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froggibus · 11 months

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Vermillion Flames - Blackwatch! Genji

Pairing: Blackwatch! Genji Shimada x f! Reader (reader uses female pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: angst, smut/NSFW

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Genji is the newest addition to Blackwatch, and while he seems to be angry at everything, his anger seems to be clouded over by something else—his feelings for you

CW: dubcon, dark! Genji, Blackwatch! Genji, dom! Genji, sub! reader, dacryphilia, masturbation, marking, choking, possessiveness, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, overstimulation, breeding? kinda, violence, reader gets shot, mutual pining, Genji is a lil obsessive

THIS IS NOT THE HAPPY, WELL-ADJUSTED GENJI WE KNOW AND LOVE. THIS IS A DARKER, BLACKWATCH GENJI WHO IS STILL COPING WITH HIS THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS AFTER THE INCIDENT.

I’ve had this idea for a really long time and at one point was writing a full length fic about this, but I always lose motivation so here is the bite sized version lol. I kinda tried to keep his character here while also playing to the darker elements, especially his feelings towards himself and others after the accident. also I’m just super down bad for dark! Genji so enjoy <3

————

If there’s anything you’ve come to learn in your time as a Blackwatch agent, it’s how to know when you’re being watched.

Despite stepping off of the jet into the cold Russian air, you feel the warm sting of eyes on your back. You glance over your shoulder—but the only people around are your teammates.

Cole Cassidy isn’t even looking your way, his focus is on the holster attached to his belt and the Peacekeeper that sits inside of it.

Gabriel Reyes has his holopad out, eyes narrowed at the schematics on his screen. He doesn’t seem aware of what’s going on around him, but you know Reyes—he’s always watching.

Moira O’Deorain hasn’t even stepped off of the jet yet. Your best guess is she’s still gathering all of her equipment into a bag that she’ll force Cassidy to carry later on.

So that leaves Genji. The mysterious cyborg is the newest addition to your team and he’s kept to himself the past few weeks. You’d be lying if you said he hadn’t caught your eye, but you knew better. Reyes and Cassidy had constantly reminded you that he was dangerous, unstable. Still, the dangerous air to him sends electricity arcing up your back.

You shrug it off. Maybe you’re just paranoid because you’re about to infiltrate a terrorist organization. You turn back to the terrain ahead.

Genji Shimada can’t seem to tear his eyes off of you. Something about the sway of your hips, the swell of your ass, just captivates him. Dark eyes stare at you, shockwaves rushing through his system.

It’s been so long since a woman has been able to capture his attention. Ever since he became the cyborg monstrosity he sees himself as, he hasn’t had time for women. Or more accurately, women don’t want a robot for a boyfriend.

He suppresses a sigh. The group has already started trekking through the snow, and he has no choice but to follow. The cold air does wonders to suppress the heat rushing through him, and he’s grateful for his mask so that no one sees the red tinge to his face. He forces his eyes to look at the horizon, to look at the path ahead, to look anywhere but you.

The trek to the facility feels like an eternity, and you’re not sure if it’s from the eyes burning into you or the deep snow, or some combination of both.

You shake it off. You can’t afford to be distracted on this mission, and Genji is off limits.

—

Genji is less than enthused when Reyes pairs him off with you. He couldn’t help but notice the way you shrunk in on yourself when Reyes called his name. He hates how the sight sends blood rushing through him.

The two of you set out on sneaking through the vents of the facility, blindly feeling your way through the dark in hopes to find the lab. You can hear Genji breathing behind you and see the red glow of his armor reflected on the vents. Having him behind you now, nowhere to stare but you, only confirms what you thought earlier. He was looking at you. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

You’re so distracted by his presence that you don’t realize the loose grate beneath you until you’re falling through it, tumbling towards the ground. You barely manage to brace yourself before you hit the rubber floor of the facility, using your momentum to roll.

Unfortunately, your entrance was less than graceful and now the Talon agents in the room are staring at you.

Genji groans, shaking his head at you. Great. He watches as one of the agents hits the panic button, and red lights and an alarm start blaring. He watches from the vent, waiting to see what you’ll do.

The agents in the room flee, but they’re replaced by other agents in full body armor, carrying pulse rifles. You stand your ground, extending out your bo staff and spinning it in front of you with expert grace.

If he wasn’t so pissed off at you, Genji would be impressed.

He lets you fight off the first wave on your own, but as soon as the agents start to overwhelm you, he’s dropping out of the vent. He lands silently, the agents not even noticing him until he’s slicing through their ranks.

You finish off the last of your agents and freeze, watching him fight. He’s a blur of silver and black and red, a gory mess but beautiful in the same sense a graveyard is. Watching him now, you see why Cass and Reyes had warned you about him—you can almost see the ghosts of his past following him through the fight.

You’re so distracted, so infatuated, you don’t notice the stray bullet headed straight for you.

Genji reacts before you do, diving in front of you and deflecting it into the straggling agent. The agent collapses to the ground, a hole burning in his chest armor.

“T-thank you.”

Genji spins around, staring down at you. He’s not very tall, but he just seems so much bigger than you right now. You wait for him to say something, anything, but instead he just sighs.

The two of you make your way through the facility as quietly as you can, blending into the shadows casted by the blinking red lights. Every once in a while, Genji grabs your wrist harshly to tug you along with him. You don’t need words to know he’s pissed at you.

He’s so mad at you, so frustrated with your inability to focus. And yet a stupid part of him still wants to protect you.

The journey back to the jet feels like an eternity, made worse by Genji’s complete and utter silence. You try to make conversation with him, avoiding bringing up what just happened, but it only seems to make him more angry. He walks slightly ahead of you, refusing to let himself look at you.

The emotions swelling in his chest are so confusing, he just wants to hit something. He’s so angry at you, and your stupid sunshine persona just keeps talking and talking. He’s half tempted to tell you to shut up, stop talking, but he knows he has to keep it together until you’re back to safety. And though he’s angry, another part of him isn’t.

It’s the first time in months he’s felt something that wasn’t riddled in angst and guilt, and he hates it. He hates that he wants to just look at you. Just stare at you for hours on end. He hates the way you make his heart race and the blood rush to his groin.

Just before you make it to the jet, a few meters from where the ramp is down and you’re sure Reyes and Cass and Moira are waiting, you try to catch up with Genji.

