down with a tight squeeze. As if Negan could get any more menacing, his grin was gleeful, titling his head so you couldn’t ignore his dimples.
“Ah, ah, ah! I’m makin’ sure you’re stayin’ with me for a long time.”
Bonnie Zimmerman’s “Daughters of Darkness: Lesbian Vampires” and Linda Williams’ "Film Bodies: Gender, Genre and Excess” both explore gender stereotypes in film. The myth of the “lesbian vampire” as stated by Zimmerman, dates back to two myths. Filmmakers have used this trope countlessly in horror to depict lesbians as cruel, manipulative women that view men as disposable. This aids in creating negative stereotypes of lesbians outside of the film world. The lesbian vampire motif often features the same storyline, where a male and female vampire fight over a woman, however Daughters of the Darkness depicts the fight between a controlling husband and a seductive female vampire. This gives the films it's feminist undertones because it turns the lesbian vampire against men rather than women. The differentiation of the way that the three main characters of this film are depicted highlights a point that Williams makes. Film loves to show the weeping woman and the dominating man, but sexuality changes those tropes. Horror adopts a sense of “sadomasochism” where pleasure is derived from the pain, punishment and torture of others.
⁻ ⁻ ⁻ ✧ ⁹₉⁹ ❤︎ warning(s): potential spoilers -> (floch is alive in this one-shot), gun kink, posessiveness, smacking kink, degradation, sadomasochism, fingering, etc etc
⁻ ⁻ ⁻ ✧ ⁹₉⁹ ❤︎
it wasn't like floch to be jealous.
he trusted you. behind the shell of his cocky arrogance and overgrown ego, there was nothing but the bruised and vulnerable heart of a man who devoted himself to his goals, once upon a time. that's how it should've gone, really. after all, he set his own goals and limited his distractions. however, the minute you came along, only then did he realize that the heart wants what it wants.
it took him a while, but he showed you the side of him he failed to show to even his savior. the part of him that you treasured more than anything; his emotional side, his vulnerable side. tousled red hair and stern eyes only masked how he truly felt. not about his savior, not about his missions, but about you. it masked all the heaviness in his heart and the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. it was your hand that pushed past his emotional barriers; so why now? why the sick feeling now?
sounds of shuffling feet, the click of a worn-out clock and quiet chatter filled the cabin. it sounded and smelt all too different from the outside dangers their missions offered. except if jealously had a smell, it would have a bitter aroma reeking from floch forster.
your star-struck eyes beamed at jean, who had ditched connie merely a few moments ago just for you. he was explaining the mechanics of the thunder spears that hanji themselves introduced to him a while back, after he failed to grasp the basics. you couldn't help but let out an admiring laugh and he flexed his biceps, toppling the spears onto his shoulders in an attempt to balance five of them at once.
floch's fingers twitched against the railing of the staircase in annoyance. he huffed quietly, trying to focus on his own gear as he polished his gun in annoyance. perhaps this truly was the one time he wished the old man in his wheelchair would come around and force him to clean up.
“floch-san?” falco's gentle tone sounded from beside the scarlet-head, floch's head turning slightly towards the blond. “hm?”
“if you don't mind me asking, why do you keep staring at jean-san and (y/n)-chan?” his eyes widened slightly, the question startling him. how obvious could he have possibly made it?
“no reason,” he quickly dismissed the younger, doing his best to remove all traces of suspicion that could've been picked up from a mile, or two-foot, radius. “just interested in their conversation.”
“oh, ok.” falco wasn't dumb, but he wasn't nosy either. none of the other cadets were aware of your relationship with floch, but falco could tell almost immediately, picking up the hints as if they were easter eggs on a sunday morning. of course, he didn't tell anybody. not even gabi. with his lips tightly pursed, he scurried away from floch, playing dumb as best as possible.
the empty thud of floch's thumbs grazing the oak wood gun barrell between his fingers, and the divine melody he hummed to himself did nothing to cure his everlasting boredom, the sight of you and jean never leaving the corner of his eye. the pistol stared back at him, almost as if it was taunting him. he sighee, letting his eyes skip around the cabin once again, until he felt his eyebrows raise at the sight he came across.
jean's chocolate brown eyes were staring directly at you, a smirk on his face as he watched you shake your head, a light pink wave of heat warming your cheeks. your hands reached up to cover your blush, a tiny shy smile tugging at your cheeks from ear-to-ear. floch felt his right eye twitch, the feeling of envy heating up in his stomach, boiling black and blue while his lips tugged into a long scowl. deciding that he had enough of jean's tactics, he pushed himself up with his palms on his table, walking over to you in careful strides.
you couldn't help but tremble as you felt the warmth of floch's body pressed against your back, one arm wrapping itseld around your hips and pulling you closer to his side while a sickly-sweet smile stretched across his face. his fingers almost painfully dug into your side, making sure you knew that he was there.
“well, what do we have here, gorgeous?” he shamelessly winked at you, a groan leaving jean's mouth at floch's antics. your heart lurched as you felt his fingers dig into your side, even more, his fake cheerful expression never wavering. thankfully, jean was too mindless to pay attention. however, you knew better.
“jean and i were just talking about the thunder spears!” you beamed at your boyfriend, who felt the corner of his mouth twitch slightly at the carelessness you radiated. floch forced himself to smile, his pride fighting against every drop of envy coursing through his veins.
“thunder spears, huh?” you nodded in response, paying no mind to how jean stared your boyfriend down, locking eyes with him as a mischevious glint ignited the tension between them. floch stared right back, ready to cave in. he could easily put a bullet between his eyes if he had it out for him. the thought brought him slight comfort, making him clench his fists when he realized his pistol was at his table.
“well, if it was about thunder spears, jean won't mind if i steal you away for a second, right?”
of course he minded. the upper corner of his lip twitched upwards as his nose tightened, nostrils flaring. floch tightened his grip around you, his fingers rubbing passive-aggressive circles into your side. only then did you realize what was really going on. your eyes switched from one alpha male to another as you shuddered slightly, your boyfriend's touch becoming more and more indicating by the second.