You jog up to his side, trying to grab his shoulder to get his attention. “Hey, I’m really sorry for—”

Genji spins around impossibly fast, catching your wrist in his metal palm. He squeezes it enough for it to hurt. You try to pull away but he keeps you there—a display of his strength, and the difference between the two of you. You hate the way it makes your heart speed up in spite of the pain.

“Don’t.” He simply says, but he doesn’t let go of your wrist.

His tone catches you by surprise. You’ve barely ever talked to him, and now he sounds so angry with you, it makes you shiver.

You glare at him, waiting for him to say something else. He glares back, red eyes narrowing in on you. When your eyes meet, there’s that electricity again. You wonder if he feels it too.

Then, as if nothing happened, he drops your wrist and boards the plane. You catch your aching wrist, rubbing at the sore skin, before following him onto the jet.

—

You’re pulled into Morrison’s office almost as soon as you land back at HQ. Reyes follows you in, ready to both berate and defend you in front of his closest comrade. You stand the whole time, fingers fiddling with the foam head of the chair next to Reyes.

You zone out while Jack yells, staring at the wall above his head, waiting for it to be over. Everything he’s saying is true—you were reckless, distracted, stupid. You could have gotten everybody killed, one more mistake like this and there won’t be a place for you within Blackwatch anymore.

Genji listens from the other side of the door. He tried to stop himself, but the look on your face when Reyes started to guide you down the hall changed his mind. You looked so scared. He wasn’t going to let you face that alone.

Everytime Jack raises his voice, Genji’s hand clenches the door handle, ready to burst into the room. Yet he doesn’t, because everytime, you just say ‘yes sir’ in that cute obedient voice that’s driving him crazy.

At a particularly loud burst, he’s turning the handle when he hears the loud clicking of boots behind him.

“Don’t,” Cassidy warns, “it ain’t worth it.”

He spins around, squinting at the cowboy. They’ve barely interacted, but when they have, it’s been brief.

“Y/n made the mistake, y/n’s gotta pay for it. Simple.”

Genji takes a deep breath. He knows he’s right, it’s none of Genji’s business. But something about being told to leave you alone, let you face this alone, makes him so angry. He can feel the blood rush to his ears.

“I don’t know if I like you muckin’ about in their business, anyway.” He raises an eyebrow at the cyborg, “y/n’s a good person.”

Though he doesn’t say it, the implication is loud and clear. You’re a good person, he’s not. Still, being told to stay away from you only makes him want to be with you more. He hates it.

“Just,” the cowboy sighs, taking back his earlier judgment. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He turns on his heel and walks down the hallway, spurs clicking the whole way.

They’ve been talking for so long that the meeting is almost over, and Genji only has a few seconds to dash down the hall before the door is swinging open.

You tug on your hair in frustration, forcing yourself to keep your feelings in until you get to your room. You scream as soon as your door closes behind you, kicking a pile of clothes in frustration.

You pull off your suit, toss it with the clothes, and collapse in a heap on your bed. You fucked up so bad, you really, really fucked up. And it’s all because of that stupid fucking cyborg and his stupid fucking attitude.

You lay there in your underwear for god knows how long, sobbing out your frustrations for the day.

Genji sits in his bed on the other side of the wall. He can hear you, and a part of him wants to comfort you. But another, darker part of him just wants to see you cry. He shakes his head—when did he get so fucked up?

Still, he can’t help but seethe. He’s the only one who should be making you cry like this, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be from him yelling at you. God.

He tugs off his visor and slams it on his nightstand. He doesn’t even know how to deal with his feelings anymore. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything but this burning anger, and the combination of these emotions are driving him crazy. You’re driving him crazy.

It’s like his attraction has dialed up to 11, and he doesn’t know how to cope.

He can still hear your sobs from the other side of the wall, and he hates the way it makes his cock swell. It hurts—straining against the metal plate of his armor.

He groans, part pain, part pleasure. He hates his body, he hates his stupid robot parts. And the fact that he can’t even get a hard on anymore without it hurting makes him hate everything even more.

He strips out of his armor, peeling away the metal parts that he can, despising the ones he can’t. Still, he’s happy that his cock is free, the fresh air feeling amazing on his sensitive head.

He spits in his hand, spreading out the moisture on the shaft of his cock. He focuses on the sound of your crying through the walls, shutting his eyes and rubbing himself while he listens to it. You sound so pretty, so weak. He loves it.

He only wishes he was in there with you.

He speeds up his movements, thrusting into his hand. He can picture it so well—him pinning you to the bed, fucking you until you cry like that. Listening to you beg and whine and sob all night.

He’s finishing in his hand before he can finish the fantasy, wiping off the cum with a tissue and tossing it in the trash.

He lays back in bed. What the fuck is wrong with me? He was never like this before, never into stuff like this before. And he knows a part of him will never be the same since the accident, but he didn’t know it would be like this.

He wants to protect you. He wants to avoid you. He wants to fuck you, he wants to make you cry. He wants to make you feel better, he wants to take care of you. It makes his head spin. He’s never been obsessed like this before.

He shakes his head. He needs to stay away from you before this gets any worse.

—

Genji avoids you like the plague after that. He always chooses to spar with Cass during training, he refuses to be your partner on missions, and when he is, he just ignores you the whole time.

You’re not even sure what you did wrong. You know there was that weird, tense moment after you messed up that mission, but you didn’t think that was reason enough to hate you. The whole enigma of him makes your head spin, but it’s so alluring that you couldn’t hate him even if you wanted to.

Sometimes you catch him staring at you, red eyes examining you like prey, but as soon as you notice it, it’s done. You’re not one to talk though—sometimes you catch yourself zoning out on him, watching his arms as he trains, watching his sweaty black hair falling in his face.

The tension between you two is suffocating.

So of course Reyes has to assign him to be your partner on an undercover mission in London.

The mission starts off normal, but so did all of the other ones. Genji keeps a close eye on you, ready to make sure you don’t get distracted and fuck up again. Still, he’s the one that’s distracted. Ever since that day in his room when he got off on hearing you cry, his feelings towards you have only grown.

He shakes his head and forces himself to focus. He can’t afford to get distracted here—not when either one of you could get hurt in the process.

The rooftops of London are completely empty, and so are the streets, surprisingly. The two of you creep around, trying to make your way to the stakeout point so you can observe a secret meetup. The air smells of petrichor, the sky threatening to open up and pour down on you. You wouldn’t complain if it did. You need something to cool you off from the thoughts you’ve been having about Genji.

You make it to the designated spot, setting up your stuff. You radio to Reyes that you’ve arrived at the vantage point and he radios back that the deal should be happening at any minute.

Any minute, which is code for anytime in the next hour. You hope it’s sooner rather than later so you don’t have to deal with this awkward silence. You fiddle with your fingers, tapping them on your knees.

Genji watches you closely. He watches the way you mess around with your fingers, watches your chest with every breath you take. That costume fits you perfectly, and he hates the idea that other people get to see you like this.

The meeting happens only a few minutes after you arrive, a tall omnic dressed in a suit emerging from the shadows to deal with a scraggly looking man. Genji observes them closely while you take pictures, capturing everything they do.

Something seems wrong, though. They’re not exchanging goods like the intel said they would be. In fact, it doesn’t seem like a secret meeting at all. Genji realizes it’s a trap a second too late, only managing to shove you down as a bullet rips across the landscape.

It grazes your shoulder, a burning pain spreading through your body. You collapse to the ground with a whine, Genji landing on top of you. He presses his hand to your mouth to keep you quiet.

You’re in so much pain—you’re not sure you’ve ever felt this way before. It burns and it aches and it feels as though you’ve been ripped apart. Genji presses down on the wound and a scream leaves your throat just as another bullet rips through the air.

It just barely misses the top of Genji’s head.

“Stay here,” he breathes heavily, suddenly pouncing to his feet.

That’s the most he’s spoken to you in weeks, and it’s the first thing you’ve heard him say without that tone behind it. You watch as he stands up and draws his sword, challenging the sniper to shoot again.

They do, and Genji is ready. He deflects it back perfectly, the clang of metal on metal replacing the sound of the shot. There’s a yelp from far away, and satisfied that he’s got them, Genji returns to your side.

Only, you’ve lost so much blood that you’re barely coherent. “Fuck!” He taps your face, willing you to stay with him, but you drift off.

—

You wake up in a hotel room, body aching in the clean linen sheets. Your shoulder burns, and then you remember what happened. You sit up quickly, tugging off your shirt to examine the wound. It’s been cleaned and bandaged, under a huge patch of blood stained gauze.

You sigh in relief. You’re not dead—but you would be if it weren’t for Genji.

The hotel room is fairly clean, aside from your bloody uniform that’s laying on the ground next to the bed. You blink a few times. You were on a mission—where did you get a spare change of clothes? Did Genji go shopping?

As if on cue, Genji speaks from where he’s sitting near the closed curtains. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot,” you admit.

He nods, clearly not in a joking mood. “They won’t be able to extract us until tomorrow morning. Reyes set up this room for us and sent the extra clothes.”

That makes sense. There’s no way they’d be able to get you two out of the streets without drawing attention, especially after shots were fired.

You rub the seam of the gauze, trailing over the wound subconsciously.

“We should change that.”

You follow him into the bathroom, awkwardly sitting on the counter while he pulls out a grocery bag of first aid supplies. You pull off your shirt, embarrassed at the prospect of him seeing you half naked. At least you were unconscious and didn’t have to deal with the humiliation last time.

You don’t miss the way Genji’s eyes graze over your skin, tracing the outline of your collarbone. It makes you heat up, thoughts of him kissing you there flooding your mind. You shake them away—he’s just helping you out. It’s wrong to think of him this way.

He peels off the old gauze covering, discarding it in the trash, before dabbing alcohol across the wound.

You watch him work, fingers knowing what to do without him even thinking about it. He traces the outline of the gauze after he places it on your skin, cold metal fingers settling the hotter parts of you.

You shiver under his touch, looking up at him. Genji looks back, dark eyes meeting your softer ones. You offer him a gentle grin.

His hand moves from your shoulder to your hip, squeezing it. He finds himself leaning in, and you find yourself getting closer. And then just before your lips touch, he pulls away like he’s been burned.

“G-Genji?”

He shakes his head, storming out of the bathroom. You follow after him, not even bothering to tug your shirt back on.

“Don’t come near me!”

You furrow your brows at his words. “What? What’s going on? Did I do something wrong? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks!”

He tugs on his hair, repeatedly shaking his head at you. You can see the way his muscles are tensing, see the way he’s trying to show restraint. But why?

“Genji,” you step closer to him cautiously, like you’re approaching a wild animal. “What is it?”

He keeps shaking his head, eyes focused on the floor, ignoring you completely. You take another step, only inches from him now.

“Genji.”

“I’m a fucking monster, okay?” His outburst makes you flinch but you hold your ground. “I’m not even human anymore, and I have all these sick fucking thoughts about what I want to do to you and—you should just stay away from me, okay?”

“What kind of sick thoughts?”

“You don’t want to know,” his eyes finally meet yours.

You step an inch closer, standing on your toes so that your mouth hovers near his. “I think I do.”

“Y/n,” he warns.

You ignore the warning. You ignore all of the red flags. You ignore the voice in your head that says maybe this isn’t the best idea. You jump into his arms, smashing your lips against his and wrapping your legs around his waist.

He turns you around to slam you into the wall, being careful to avoid reopening your wound. He’s so hungry for you, so desperate. His lips nip at yours like a man starved, all he wants, all he needs right now is to have you.

He carries you over to the bed, tossing you into it before climbing on top of you and ripping off your pants. You’re left naked, shivering in anticipation at what he’s going to do to you.

You don’t know how deep his cybernetic parts run, you hardly know anything about him, but he’s all you want. You tug him to you by his hair, making him kiss you again. One of his metal thighs slips between your legs, giving you something to grind your wet pussy against while you make out.

His lips move down to your neck, biting at the sensitive skin. Moans force their way out of your throat, the sting of his teeth breaking the skin making your eyes water.

Genji pulls back, looking at your teary eyes. The thought of finally having you like this, so vulnerable underneath him, is enough to make him feral.

His hand is slipping between your legs, shoving two fingers inside of you with ease. Your wet pussy gushes around him, begging him for more. You whine at his roughness—but it’s so fucking good.

He shoves them in and out of you, curling them inside of you in a way that makes your eyes roll back. His mouth finds its way to your tits, biting your nipple hard enough to make you gasp. The sound has his cock swelling even more, straining against the metal.

He slips a third finger in you, stretching you out in such a delicious, amazing way. You moan his name, trying to let him know you’re getting close, but Genji is too drunk on the feeling of you to listen.

He keeps attacking your chest with his mouth, leaving bruises and bite marks across your skin. It’s his way of marking his territory, of showing everyone who you belong to.