“it's no problem,” you spoke for jean, who couldn't help but ooze of disappointment. “you can show me more of this later, right? it was really entertaining!” entertaining? floch winced, as jean smirked.
boy did he know how to keep a game running. he had used floch's own card against him, mimicking the pet name he used on you when he sat down, interrupting your conversation. you giggled at his response, which only irked your boyfriend further. he tugged at your wrist harshly, earning a yelp from you as he pulled you away from your seat. there wpuld definitely be visible bruising later, but both of you were too pre-occupied to care right now. unbeknownst to you, floch had grabbed a hold of his pistol and snuck it into the pocket of his trousers, before dragging you on further until you hit the closest roomㅡeven if it was an old, empty closet.
your back hit the dusty wall as floch slammed the door behind him, a stern look on his face as the moonlight from the sheer window adorned the now visible pistol he had on him. you gulped, not knowing how to react.
it happened too quick, the interruption. he brought his left hand around your wrists, fingers gripping your hands tightly as he slammed them against the wall above your head, right hand holding you by the jaw roughly. despite his aggressive tacticts, he couldn't help but press his lips against yours for the first time in a long time. a week had passed since your last physical interaction, and the mishap with jean only fueled his eagerness. your lips matched his perfectly, tempo and everything, as he pushed himself against you, hips grazing yours. you groaned softly as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, tongue prodding against yours aggressively. you could barely breathe, lungs burning in the best way possible as you struggled against his touch. weak, powerless, practically submitting yourself to him. just the way he liked it.
he pulled away from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he did so. “tell me,,” he dropped his right hand, letting it fall off your jaw sweetly. “are you as sadistic as i'm convinced you are?” the question was purely rhetorical. he raised his free hand once again, moving it to stroke your cheek, lulling you into his touch as your eyes softened. you convinced yourself he was through with the anger as his index finger caressed you, only to jump back when the rest of his hand wrapped itself around your throat, pressure releasing as you gasped.
“jean kirstein, of all people, really,” you weren't given a chance to respond as a dark chuckle filled your ears. you mewled softly as he squeezed the sides of your neck, palming your throat. he loved seeing you powerless like this. “well? say something now that it's just the two of us. so whored-out and we haven't even started yet.” he degraded you like it was his mother tongue, like he was born to do it. your legs shifted, thighs pressed against each other, which didn't do unnoticed. floch jabbed a knee between your legs as he pushed it against your center, happy to watch the muffled moan get caught in your throat.
he released his grip ever so lightly. “'m s-sorry,” you choked out, the pressure returning slowly as amusement sprang in his eyes. floch began bouncing his knee, giving you warmth and friction as you rutted against it, hoping to get something out of it. “sh-should've known better than to m-make you jealous, 'm sorry,” you repeated, holding pretty noises back as the growning wetness spread in your panties.
you nodded vigorously, stopping only when he pulled his knee back and brought his hand across your face, laughing as you tumbled onto the floor. your cheek was stinging, you felt humiliated and weak. you wanted to get up, stand up for yourself, but your legs, spread open, gave it away. dampness increased since he slapped you silly, making you whimper as the cold air breezed against it.
“no, you aren't sorry,” he kneeled down in front of you, smirking as he pulled his pistol clean out of his pocket. safety mode was turned off, a bright red dot signalling anything but safety on it. “wouldn't've done it in the first place if you really were, hm?” the barrell of the gun quickly came in contact with your damp heat, a gasp passing your lips as he dragged the cool weapon along your clothed slit. your thighs began to quiver as his skillful fingers guided the gun to push past your panties, warm cunt finally meeting the sharp air. he pressed the head of it to your entrance, running it up and down until the bullethole stamped your clit. you couldn't help but sob, now clinging to his veiny wrist.
it was the second time he slapped you like a bitch, and you couldn't get enough of it. it was enough to make you gush around his gun he had cleaned up just a little while ago. he snickered as you blushed bright red, realizing your sensitive cunt had creamed around his gun, just after a few strokes. fortunately, he couldn't stop there. nor did he want to as he pushed your fluids back into you with the pistol, finger on the trigger as he nuzzled the tip into you, flicking his wrist just to hear you cry out. “so you really are a slutty little sadist, hm?” you were, your glossy eyes staring into his own was enough of a sign. you nodded.
to your dismay, he removed the nuzzle from your pussy lips, licking his own lips as he watched a string of your fluids drip from the gun. he didn't hesitate to push the gun between your lips, nor did you hesitate to opem your mouth, wrapping it around his gun gratefully.
Used to follow this bizarre chick on vine. She would fart excessively especially on her black boyfriend. That's so common in interracial relationships. It's the Sadomasochism and the racism against the color brown. It's like a secret only some interracial couples get.
Most ppl don't really go extreme with it. She would just constantly put his face in her butt so she can fart. But he never resisted. And she definitely enjoyed it enough to keep him around. I don't think most ppl think of it as a real fetish. Just play fighting. It's something women are good at and men like to let women win. But as soon as couples realize what they're doing is sexual/racist/sadomasochistic, they stop. Then it builds up and they accept they have the fetish but keep it private from then on.
overview! osamu makes a little “home video” for the two of you <3
warnings! degrading, osamu unironically having a daddy kink, slapping, choking, sadomasochism if you squint, & slight fem dom!y/n will be heavily influenced in this! please leave if you are sensitive to that! & no i didn’t proofread. proofreading is for losers 🙄✋🏽
wc : 2.5k
“pose for me, baby.” he frames the camera at you. you smile & wave slightly, his hand coming to thread through your hair as he pulled your head back slightly. “now be a good girl & bend over.” he placed the camera down.
“son of a bitch man- paid so much money for this dumbass camera oi!” osamu cursed, the recording button turning on right as he finished his angered statement. “smile at the camera, baby boo!” facing the camera lenses to you as you chose to sarcastically smile & lift your hand to send a quick fuck you.
“you know, ‘samu, i still don’t know about this. what if it gets out or something?” you worriedly said. “relax, honeybun! it’s fine.” he exclaimed, finally sitting the camera up by itself & walking back over to stand in front of the bed in nothing but boxers. “you know, the camera can see your ass cheeks, right?” you said, looking briefly at your nails.
“honey, we’re making a sex tape. that’s the point.” he made a bored face as you rolled your eyes. “don’t get smart with me, miya.” you challenged, eyes narrowing in an irritated manner. “you don’t get smart with me, young lady.” he tsked at you.