He’s wanted this for so long, and he’s going to enjoy every fucking second of claiming you.

You cum hard on his fingers, and Genji stops just to watch how pretty you look when you cum. He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking off the juices and moaning at the taste.

The sight of him is enough to make you horny again, and suddenly you’re thrusting your hips in the air, desperate for any sort of contact.

“So desperate,” he teases.

“I-I—”

He mocks you, popping off the metal plate from his crotch and stroking his cock. He rubs his head through your folds, collecting up your slick on his shaft. You’re already ready for him, your first orgasm prepping you more than enough.

He pushes his whole cock in, your walls straining to take him. He can’t quite get his whole length inside of you, so he pulls out and shoves it in again. He watches as he sinks in and out of you, the last two inches of his cock staying outside of the wetness he longs to be in.

He’s bigger than you’re used to, and your pussy is already so sensitive. That doesn’t stop Genji, though. He keeps slamming his hips into yours, trying to force his cock inside of you. You whimper with every thrust, almost screaming when he hits that spot deep inside of you.

Genji rolls his hips into yours, thrusting hard and deep. He grabs at your neck, strong hand gently squeezing. You gasp at the sudden feeling and the lack of oxygen, but the burning in your throat feels so good you don’t want him to stop. Everything starts to get fuzzy, and the feeling of Genji railing you starts to feel even better.

You don’t even realize you’re cumming until he releases his grip on your throat and lets you breathe. The blood rushes to your ears. Your eyes have teared up from the choking, a few tears rolling down your cheeks. You go to wipe them away, but Genji pins your wrists above your head.

The sight of you lying beneath him, whimpering and crying like he imagined has him going crazy. He keeps bullying his cock into your swollen pussy, thrusts getting sloppier by the second until he fully bottoms out and pumps his cum inside of you.

“G-Genji,” you breathe. “Did—did you just—”

Genji’s too drunk on your pussy to listen, fucking his cum back inside of you. The hot mixture of his cum and your juices being fucked inside of you has you curling your toes.

His pace is brutal, his mind only set on fucking you full and keeping you stuffed. He pushes your legs up into your stomach, fucking you into a mating press.

Your vision blurs from the tears, your nerves overloading from the overstimulation and making you shiver. Genji fucks you through it, pounding into you, sure to get his entire length in every time. It’s not long before you’re cumming again, your body convulsing with your orgasm. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, but Genji holds them in place while he finishes fucking you.

He reaches up to wipe the tears from your face, the sight of you sobbing only making him fuck you harder. God, he’s wanted this for so long and he’ll do anything to keep it. Anything as long as he gets to keep fucking you like this.

“G-gonna finish inside of you,” he groans. “Gonna stuff you full. Y-you like that?”

You nod furiously, but you’re so fucked out that he could do anything to you at this point and you wouldn’t care. Genji cums with a string of moans and curses, cock twitching inside of you.

He doesn’t pull out, instead, he lays on his side and tugs you so your back is pressed against his chest. He keeps his cock inside of you, holding his cum inside.

It’s not long before you’re falling asleep, Genji’s fingers tracing patterns on your stomach. For the first time in a long time, he feels like the anger and the darkness within him are sated, and for now, that’s more than enough.

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kortsitron · 1 year

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Genji's Pet

Pairing: Young! Genji Shimada × TransMale! Reader

Warnings: smut, collars/choker, leash, marking/hickeys, Top! Genji, Bottom! Reader, Readers is on testosterone and after top surgery, Genji and Reader are 18+ years old, Dom/Sub dynamic, oral sex, penetration, fingering, swearing, unprotected sex (don't do that, pls protect yourselves), fluffy ending ig

Summary: Genji wanted a pet and you wanted money. That's how you became his pet and his only.

check out my ao3

"Would you like some money?" Was the question that started it all. He didn't want to tell you right away, but you agreed. To later find out that the playboy of Hanamura, The Genji Shimada, wanted a pet - and in his eyes you were perfect for it.

He made sure you would get what you wanted, just for you to stay with him and be his pet.

That's how it all started and that's how again you ended up in Shimada Castle on Genji lap, completely naked before him, hands tied up behind your back with a rope, choker on your neck and leash in Genji's hand.

He was sitting in his room, gentle light coming from his leds, being the only source of light in the said room. Genji was giving you a look full of appreciation, but also a lot of hunger.

"You're so good for me, you always were." He said, kissing you passionately, his other hand on your hip, keeping you in place, making sure you won't fall from his lap. "Will you be good for me tonight, too?"

"Yes, I will." You answered, seeing Genji smirk at your answer, caused you to blush a little.

His hand went to your cheek to stroke it gently, as an act of affection from him. Before taking his shirt off, allowing you to see his muscular body. "See something you like?" He chuckled, before his lips landed on yours again. His lips were warm and soft. His hands landed on your waist, bringing you closer to him, leash still in his hand. He bit your bottom lip in a playful manner, making you let out a low whine, before he let go and chuckled slightly at your reaction.

"On your knees, handsome." Genji ordered, helping you to get down, smirking on how obedient you were. He took off his trousers and underwear quickly, before stroking his cock to get fully hard. "Remember the safeword?" You nodded, looking into his eyes. "Good. If I go too rough on you, start wiggling. Until then I'll be using your cute mouth however I please." He commented, before watching as you opened your mouth, pulled out your tongue for Genji to softly tap his tip on your tongue, before you slowly started bobbing your head up and down.

"Just like that," He moaned. "Keep going." His hand went into your hair, grabbing it and guiding you on his dick. He was getting closer and closer, he cursed quietly under his breath. "Fuck, you're so good." He chuckled, a whine breaking through it.

Genji went a bit harsh on you, bucking his hips, making his dick go deep in your throat. You felt a shiver go down your spine when he came inside your mouth. He took his cock out, watching you swallow his seed.

A little bit was on your lips, so before you could lick your lips, his thumb was on them, already collecting what was left. "Lick it." He ordered and you opened your mouth slightly, before taking his thumb into your mouth. You licked his thumb carefully, before swallowing the rest of his seed. "What a good pet," He commented. "Don't you think you deserve a little reward?"

Then he put you on his bed, laying you on your back, spreading your legs for him. He kissed your thighs, slowly going closer to your pussy, making you whimper. "Spread them a little further," So you did. "Now don't you dare close them and keep your eyes on me." He said, before his tongue landed on your clit. You let out a gasp. Genji started flicking his tongue on your clit and he was good at it.

"Please don't stop!" A broken moan left your lips as you bucked your hip into him, making Genji moan into your pussy, sending a vibration through you. "Please don't…" You felt your heart beat faster, when you saw him lick his fingers, before putting them inside you and moving them.

More moans and whimpers started escaping you, when he started sucking your clit. You felt yourself starting to get real close to your climax. You felt high and overwhelmed.

You heard Genji talking to you, as he moved his fingers faster, making your walls clench around them. You couldn't focus on what he was saying, you couldn't think, it all felt so good.

Your breathing quickened as he tugged on the leash and your thighs started twitching. And then you came on Genji's fingers with a groan. He made eyes contact with your as he licked his fingers dry. "Fuck…" You cursed quietly, before your head hit a pillow.

"We're not done yet, handsome." He reminded you, while sitting up. He tugged on the leash and you got your head back up, and looked at him.

You watched him stroke his dick before he decided to tease your pussy. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Genji. I'm ready." He slowly entered you, taking his time. When he was fully inside, he got on top of you, then started building a steady pace.

"Eyes on me." He ordered, before kissing you passionately, his lips still tasting like you. He hummed into the kiss. He broke the kiss, he looked you in the eyes and said, "You're mine, aren't you? Why don't I mark you? I bet you would like that."

Genji started nibbling your sensitive skin, making you shiver and let out quiet noises of pleasure. He combinations of him fucking you and giving you hickeys, driving you crazy.

He whimpered into your skin as your collar bone was covered in the earlier mentioned hickeys. "Look at you," His breathing quickened. "All mine, doing whatever I please. Noone could be as good as you are." He praised you, you could see in his eyes that he was getting closer to his climax.

He picked up a pace, pounding into you faster, turning you into a moaning mess.

His hair was a mess and all sweaty, but he wasn't going to care. The only thing that mattered to him was the fact how good he was making you feel. He knew you were just as close to cumming as he was.

"Come on, baby. Cum for me." And just with those two sentences, you came on his cock. He twitched inside of you, before cumming inside of you and letting out a groan.

A broken chuckle left his mouth, as he sat up and took his cock out of you, watching how his seed mixed with your cum dripped from your pussy. "And who else could make you this good…" He commented, not expecting or wanting an answer, because he knew it already.

He helped you sit up. "How do you feel? Was I too rough?" Asked as his hand went your cheek and he caressed it. You shook your head.

"I'm okay, but my arms feel asleep." You mentioned, turning around for Genji to untie your hands.

He quickly untied your hands, before massaging the blood back in. "Why don't we take a shower, then order some and watch a movie? You did so well for me tonight." Genji asked, before putting the rope on the bed and starting to take off your choker

"Yes, please. That would be great."

"Everything for you."

#genji #young genji #genji shimada x reader #genji shimada #young genji x reader #young genji shimada #smut #overwatch 2 #overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch imagines #genji x male reader #trans reader #trans male reader #ftm reader #minors dont read #minors do not interact

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embossross · 2 years

Text

The Devotion of the Girl in the Mirror

Chapter 1

✣ Pairing: Rindou x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CW: Exhibitionism/voyeurism; BDSM scene (rope bondage, flogging, slapping, slave, degradation) with non-reader character; background BDSM scenes at BDSM club (tickling, oral); drug use

✣ Story CWs: BDSM dob/sub relationship; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.); genre typical drug use, alcohol, smoking

✣ Synopsis: On paper, you and Rindou have nothing in common. But sometimes chemistry defies logic, and with every conversation, you find yourself more bewitched until all you see, smell, or hear is Rindou. Or, a story of two lonely people falling in love for better or worse.

✣ Word Count: ~7k

February 2018

On a visit to your childhood home, you help your mother with some spring cleaning, finally clearing out all your documents: birth certificate, high school transcripts, certificate of residence, the works. Everything is supposed to be kept in a manila folder labeled with your name, but your mother is scatterbrained on the best days, so you spend a few hours dumpster diving through her desk and filing cabinet.

Buried beneath your high school diploma and an award for perfect attendance, you find a polaroid.

In the photo, you are seated sideways in an armchair, smiling widely at whoever is behind the camera, probably your mother or sister, a forgotten book at your side. You can make out the title in the photo – The Tale of Genji – which dates the photo to right before you started university. You know because it’s one of those books you thought you were supposed to read, to appear cultured, and never managed to finish.

A photo of you from the summer of 2016, or just a few months before you met Rindou.

Not much has changed superficially as it’s only been two years: same eyes, same nose, slightly longer hair, but nothing dramatic. Yet the girl in the photo strikes you as a unfamiliar. You have photos on your camera roll from this time, not even two years ago, but something is lost in digital. In polaroids, you see something true about the subject, captured in that moment in time. The soul, maybe?

Familiar body, but the soul of a stranger.

Days from starting your university education, the world was wide open to you. There were no challenges too great, no opportunity too small. Your smile said you would take a bite of every experience that life offered you and still be hungry for more.

A chasm has opened up between you and that girl from yesteryear. What life has given you is greater and more impassioned than you ever dared hope, and yet, you don’t see life as limitless choices, as the promise of consecutive, never-ending adventures like you once did. No, now when you look to the future, you see only a few narrow paths forward, some good, some bad, but all fixed, all definitive.

And all Rindou.

- - -

September 2016

Three buzzes in his pocket. Ran is late. Rindou blows out his bangs and settles back in his chair for a long wait.

If there is no honor among thieves, there is certainly no timeliness either.

The hotel in Kabbukicho is one of Bonten’s many fronts and offices. The penultimate floor has been converted into a series of offices and conference rooms for Bonten’s use with the customers below none the wiser. Rindou thinks calling Bonten “the underground” these days is ironic. They peer down on the activity of Tokyo from the tallest towers in the country. How far they’ve risen from meeting in abandoned factories and under bridges, ears always perked for the sound of sirens.

The Kabukicho office is trashier than their main headquarters in Minato Ward. The building is fit for an international conglomerate with wall to ceiling glass windows and situated across the street from IBM’s Japanese headquarters. Rindou prefers the seediness. Whenever Kokonoi makes them playact as real executives, his neck starts to itch.

Rindou checks his email to confirm his distributors aren’t facing any new emergencies before opening up a crossword puzzle app on his phone. Fifteen minutes pass before the elevator dings.

“If I don’t get pussy tonight, I’m going to die,” Ran announces before the elevator doors have fully opened.