“you ready?” he whispers, hands grasping onto the silk robe he bought for you; specifically for this occasion. “yeah, i guess.” you shrugged. inwardly cringing, you stood up from the bed; slipping the robe off as the air hit your skin.
osamu watched you strip from the robe down to the garter belt on your thigh, facing the camera & giving a thumbs up. “you know i can see you, dumbass.” you snorted. he rolled his eyes at your remark, “it’s for dramatic affect. hush & continue stripping please.”
speaking up as you removed the last item of clothing you wore; your bra, you looked over to the camera. giving a sarcastic smile as you climbed onto the bed. his hands grasped onto your waist, rubbing circles. “what do you have against that damn camera?” he chuckled.
you waved him off, chuckling, “nevermind, ‘samu. it’ s just nerves. but say, it does get out somehow. what do we do?” he groaned softly. “baby, we talked about this. it’s a sex tape. s e x t a p e.” he annunciated & spelled out sex tape, mocking you. “apologies, smart ass. forgive me if i haven’t made a sex tape before.”
he glared at you jokingly, his hands grasping onto your tits. “watch it.” he threatened. you raised an eyebrow, “you watch it, miya.” he pushed you back to lay on the duvet, your hair fanning out across the pillows. he smiled, leaning down eye-level with your heat. “do you have to do this right now?” you sighed.
“if i have to prep you, then yes.” he snapped. you rolled your eyes, “work your magic, miya.” he chuckled lightly, his fingers prodding at your entrance teasingly. his eyes peered up at your form, your breath getting slightly heavier as your chest heaved. “i barely even touched you.” he taunted.
“shut up & get on with it.” he smiled, “whatever you say, mrs. osamu miya.” he leaned back up, kissing you roughly. you moaned into the kiss, grabbing onto his face, “so what do we do now, mr. osamu miya?” he snorted, pulling away.
“well since you’re so desperate for me, i don’t need to prep you. however - there’s no harm in prepping me.” he smirks. you made a bored face, “honey, it’s not prepping. all you need is a hard on. knowing you, it wouldn’t be hard.” you said as he grimaced.
“but baby!” he whined. “osamu, is this your way of telling me you want me to give you head?” he blushed, stammering. “w-well, not uh technically?” rolling your eyes, you replied. “it’s a yes or no, miya. take it or leave it.” he threw his hands up, “fine! yes i want you to give me head. happy?” he said exasperatedly.
“oh shit, you know your safe word right - it’s onigiri.” he said wearily, eyes raking over your form. “mhm.” he kissed you again, silencing the small hum. his lips were slightly chapped yet still soft, they had a faint taste of vanilla. “you taste like vanilla!” you moaned into his mouth.
he chuckled deeply, “i took your chapstick. it reminds me of you & it tastes good.” he groaned, grinding his boxer-clad hips into your naked ones. “please, take it off, ‘samu. making me feel shy.”
“say it one more time & a little nicer.” he teased, you whined slightly. “please. please take your boxers off, ‘samu. pleasepleaseplease!” you begged as he laughed at the needy tone you held. biting his lip as he stood up from the bed, shrugging off the boxers, his bare ass being on full display for the camera.
“do a little spin!” you snorted as you propped yourself up on your elbows. he laughed at you, spinning slightly. you cheered & wolf-whistled, “now you’re twin brother may be prettier, but you definitely got all the ass!”
he gasped, “YOU THINK THAT ASSHOLE IS PRETTIER?” you covered your mouth, hiding the giggles. “WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU UGH!” he crossed his arms, stomping around like a child. “osamu.”
“hmph.” he turned away from you. “osamu.” he still didn’t face you. “osamu motherfucking miya. get on the bed now.” you said lowly. he turned around, not entirely giving up his childish act. “you’re acting like a brat. quit it.” you spit. he sat on the bed as you stood up, his length springing up. “see not so hard, is it? you’re acting like a little brat but your body still knows what it wants.” he raised his eyes up to your smirking form, his eyebrows raised.
he stared at you for a couple seconds before erupting into a small fit of giggles. “i think it’s cute how you think you call the shots.” he spoke, his voice being an octave lower. “i’m in charge, if that wasn’t obvious. don’t go thinking talking all this shit will grant you any permission to dom me.” you rolled your eyes. “besides, you’re doing it wrong. you gotta be cool about it.” he smiles stupidly.
“there he is again.” you say sarcastically as he scoffs loudly. “shut up, osamu. do you want me to give you head or not?” he grabbed onto your wrists, pushing you down to your knees. “yes i still want you to give me head.”
you rolled your eyes once more, grabbing his length with one hand as the other laid on his thigh. taking his tip in between your lips, he let out a small moan. “more!”
more of those whiny moans escaped his lips, his hands flailing to grasp onto your hair; pushing you farther onto his cock. “fuck!” he dragged out. “ah shit. fuckfuckfuck no more, get up.” he lifted your head off of his crotch, running a hand through his dyed hair.
“get on the bed.” he quickly says, sitting up & walking to his night stand. “you looking for condom, ‘samu? feel my arm.” you said sticking your right arm out as his finger pressed on the little bump. “i got the implant when you were staying with ‘tsumu that one weekend. i’m still on the pill too.”
“aw man.” he pouted. “you don’t wanna have kids with me?” you laugh slightly, “baby, it’s not that i don’t want kids with you. it’s just a little too early for us. we haven’t even been married for a year yet. having a baby with my job & onigiri miya would just be little hectic, don’t you think?”
“i know,” he sits on the bed next to you, “maybe next year.” he sighs. you snort loudly, “yeah, doubt that.” he rolls his eyes at your remark, turning over to be on top of you. “shut up.” he sighs once more. grabbing the head of his length, he slapped it a couple times against your entrance.
“beg for it.” you scoffed loudly. “hell no.” he laughs in your face, “fine. be that way. guess i’ll just turn off the camera & go to bed. leaving you here. all needy & untouched.” he taunts. “you’re insufferable.” you sneer. “oh really?” he quirks an eyebrow. “okay then.” he sighs, getting up off of you.
“no, wait! you didn’t let me finish.” you stammer, “please ‘samu. please let me have it. want your cock so bad.” you fake puppy eyes at him, pleading so sweetly. “good girl.” he get back on top of you, grabbing his cock once more & finally sinking into you.
you both groaned softly, your hands reaching up to latch around his neck. bringing his face down to yours, “fuck me like i owe you money, miya.” he shrugs, “you asked for it.”
he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you, his speed building up overtime. he lifted his body up, hands grasping onto your hips to fuck you deeper, the new angle making you moan out.