Dressed for work in Versace suits with died hair and tattoos on display, Ran, Takeomi, and Sanzu create an immediate impression. Rindou, in comparison, is dressed down in a grey tee-shirt and dark jeans. They are nearing their damn thirties and Ran still finds ways to make him feel underdressed.

“What kept you?” Rindou demands.

“Don’t be like that. I rushed here as fast as I could,” Ran says. “In fact, Takeomi’s only here because I insisted we finish up our conversation in the car. Isn’t that right, Takeomi?”

Takeomi nods. “Police Superintendent’s son has been coming around the clubs, roughing up the pros, and making a fool of himself. Too good an opportunity to pass up. We had to finalize the details.”

Ran oversees all of Bonten’s entertainment assets – the pachinko parlors and soap lands and strip joints and underground fighting rings. Whenever a big fish wanders into Ran’s domain, he works with the hundreds of girls in his employ to entrap them. Bonten operates smoother now that the Deputy Superintending Prosecutor of Tokyo is stuck in one of Ran’s traps – one of the worst gamblers Rindou has encountered with a debt that could sink a small nation. Now, all of their cases are referred through the High Court of Chiba, where the presiding judge happens to be compliant lest his beloved wife and children see the ugly photos of his fist in another bitch’s cunt. Really, the system is a work of art.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Rindou grouses.

Unlike the others, Rindou works hard, so that he can have the capital and freedom to do whatever the hell he wants with his free time. His free time that he guards as jealously as a dragon. Rindou thinks there’s no need to spend their time off talking shop and strategizing. The others struggle to turn it off, however, so Rindou ushers them back into the elevator. Only the one floor is cleared for bugs, so all Bonten-talk must stop until they reach the cars.

“I’m coming with tonight,” Sanzu says. He stands back pressed to the mirrored length of the elevator wall, eyes darting around as if an enemy could materialize from nothing. Sanzu has a habit of constantly glancing up. He never forgets the possibility of an aerial attack; no one ever expects the attack to come from above.

“You’re not busy?” Rindou enjoys when Sanzu comes out, but it is barely 8 pm. He should be latched onto Mikey’s side for another four hours at least.

“Boss is pulling another one of his disappearing acts,” Ran says.

“You know where he’s going at least. Right, Sanzu?” Rindou asks.

“Of course. Need to know only, Haitani.”

Rindou doesn’t believe him. He meets Ran’s eyes over Sanzu’s eyeline and knows his brother doesn’t either. For the last few weeks, Mikey has been MIA from everything but their most essential meetings. He can’t be reliably reached by phone, email, carrier pigeon. He drops off the face of the planet without a word. Not good.

“Anyway, not like the boss came out to clubs much before either,” Rindou mutters.

Tonight, they are headed to one of Bonten’s BDSM clubs. A private, invite-only establishment located on the second floor of a cinema they use as a front. Business has demanded too much of Rindou’s time recently, so he can feel his blood burning hot at the thought of leaving his mark on a pretty stranger for the first time in weeks.

Neither Ran nor Sanzu are real doms. They might have gone to any one of the hundred other clubs they own and influence, but Ran is between girls and insistent on enjoying being single with his brother.

The night is unseasonably warm. Too many bodies cramped on the street, too many hot yellow lights, too much humidity. Stars don’t shine above Tokyo except on clear winter nights, but the city is never dark with neon lights beckoning up and down the street.

Half a dozen bodyguards surround them as they exit the premises and others hide more discretely down the street.

“Takeomi, you joining us?” Ran asks as they approach the cars. “Promise to find you a sweet little thing you like. Bet we could even get her to play naughty nurse.”

“Hilarious. No. I need to catch the train home,” Takeomi says. A driver will drop him and his personal guards off at the nearest station, where they will catch a train back to Osaka, where he lives.

“Can’t miss the tedium of your marital bed?” Ran goads.

“If you must know, Junko is making niku jaga,” Takeomi says.

“There are a hundred restaurants in Kabukicho alone. I’m sure we can get you some here. I’ll treat you myself,” Ran says with a toothy smile.

Rindou rolls his eyes, checks his phone. Convincing Takeomi to go anywhere, let alone a sex club is an exercise in futility, and Ran knows this. Since marrying his wife a decade ago, Takeomi has displayed the fidelity and self-control of a monk. The only thing that can lure him away from the wife and kids is business.

“It’s not niku jaga if it’s not cooked by a woman who loves you. Anyway, Junko worries if I come home too late. Thinks I have a woman in Tokyo.”

“Yeah, how could she guess you’re secretly one of the most powerful men in the underworld?” Ran laughs.

“She might actually prefer that,” Takeomi mutters darkly. “Anyway, enjoy your evening gentleman. Sanzu.”

He claps his brother on the shoulder, and Sanzu flinches away like a child.

“Let’s go,” Sanzu says, heading straight for Rindou’s Audi.

“Wait, aren’t you taking your car?” Rindou demands.

He eyes the small backseat, which technically fits three, but condemns one man to the dreaded middle seat. You can spend more than a year’s average salary and still get shoved into a glorified center console. If Land Rovers weren’t so conspicuous in the city, Rindou would upgrade in a heartbeat. The front seats are reserved for Rindou’s driver and principal bodyguard, who uses the mirrors to sweep the streets for threats.

“Nope,” Sanzu says, a malicious smile stretching the faded pink scars at the corner of his mouth.

Turning, Rindou sees that Ran is smirking just as evilly. Trust that the one time the two men get along is to make Rindou’s life more difficult. The fight is already lost. Rindou slides into the middle and Ran folds his ridiculously long limbs in right after him. Rindou tucks his elbows and knees lest he end up in either man’s lap. Ridiculous.

The motorcade takes off without a word of coordination on their part, a seamless and well-practiced process. Most times, Rindou forgets that men tail him everywhere, prepared to take a bullet for him or deliver one into another man’s skull as needed.

Without rolling the windows down, Ran lights a Parliament. He blows a hot burst of smoke directly into Rindou’s face, unapologetic, even as Rindou waves it off. A whiff of almost not quite caramel in the heady plume of smoke. Rindou once saw Parliaments on the list of worst-smelling cigarette brands in the world.

“Could you not stink up my car?”

“Buy an air freshener,” Ran shrugs.

“There isn’t enough cologne in the world to cover up your stench. You know that right? I can smell you before I even see you.”

Ran takes a second retaliatory puff from his cigarette. Arrogant bastard. Thankfully the ride to the club is short, so Rindou will soon escape Ran’s filthy habit.