“you’re such a fucking slut. barely even been fucking you for five minutes & you’re already going dumb for me.” he spits as you cry out. one of his hands reached up to your face, slapping you softly. “don’t give me that whining shit. you asked for this, didn’t you?”
your eyes rolled back as you back arched off the bed. the same hand that slapped you a moment ago pushed your body back onto the mattress, “you better answer me when i’m talking to you, bitch.”
“yes, ‘samu!” one particular thrust left you shaking, your mouth opening as osamu wrapped his hand around your throat lightly. “right there, huh?” he rolled his hips into yours slowly, silently taunting you. you nodded your head vigorously, sputtering out incoherent mumbles.
he leaned down to your right ear, “you don’t get to cum just quite yet though. think of this as a spur of the moment punishment. you deserve it after all that teasing you put me through. leaving me high & dry after i asked so nicely for you to simply beg.”
you cried out, yours hands grabbing ahold of his biceps. “i’m sorry! so sorry, ‘samu. i’ll be good! i promise! i-i’ll be good! so, so good for you!” you sobbed. hiccuping slightly as one of your hands cupped his cheek, kissing him softly.
slipping his tongue into your mouth as his other hand moved from your clit. rubbing small, slow circles as he moaned into your mouth. he broke the kiss first, “yeah? you’ll be my good girl? promise? promise you’ll be a good girl for daddy?” you nodded, “yeah, daddy. so sorry!”
he moaned softly, “okay then. be a good girl for daddy & cum for me.” his hand sped up, rubbing your clit faster as he kissed you again, silencing your cries. as you calmed down, he broke apart to leave soft kisses from your lips to your cheeks. “feel better, baby?”
nodding quickly, “love you, ‘samu!” he giggled lightly. “you better cause now you’re gonna make daddy cum.”
he looked you in the eyes, whispering softly. “ride me, honey.” you smirked, giggling inwardly. he lifted himself off of you, scooting to his side of the bed & setting himself up against the headboard. positioning yourself on top of him as you lined his length up with your folds, you kissed him softly.
biting his lip as you sunk down onto his cock, he moaned loudly into your mouth. his eyes briefly rolled back as he grabbed onto your hips. “right there, ‘samu?” you rolled circles onto his crotch, his length nudging your cervix. “watch this.” you giggled.
circling your hips on his crotch, he finally realized what you were doing. “you spelling your name on me, baby?” he reached a hand up to push his hair out of his eyes as his face contorted in pleasure. you nodded, giggling once more. as you lifted your body up to slam back down, his hand cupped your cheek.
“god i fucking love you.” he whined, his lips crashing onto yours roughly. he slipped his tongue into your mouth again as you alternated between going up & down & grinding down onto him. “i’m gonna cum.” he muttered softly, breaking apart from the kiss.
you smirked, grabbing his hand & guiding it to your throat. “go crazy.” you whispered as he squeezed the sides of your neck gently, “pinch me if i squeeze too hard, baby.”
bucking his hips into yours, he used your body for his pleasure. “you like this, don’t you? being used for your body? man oh man, imagine if everyone saw how much of a whore i can make you.” he scoffed.
you laughed, however you were cut off by osamu’s hand squeezing a pressure point in your neck; making your vision a little spotty. deciding to let him have his fun just until he came, you kept quiet.
he threw his head back as his hips faltered, “g-gonna cum.” he stammered. the hand that wasn’t holding your throat raised up before slapping your ass harshly, hard enough to leave a handprint as he pulled out; untrustful of the birth control & not wanting to provoke you.
pumping himself up & down, his release came in long, thick strands of pearly white that landed on both your abdomens. his panting & your soft moans were the only things that could be heard throughout the room.
as your vision blurred once more, you pinched his bicep. he released your throat to rub at the spot you pinched before “ow what was that- oh shit! i’m so sorry! fuck, are you okay? i’m sorry i squeezed too hard at the end!”
he panicked, backing away from you a little out of fear he hurt you. you took a moment to catch your breath before sighing, “no, ‘samu. i’m fine, it’s okay.” you hugged him as he cradled your head. kissing your temple before getting up.
he walked over to the bathroom where you heard momentary shuffling before the rushing of the sink water. he emerged from the bathroom with a rag, “here, honey.” he wiped you both down, throwing the rag into the dirty clothes before walking over to the dresser.
he came back with two pairs of boxers & an oversized shirt. handing the clothes to you while he put the boxers on, he smiled at your form. “you looks beautiful wearing my clothes.” you looked up to him with a smile of your own. making grabby hands at him as he walked to you, giving you a hug.
you two embraced each other before you pulled him down onto his side of the bed, “omph- didn’t know you were that strong-“ he said as you giggled. looking into his eyes as you softly kissed him. “night, ‘samu.” he smiled, kissing you again. “goodnight, baby.” he whispered against yours lips as you both closed your eyes.
not even a minute after you opened one up, peeking over at the camera still recording you two. “hey, ‘samu?” he hummed, his eyes still closed, “the camera is still on.”
he sighed, “i’ll turn it off.” he lifted himself up as he walked over to the dresser. after turning the camera off, he walked back, settling into the bed again. “goodnight, baby. again.” you smiled, the exhaustion taking over your form as you closed your eyes; leaning into his arms.
So I was driving to work the other day. Thinking fandom thoughts, like you do. And I was thinking about @robininthelabyrinth 's fic extra where Lan Qiren, Lao Nie, and Wen Ruohan wind up in a queer polycule. And how we've got Lan Qiren on the ace no-sex-involving-me-at-all end of the spectrum, and Lao Nie definitely off toward the hyper-sexed end of the spectrum (with the distinct kink for anyone who is capable of killing him, it seems).... And Wen Ruohan who I'm assuming is somewhere in the middle based on the fact in the fic he's at least 2 generations older than Lan Qiren and Lao Nie, and yet only has his two sons, who are near the same generation span as the other 4 kids...
Which got me thinking about the kids. And their impressions of this strange relationship their fathers/father-figure are in.
Which springboarded my brain in wondering how different The Talk is for each pair of siblings.
Would Wen Ruohan himself explain sex to his kids? Or does he have servants or designated instructors for that?
I imagine that Lan Qiren has some official Lan book regarding such things and would approach the topic the same way he might any other subject he needs to teach. Would The Talk even be a private matter or is Sex Education a standard part of Lan lectures? Would that be more awkward or less? And considering what Lan Qiren said about students making comments, or writing notes, or outright propositioning him... 🤔 I wonder has Lan Wangji ever bitten anyone to defend his uncle's honor..?
And Lao Nie... He's the one I can picture giving a very chill (for him) explanation about sex that covers not only mechanics, emotions, and typical social obligations and expectations... But also going into weird kinky stuff but presented in a way that doesn't imply it as being anything more unusual than "some people like this and some people don't and it's all awesome just make sure everyone involved is on the same page and agrees to whatever you're all doing." (I imagine Nie Mingjue blushes through the whole thing while Nie Huaisang takes notes)
But then I was picturing all the kids together, talking about random things... And somehow it comes up. And everyone is a little confused because each pair of kids got different Talks about sex, and an argument breaks out over which version is "right".
So then they all go back with questions and/or complaints about what the other kids had to say about sex. And it bugs Lan Qiren that there seems to be no standard for their kids and demands the other two help him design a curriculum, and they are all three going to re-teach all 6 of their kids about sex.
Which brought me to the mental image of Wen Xu, Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen, Wen Chao, Lan Wangji, and Nie Huaisang, all seated at desks in a classroom, with Wen Ruohan, Lao Nie, and Lan Qiren at the front. Lan Qiren is speaking, referencing the notes in his hand that all three of them contributed to, while Lao Nie is drawing illustrations on a blackboard behind him (are blackboards even a thing in ancient fantasy China?), while Wen Ruohan is lounging off to the side and making snarky comments on Lao Nie's skills at drawing anatomy.
After the lesson is over and the kids have fled (except Nie Huaisang who needs to be dragged away from asking questions way too detailed and explicit), Wen Ruohan smirks and wonders if this counts towards "tainting your lectures with our deviance". And then asks him to reread out loud the section of the lesson on how sadomasochism is a thing.
And then Lao Nie is pouncing Wen Ruohan while Lan Qiren is rolling his eyes and making sure the door is locked against any of the kids coming back for any reason. The two have sex on the teacher desk while Lan Qiren cleans the classroom and reminds them that they are responsible for cleaning up any and all mess that they make.
Kink List: Hypnosis, voyeurism, sub/dom dynamics, very light sadomasochism themes, but like emotionally, slight degradation.
Plot: Remus has some interesting powers of persuasion, and his boyfriend would very much like to know what that feels like.
Age in ur bio or DNI.
Janus sits on the edge of his bed, his feet tapping against the floor nervously as he waits patiently for the door to open. Remus said he’d come straight after he’s finished trying to help Roman create something in particular. It’s rare he’s ever asked to contribute to anything so he’d been ecstatic. A small smile crosses his lips as he considers his boyfriend’s eyes lighting up, hands clasped together as he bounces on the spot, unable to contain his excitement.
Remus can be a handful, but often he can be adorable too. He has the sort of wonder in him where absolutely anything is possible if you try hard enough. Sometimes Janus wishes somethings were not possible, like his ability to murder or threaten murder, but luckily Remus just sticks to imaginary things that he creates.
The door opens, interrupting Janus’ thoughts as he sits up straight, his hands falling to his knees as he gazes up at his boyfriend, who locks the door behind him. “Good afternoon!” Remus grins, standing in front of him. “Are you still wanting to do the thing we talked about?” Janus hums, nodding. “Good! This will be fun.” His hand comes underneath Janus’ chin, tilting his face up to stare into his eyes. “Are you ready now?”
“Yes sir.” Remus nods.
“Okay then, Janus,” the way he says his name, sounding both syllables like he wants to taste every part of the word, has the hair on the back of the other man’s neck standing on end “...this will feel a little strange, you will feel dizzy for a moment, and then you will feel your conscious mind melting into your subconscious, I will bring it back out again when I’m finished with you.” Janus’ breath hitches. “You’re all mine now, and you will do as I say and only as I say.” His eyes switch to deep mossy green, and Janus feels like he’s falling into the colour, it fills him with a sense of warmth, of home, of safety. Remus’ hand cradles his face, in a gesture that is almost loving. “Have a nice break, my dear,” the dizziness feels like falling, like vertigo, and Janus feels half of his mind fall into the other leaving a sensation, not unlike motion sickness, in its wake.
And then he’s just not there, he can’t reach his body, like the ability to operate it had dissolved. “Stand up for me, my love.” Janus feels his body does as he’s told, he can feel the movements. “Strip for me,” Remus grins, sitting down on the edge of the bed as Janus grips the edge of his shirt and tugs it up over his head, letting it fall to the floor, his hands tugging off his gloves. He’d taken his shoes, socks and capelet off before, anticipating this. His hands unbutton his trousers, sliding them off of his legs and stepping out of them. Remus smirks as he tugs his boxers off last, leaving him standing naked in the middle of his room.
“Good boy,” Janus’ cheeks flush like it's as natural to him as blinking, and he supposes it must be. “Why don’t you touch yourself for me? Get yourself nice and hard for me, yeah?” He can feel Remus’ eyes watching him as he squeezes his cock, stroking himself to hardness. “Now, you’re not allowed to cum until I say you can, which means you could be hanging on an edge for a very long time.” Janus feels his heartrate quicken at the thought, his cock hardening under his own touch. It’s actually a little exhilarating, being watched.
Remus hums, standing up. “Undress me, now.” He would whimper if he could, letting go of his hard cock to step towards Remus, his hands undoing the clasps to his shirt, sliding his sash off onto the floor. His shirt joins the mess of clothes, then Janus sinks to his knees to unbutton his jeans.
He leans down to unzip his boots, Remus steps out of them, letting Janus take off his socks too. He smiles down at him fondly, his hand curling through Janus’ hair, gripping tightly and pressing his face to the bulge in his underwear. “Go on slut, put your mouth to good use.” Janus parts his lips to suck at the outline of his hardening cock, feeling it twitch against him, his tongue pressing through the fabric layer. Remus grinds his hips against him with a grunt of pleasure. “Alright,” he lets go of him “...finish undressing me.” Janus obeys, tugging his jeans and underwear down together for the other man to step out of.
He remains on his knees until he’s told otherwise, staring up obediently at Remus, who plays with his hair for a moment. “Suck,” he guides the head of his cock to Janus’ mouth. “Relax your throat,” Janus had never thought that to be something he consciously did and it was odd to feel that sensation done on command. Remus holds his head in place, pressing his cock into Janus’ mouth in a hard but slow movement that has tears beading in his eyes. Remus’ breath falls uneven as he fucks Janus’ face. He feels spit and drool dripping out of his mouth with the movement. “You can touch yourself again now, my love.” Only he can make the words ‘my love’ sound degrading. Janus is actually glad he’s unable to control himself right now because he hasn’t got the ability to multitask required for this, usually.