Sanzu taps Rindou’s shoulder and makes a grabby motion with his hand. One glance at Sanzu’s too lucid eyes and Rindou retrieves a silver box from his pocket. Inside are an assortment of pills and powder cocaine. Sanzu eagerly takes the proffered buffet and cuts himself a line.

Pills are an easy find. All you need is a worried (or corrupt) pharmacist to write you a prescription. Meth requires a hookup, naturally owned and operated by Bonten, but they are not hard to find. Cocaine, like marijuana and heroin, is a relative rarity in Japan. Fewer suppliers, more complicated export paths. As the executive lead on drug distribution in Bonten, Rindou is the most reliable source for it, setting prices, managing dealers, and policing its sale throughout the country.

Probably the only reason he and Sanzu even became friends – if Sanzu has friends – is because of Rindou’s access to any kind of party favor. If Sanzu is not with Mikey or slaving away to make Mikey happy, he is fried on one drug or another, and that often means knocking on Rindou’s door.

“You know, we have a new girl started at one of our hostess clubs in Shinjuku,” Ran says. “Pretty, pouty, very much your type, Rin. She’s just serving drinks and conversation right now but thinking she could be a good fit for Safe Heaven. Why don’t we head there instead? I’d be happy to make an introduction.

“She dance?” Sanzu grunts.

“Don’t think so.”

“Then how the fuck is she going to work at Safe Heaven?”

Ran rolls his eyes. “Any idiot can learn to dance. She’s got a good body and a happy customer base. She’s a self-starter, too. Began recruiting her own clients in high school before we picked her up and brought her in.”

“What’s her name?” Rindou asks.

Ran pauses a full three seconds before throwing his hands up. “How the hell am I supposed to know? She’s new, isn’t she? Plus, you know they all have fake names anyway. It’s Kanna, Nana, Hana, something like that. What I’m trying to say is you’ll have a good time if we head over there now.”

Eyes like slits, Rindou sizes Ran up, sees the bravado, the wide arcing hand gestures and spread legs and knows. Of course, Ran wants to coopt the night. Ran is looking for pussy, and while he likes a little control, he is not into the bondage and whipping they will see at the club. You would think access to hundreds of pros would make things easy for Ran, but somehow, it just makes him pickier.

“If you don’t want to come, don’t,” Rindou says shortly. “Go visit Kanna-Nana-Hana on your own time.”

“You try to do a man a favor,” Ran moans, shaking his head mournfully. “She’s not my type. She’s yours!”

“What do you even know about my type?”

“Plenty,” Ran argues. “Not hard to notice the pattern. You like the feminine, sweet ones that do as they’re told and look like they just came from dinner with their parents.”

“Submissive. Not do as they’re told. Actually submissive.”

“For enough money, the girl I’m talking about can be as submissive as you like.”

Ran can notice as many patterns as he likes. He still can’t spot the difference between a girl that does what she’s asked for money versus one that does because it makes her pussy drip. The distinction is everything to Rindou.

Was there ever a time when Ran wasn’t like this? Irritated by even the smallest deviation on Rindou’s part, expecting a clone instead of a brother. It’s almost like any individuality on Rindou’s part is interpreted as repudiation of Ran’s choices. And maybe it is. Rindou learned to be a person through watching his brother.

And one thing he has learned is that Ran will always have the last. damn. word.

“What about you?” Sanzu chimes in. “Aren’t you looking for a new bitch? Wouldn’t you be better off loitering outside a daycare?”

“Ha, ha. I’ve never met a mom outside a daycare,” Ran says.

The car quiets as the engine cuts on a less busy commercial street. Outside, a glowing sign advertises a half dozen movies playing that night, a mixture of new Japanese films and a few major Blockbusters.

It is a real cinema in every way with kiosks to order tickets and a concession stand for snacks like any of a dozen other theaters in Tokyo.

The men skip the kiosks as they enter, approaching the front desk. They ask for three tickets to see The Pink Lady. It is the code to access the club that operates on the second floor. The stairs and elevators are guarded by security under the guise of ticket takers. A second code, vetting process, and hefty fee are needed for most patrons, but the tattoo on Rindou’s throat opens doors. The ticket-taker waves them through without the bureaucracy. This place, like every other place of perversion in the city, belongs to Bonten in one way or another.

Downstairs, the theater is cool and quiet, except for the booming of cinematic explosions; well-lit and boring. Exiting the elevators on the second floor is like stepping out into a new world entirely. Low bass pulses through the room, made hot by the sweat and sticky breath of dozens of bodies. The lights are dimmed to protect customers’ privacy except on the four stages where voyeurs crowd to watch bodies pushed to the brink of pain and pleasure. The bulk of the club is one large room with the four stages in each corner, two bars, and seating for those that seek to watch. One wall is covered in equipment and toys. There are some backrooms with couches for the rare moment of privacy, but no beds or showers to avoid citation in the event of a police raid.

“Pathetic bastard,” Sanzu giggles, pointing to one stage, where a man is bound at ankle and wrist, while three doms tickle him relentlessly, flushed red from ears to nipple at the merciless torment. Sanzu drifts in that direction to get a closer look.

“I need a drink,” Ran says, pushing Rindou with him to the bar. “You know, I heard a rumor about Sanzu.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yeah, I hard he has himself a domme he lets rough him up once a week. Think he wishes he was that ‘pathetic bastard,’” Ran says, gesturing back to where the man is being tickled.

Ran says this like Rindou ought to be amused that Sanzu prefers to be under a belt than wielding it, but Rindou only shrugs. Stupid masculine posturing. Not like there is an official rule that yakuza have to top.

Ran orders two whisky sours for the both of them – not what Rindou would choose for himself, but whatever – and then leads him too high table near a stage, where a woman is deepthroating a strap pretty successfully.

Rindou sits on the high stool. The features of close-by patrons are visible, but the ambient lighting prevents Rindou from seeing much beyond the four stages.

“If that’s not enough, I heard something else too,” Ran says. “Heard his domme pretends to be Mikey when giving him orders.”

Now that gets his attention. “You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope. Place he goes pays us mikajime-ryo to do business in town, and one of Benkei’s guys saw him coming out. Naturally, I asked around after that, and that’s what they’re saying. Wonder if he has the bitch wear a blonde wig.” Ran smiles widely as he imparts this juicy gossip.