Finally, Remus draws his cock out of the other man’s mouth, playing with his hair. “I’ll never get tired of fucking your mouth,” he leans down to drag Janus into an uncoordinated, messy kiss, before leaning up with a grin. “Stand up, lie down on the bed, on your back,” Janus swears he feels his joints click with how fast he stands up, lying down on the bed. Remus straddles his hips. “I stretched myself, but I just need to borrow your hand to check I’m still stretched enough.” He takes Janus’ hand, pouring some lube over his fingers, before leaning forward. “Start with two fingers, stretch me.”
The sensation of being used as a human sex toy is awakening much in Janus that he hadn’t really considered himself to have. He reaches behind Remus to press two fingers into his slick hole, pumping them in and out of him as the other man holds into the headboard, a soft moan ghosting his lips. “Add another finger.” Janus obeys, pumping three fingers in and out of the other man at a pace that is usual for them both, not that he has much control over the pace. Remus exhales shakily, his eyes falling shut as his head bows. “Fuck, okay, that’s enough darling.” Janus slides his fingers out.
Remus doesn’t say a word, shuffling back down to grind his ass against Janus’ cock, his hands coming down to guide Janus’ to his hips. He reaches down to line up the head of his cock with his entrance, sinking down. The jolt of pleasure is startling, but he can’t make a single noise, his body utterly controlled by Remus. It almost feels like there's no release, not even from the usual moans and gasps that this situation would give him.
Remus seems to notice the weakness in his eyes, the desperation, because he grins down at him, lifting his hips and sinking down over and over. Janus' hands squeeze his hips the way he'd been shown to do.
He'd drastically underestimated Remus, who has always been as much sadistic as he is masochistic, as he feels the build-up of his climax, writhing inside his own body, but Remus just smiles down at him. He leans down to kiss him as he rides him, he can feel it somehow, the desire and frustration Janus is undertaking. "I need you to touch me, my love." If he were able, Janus would shiver at the tone, it's teasing and demanding and everything about the way he says the word "love" sounds like he hasn't a clue what that word means at all. But his hand wraps around Remus' cock, jerking him with the movements of his hips rocking down. He knows he isn't getting to cum until Remus does.
It's an odd sensation, a painful one too, he feels like his body is going to split open. And his boyfriend can only find that amusing, he knows it. His mind starts to melt at the edges, only formulating a rhythm of "pleasepleaseplease" as he feels the same sensation someone might feel if they were about to burst into tears. Remus' moans fill his ears, biting his lip between his teeth as he grinds his hips down, his cock twitching in Janus' hand. He can feel the way the heat rolls through him, his eyes rolling as he stills, cum leaking against Janus' hand and stomach. He feels the warm liquid on his skin, and how tight his body feels, the pleasure bordering on agony.
"Time to wake up Jan," the flash of green in his eyes and Janus' head feels light, his hands gripping Remus' hips as he rocks up in him desperately, his body feeling foreign and tense. His hips snap and the most guttural moan of relief he's ever made falls from his lips with tears beading in his eyes as his nails scratch Remus' skin. He whimpers, the sounds he makes loud enough to echo off the walls. For a second he worries he might actually blackout, his head is spinning with euphoria and something else that's less happy. Remus takes the rough treatment with a twitch and a whimper from overstimulation. "There's a good boy," their lips meet gently, Janus gasping quietly as he squirms beneath his boyfriend. "You did so well for me, my love." And this time he says the words softly, one of few times Janus can hear that tone, the slice of care that Remus reserves only for Janus amidst all the other things. Janus seizes in a deep breath, eyes closing, exhausted.
"That was...fuck...that was something." Remus giggles quietly, easing off of Janus. "I need a shower but I'd like to go to sleep." The other man smiles, leaning down to kiss him sweetly.
"I don't mind just going to sleep."
"I know! Wonderful isn't it?" Janus shakes his head, a small smile on his lips.
"Yeah, you are." He blinks at tears that are falling down his cheeks. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Remus leans down to lick his cheek with another giggle, Janus grimaces at the sensation. "Come on, shower then." Janus takes the hand offered to him, as he always does.
ISAAC RAMOS is a 23 year old BISEXUAL, MALE, HE/HIM, here in Firebrand City. People say they look a lot like ARON PIPER. They are RESOURCEFUL but can be VOLATILE. They are a HUMAN SLAVE in Firebrand and they work as a FIGHTER/BAIT AT THE PITS.
name: Isaac Ramos
birthday: april 9
occupation: fighter at The Pits
orientation: bisexual/biromantic (slight preference for cismales)
position: bottom/power bottom
likes/kinks: pain play (receiving), sadomasochism (he’s a very intense masochist), temperature play, overstimulation (receiving), forced chastity, dubcon, blood play, violence, restraints, impact play, rough sex, marking (a very secret/new like, he wouldn’t admit this to just anyone)
hard limits: scat, watersports, children, branding/permanent marking, being physically locked in small spaces (he’s claustrophobic)
hair: dark brown
scars: many, all over his body
style: casual/athletic, it wouldn’t be a surprise to see him sporting blood stains or rips on his clothes either
Isaac, like many humans, lost his family in the war of 2010 against the supernaturals. But unlike most, his parents had wanted nothing to do with the fight. They were good, kind people who just wanted to live their life and raise their family. They didn’t necessarily agree with what was happening in the world around them, but they acknowledged that there wasn’t anything they could do about it themselves. And so they tried to lead as ‘normal’ a life as they possible could.
Isaac was one of three kids, he had an older sister and younger brother, both of whom were exactly like their parents. Isaac himself was a bit of an anomaly, more subdued than the rest of his family. While everyone else was loud and friendly and social, he’s more quiet and broody, but that never made any difference to any of them. They were good at drawing him out of his shell, good at making him feel like he still belonged, that he was an important piece to their family puzzle, even if he was different. Their little family unit just worked. He would have gone so far as to say he had the perfect family, even if they didn’t necessarily have the most money or the nicest things. They had each other.
His parents worked hard, his mother was a school teacher, his father a cook at the local diner. Isaac was going to work with his father as young as 6 years old, spending his after-school hours poorly wiping tables and making himself sick with the unlimited milkshake refills the waitress would give him.
The war had just barely started when his father died. Isaac was home sick with the cold so he didn’t go to the diner with his dad as he normally would after school. That was the day the diner fell from an attack, killing all the human employees and patrons almost instantly. It was only the beginning, as in the following weeks and months Isaac watched as one after the other, his family was taken from him.
His older sister, Iris, was the last of his family members to survive, and the usually quiet and reserved Isaac cried every night as he begged her to never leave him. She promised she wouldn’t, promised it every night. Until she couldn’t keep her promise anymore and Isaac was all alone.
In the years that followed, a lot was different in Firebrand. Having gone through the war as a young teen, he had enough time after the war to grow bitter and angry with the world. Having lost the only people who bothered to pull him out of his shell, he stubbornly retreated back into it, becoming a darker version of himself, one unwilling to believe there was any justice in the world if his family could be stripped from him for doing nothing.
It got to a point where he just stopped feeling things altogether, he went through life on autopilot, making bad decision after bad decision just because it was something he had control over. The numbness was overwhelming, so he turned to drugs and alcohol to try and feel something again- but of course you needed money for that sort of thing. And lots of it if he wanted enough to make him forget his misery.
Having only received an education until the age of 13, Isaac didn’t exactly have very many marketable skills to tack onto a resume. More than that, he couldn’t be bothered to slap a fake smile on his face and deal with patrons all day. Funny enough, it was an offhanded comment made to him by a Demon superior who was beating him bloody for something or another that finally helped him find his place. The Demon had mentioned that Isaac looked good all bruised and bloody and that he’d pay good money to watch it happen on the regular. Soon after, Isaac became a fighter at The Pits.
Isaac has been a fighter for some time now. He wasn’t the best, and he was far from the worst, but he had a reputation for never knowing when to back down. For not knowing when to tap out. Made for lots of nights he didn’t remember, but that was the point. And people paid good money to watch a human get bloodied up. It was a win-win situation.
Though he’d only started this endeavour to make enough money to indulge in booze and drugs, he quickly found that fighting offered the same sort of release he was looking for. Whether he’s doing the beating or getting the beating, those moments in the ring are some of the very few where he actually feels anything anymore. Even if he wins his own fights, he’ll usually stick around and try to get in on another fight, regardless of what shape he’s in. The goal most nights is to forget, so he welcomes the pain, welcomes the anger. It’s probably one of the only reason he’s still around, which is funny because he’s 99% sure his fighting is what’s going to eventually take him out. And he’s just waiting for that day.
Pairings: Main pairing—Dom!Dabi x Fem!Reader, Secondary Pairings—Switch!Hawks x Fem!Reader, Dom!Dabi x Sub!Hawks
Warnings (for the series, not all appear in this part): DARK smut, 18+, Minors Do Not Interact, quirk play, sadomasochism, dubcon, noncon, teasing, denial, teasing, D/s, bondage, voyeurism, exhibitionism, powerplay, branding, choking, group play, teasing, brat taming.
Plot Summary: Dabi did not trust Hawks, let alone the mysterious stranger he’d dragged in as the “newest recruit” to the League of Villains. So he’ll just have to make sure you’re loyal, in his own…”unique” way.
Smut Notes: Reader thinks she’s a top/domme, or at least a switch, but is broken over time. Brat taming galore :D
Chapter Notes: A little more DabixHawks this chapter. A lil Shiggy being a perv. We’ll start seeing much more DabixReader next chapter. Muahaha. Also, I suck at chapter names and this is a stress relief/fun thing for me, so we’re just going with numbers for now lol.
PART ONE | PART TWO
Word Count: 1.88k
Hawks had devised the “real plan.” Operation “Knock-The-Cocky-Look-Off-That-Bastard’s-Face,” as he’d so artfully named it. The plan was to get Dabi feeling cocky enough that he could beat you handily, which you’d do by “training” and only showing your ice quirk, irritate him enough that he’d agree to spar, and then knock him on his ass the same way you’d done to Hawks.
You had asked the obvious question—Why? To be met with an infuriatingly vague response about payback. Payback for what, exactly, he wouldn’t say, though once you could have sworn you saw him blush, before he flashed a trademark grin.
Shigiraki was in on it, and had agreed as long as he could watch when it happened.
To the rest of the League—especially Dabi—you were there on a trial basis. You would “train,” chat with the crew, see how you fit in. And you found yourself fitting in quickly. Kurogiri, Twice, and Toga happened to be your favorites, the easiest to just chat with.
Shigaraki mostly left you alone, spare the times you’d gotten to talking about games. You didn’t notice him checking out your ass, and you certainly didn’t know about him pumping himself in his fist to the thought of you later. He credits Hawks for very little, but bringing you around was a great idea.
Hawks was Hawks. Though you had a harder time admitting it, for someone who was betraying heroes, working with villains, and had captured you and all that, he was surprisingly easy to get along with.
He was also an insufferable flirt. He was always calling you “dove” or “kid” and showering you with compliments, but you saw the sleazy look in his eye. He wasn’t shy about touching you—a hand around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder, crowding you in the kitchen. At first you were slapping him away, but before long you became used to it, didn’t mind the affectionate contact, even though you knew less pure intentions lay beneath it.
You knew less about the...specifics behind those thoughts. Sure, sure, he knew you claimed to be a top, but it’s not like Hawks had missed how easily you’d reacted once he’d had you pinned and had pressed into your pussy with his boot. He just had a hunch you were really a sub—probably a brat—who needed to be broken and taught her place. Someone who would be much happier whenever she let that little delusion of control go.
He was patient, and liked playing with his…”food” so he wasn’t fucking you just yet. But he was teasing you, listening to your breath hitch when he came too close behind you while you dug around in the fridge. And he loved imagining you teased and denied for days, reduced to pathetically humping his boot if you wanted any release. That would be fun.
No one, besides Shigaraki and Hawks, really got why you were there, but as they imagined having their way with you, they didn’t really mind the eye candy.
Except for Dabi.
Did Dabi think you were hot? Yes. Those doe eyes that he saw narrow into something a little darker when you regaled Toga with a blood-soaked story at the bar. That mischievous smile behind pouty lips. Breasts he wanted to fondle, nipples he wanted to circle with his tongue. An ass he wanted to slap, using his quirk so his handprint burns your skin. Oh, yes, he wanted you to sob while he fucked you, watch the mascara run black down your pretty little face.
But he didn’t want you around.
You didn’t make any sense. The ice quirk wasn’t the weakest quirk he’d ever seen, but it wasn’t anything special. Your ideals matched up with the League’s, apparently, but you weren’t a die-hard by any means. Most of all, Hawks brought you in, and that was a self explanatory problem.
And so he didn’t talk to you, he didn’t engage when you tried to talk to him either, beyond a sneer or a one-word response. And he seemed to always be watching, and did not seem happy about it.
It only took two days before Dabi had had enough of you using your stupid ice quirk and watching the others starting to like you, before he decided it was time he and a certain red-feathered hero had a chat.
In Hawks’ opinion, Dabi was getting a little too fucking comfortable with their dynamic.
To most people, he was the dominant one. Men, women, any gender expression, didn’t matter. With his looks, his status, his feral desires, it made sense. And Hawks loved it. The ones who threw themselves at him, the ones who didn’t and needed some breaking. There was just a 5% part of him, an itch that was never scratched until he’d met Dabi. And apparently that 5% was an insatiable painslut, that only came out after Dabi had fucking broken him.
Which he didn’t usually have a problem with. Dabi had (with rolled eyes and a derisive laugh) agreed to keep that aspect of their arrangement private, even if he suspected it was only so Dabi could hang it over his head.
But lately Dabi seemed less and less like he remembered that Hawks wasn’t just some bottom bitch who bent over for every passerby. And that Hawks wasn’t so much of a sub that he wanted to be treated that way outside of those 5% moments. It was time to remind him. He eventually would probably want to let Dabi fuck him again—he wasn’t one to deprive himself of life’s pleasures for long—but for now, he would not. Usually, when he got back, he would knock on Dabi’s door late at night to have that one itch no one else could scratch, well, scratched, but since he’d arrived with you, he had done no such thing. Which was extra difficult considering his room was on one side of Dabi’s and your temporary spot was on the other.
Three days had passed since you and him had showed up, and Hawks could feel Dabi glowering at him, which he was both pleased and a little scared by. Dabi glowered at you, too, but Hawks had assured you that Dabi would probably just be an angry observer for a while, so you’d done your best to ignore it.
As for him, Dabi never pursued him, until, when he was passing Dabi’s room to his own, Dabi’s door swung open, and the pale man leaned against his doorframe, expectation in his eyes.
Hawks paused, golden eyes meeting cobalt, before he took another step. And stopped when he felt a burning hand on his arm. He hissed through his teeth.
“Can I help you, Dabi?” he asked innocently, managing to keep the pain out of his voice.
Dabi normally would have retorted, but apparently his patience had run out. Dabi’s grip burned hotter—scalding—searing into Hawks’ brain, and he stumbled as Dabi pulled him across the threshold to his bedroom, before slamming the door shut behind the both of them.
Hawks regained his footing and saw something like murder in Dabi’s eyes.
“So, birdie, what’s the deal with y/n?” Dabi asked, voice deadly.
“I told you, she’s the new recruit—did I not speak slowly enough the first time? Didn’t know your brain was fried too—”
Dabi rolled his eyes, and with no warning he had his fingers wrapped around Hawks’ throat, slamming him into the wall, the fingers burning. With his other hand, he burned off Hawks’ shirt. Hawks’ eyes widened. This was a little too much too fast.
Dabi circled Hawks’ nipple with one finger, hooked it under Hawks’ hoop piercing, and pulled. Hawks tried to ignore the pleasurable current running under the pain. He refused to be that easy. He managed to just look exasperated instead. As if the sudden disintegration of his shirt was an everyday inconvenience.
“Mm, try again,” Dabi drawled.
Hawks flapped his wings in warning. He could have sharpened his feathers to get Dabi off of him, but with Dabi’s mood today, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the aftermath.
Didn’t stop him from being a shithead, though. “Okay fine, you got me, she’s here to replace you, Dabi. Everyone’s getting tired of—”
Dabi grabbed a fistful of feathers, shutting him up. Dabi twisted and pulled and now that fucking hurt. “C’mon little bird, fuckin’ sing for me.”
Dabi shoved his knee between Hawks’ legs, never letting up the grip on his feathers, which was getting hotter again, and a gasp escaped Hawks before he could stop himself. And he hated himself as he felt the tightening in his pants.
Dabi didn’t stop there, though. The hand not tormenting his feathers snaked past Hawks’ waistband, and Hawks endured Dabi’s ugly laugh when Dabi found him already hard. Dabi grabbed him roughly and Hawks really, really tried not to squirm too much from the pleasurable abuse.
“This how you interrogate everyone or just me?” Hawks managed.
Dabi palmed him. “You’re more honest when you want to cum.”
Hawks couldn’t stop himself from shuddering, but kept clammed up. Was this whole idea petty, stupid, ill thought-out? Absolutely. But he wasn’t about to give it up for less than a handjob.
“Just tell me what she’s doing here, and I’ll give you what you want,” Dabi said, pumping Hawks’ shaft a few times.
It was tempting, for a moment. But then you both heard it. The door to your room, only a thin wall away—that Hawks was currently pressed into—opening. A sigh, the squeak of the bed as you flopped onto it. Both of the men were silent. Hawks could see the wheels turning in Dabi’s head.
Dabi got real close to Hawks. “Does she know?”
“Know what?” Hawks replied, keeping his voice low, so low.
“Does she know about how you choke on my cock? How you bend over for me? How you beg for me to fuck you like a bitch in heat?” Dabi smirked at Hawks’ reaction, which was simultaneously hardening and his face reddening. “I could let her know...right now. How long you think you can hold out before you’re making pretty noises for me? Or…?”
He really did not need you to view him like that before he’d had a chance to teach you your place.
“Fine, fine.” Hawks was really very sorry that he was painting a target on your back with his next words— “I want to fuck her.”
Dabi was thoroughly unimpressed with the response. “Gee, really?”
They both paused as they heard the bed squeak again, but then there was the sound of you turning on the shower.
“But—but she’s kind of a longer term project and that works out, because she’s got nothing. No place to stay, so she’s a captive audience and…”
And so Hawks told most of the truth. There was the prank, the fact that he was purposely pissing off Dabi that he left out, but about your peculiar delusion, that was the truth.
Dabi let him go, after that. Dabi certainly didn’t trust Hawks fully, but it was something to certainly test out.
Hawks knew that it wouldn’t be long before they were facing off again, but for now he’d given him a new target. You.