No doubt that Sanzu is sadistic, likely pointing and laughing at the man’s torture as they spoke. Also, no doubt that Sanzu would do anything for a lick of Mikey’s approval. He shows women little interest, usually picking up the addicts, the girls with crunchy hair and dead eyes. Desperate ones that will do anything. He treats them cruelly for an hour and then forgets they exist. Before his dick is even soft, Sanzu’s mind and eyes will have returned to Mikey.

As if their fucked-up dynamic couldn’t get any weirder.

“Don’t know how Mikey can stand it,” Ran says. “Maybe that’s why he’s pulled back. Afraid Sanzu will finally confess his love for him.”

Rindou pictures Mikey’s cold fish stare. The intensity that masks a void. Doubts that Mikey would so much as blink at Sanzu’s declaration of love. No wonder Sanzu can only imagine a version of Mikey who wants to hurt and humiliate him.

“Why are we talking about Sanzu?” Rindou asks.

“Because you don’t want to talk about you.”

“Drinks on me,” Rindou says, slapping three ¥10,000 notes on the table. He drains the last of his drink.

On a different stage, a man offers a woman her hand. Since they arrived, she has been living furniture on that stage, a prop to hold drinks while others laugh and fuck around her. Their scene must be ending. He signals staff over to reserve that stage for him. All that’s left is to find a partner that suits his taste, and then he can ditch Ran for the rest of the night.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you in ages,” Ran says. “You should come by Safe Heaven more.”

“We saw each other two days ago. I see you all the time,” Rindou argues. The back of his neck is hot. Rubbing at it doesn’t make a difference. Not when Ran is studying him so closely.

“Yeah, but that’s business. I’m talking about actually seeing you. You stopped going to Wakasa’s gym, you don’t come around the clubs, and I swear you fucking fly out of meetings to avoid dinner.”

“My new gym is closer to my apartment. It’s more convenient.”

“Sure. Who do you hang out with these days? When do you just be with other people?”

“Forgive me if I don’t want to spend all my free time with my fucking coworkers. It’s called a work-life balance, Ran.”

“But you only know your fucking coworkers!”

A tense pause as Ran calculates which brother can be more stubborn. Eventually, Ran sighs in defeat. He adjusts himself back in his seat, angling towards the woman on stage. She has managed to lodge a solid fifteen centimeters down her throat, enough to pique Ran’s interest. When she pulls back, the strap drips saliva onto the stage.

She isn’t Ran’s type, but there never was a chance that Ran would find a devoted mother with laugh lines and a witty sense of humor here. No chance in other words that he would find Miki…but that is Ran’s forever cross to bear. The slut on stage is fine enough, and Rindou knows he can abandon Ran to her.

“Throw some more money down if you’re going to be a punk,” Ran huffs finally, realizing it too.

Rindou rises quickly to his feet, hand already flicking through his wallet, and dumping another 5 ¥10,000 bills next to his finished drink. A small bribe to pay to be left alone.

Free from Ran’s scrutiny and demands on his time, Rindou circles the open space. He eyes the clientele speculatively even as his brain drifts back to Ran, to the concern he didn’t mask in irony or posturing, one of those rare human moments that Ran only shows when alone.

Lately, Rindou has had time to think, and sometimes finds himself circling a question: Did he choose to join the yakuza? He was not forced into the fraternal order, no, but he hesitates to say it was a choice. When a boy is abandoned to the streets, he becomes tough or dies. If he manages to become tough, he attracts others into his shadow seeking to survive, and before long, the rest organizes itself. Add in a determined older brother, and Rindou found himself sucked into a system with hardly a moment of self-reflection.

In his adolescence and early adulthood, Rindou had ideas. Ideas that stretched beyond the borders of Roppongi and Bonten. He dreamed of dj’ing crowded clubs in Berlin, earning a degree, going pro in martial arts. Whole dream lives filled in beyond each of these goals: marrying a musician, study binges with a crowd of university friends, teaching his children taekwondo at his dojo. When he thought of these lives in the past, they were not fantasies but possibilities. Now, they ring hollow.

Life is made up of a thousand and one doors, each leading to a different future. When you’re young, all are wide open, but with each passing month, they creep further closed until one day they lock forever. Searching for the key now is a waste of time.

The search for the right partner, however, is not a waste of time. In a place like this, where he can be marginally certain everyone is into SM, Rindou categorizes the people into three groups: the subs/switches, the doms, and the sex tourists. The latter two categories hold little appeal. The sex tourists are here to scout out the darker sides of sex and control, to decide if it excites them as much as their raunchy midnight reading suggests. They are too inexperienced for any real play. They don’t wear labels, but Rindou identifies them by their eyes, skittish, afraid to make contact lest they get dragged up onto stage.

One woman draws Rindou’s attention. Collared and kneeling, eyes cast down in submission. From a distance, he cannot make out her features, but she has thick, long hair and a decent shape shown to nice effect in a leather skirt that hardly deserves the name.

She is one of two women kneeling beside a man, who Rindou suspects is their fulltime master. Many “doms” don’t deserve the title, looking for easy sex and using money as a proxy for power – like Ran – but this man doesn’t strike Rindou as the type. Corpulent and pock-marked though he is, there is something almost charismatic lurking in his posture and ribald laugh that might attract a woman looking to get owned. He is the gatekeeper.

“Good evening,” Rindou says, approaching the trio. Neither woman glances up. Well-trained. Good. “Is this your first time at our establishment?” Doesn’t hurt to position his authority early.

Rindou watches the man dissect and categorize him. Dressed down for the evening, he doesn’t have as many tells as he does on a normal business day, but the showy hair, expensive shoes, and most of all, tattoo are a few quick signals for anyone in the know.

“I’ve come a few times. It’s a great place,” the man answers jovially. They introduce themselves. The man, Morikawa Takayuki, is a real estate developer and, as Rindou guessed, lifestyle dom. The women are his slaves. Morikawa doesn’t bother to offer their names.

Rindou compliments Morikawa on how well-mannered his girls are – so quiet, so still – and the man rushes to sing their praises as they double as his own. The woman who captured Rindou’s interest has been with him for three years.

Morikawa all but gives Rindou a resume of the woman’s accomplishments as a service slut, so when Rindou asks if he can borrow her for a scene, the yes is a mere formality.

He listens carefully, noting the woman’s limits, safe words, and preferences. According to Morikawa, she is often shared with other doms and will gladly submit to him for the next hour. As she likes full submission, most of his favorite options are on the table.

Taking her hand in his own, Rindou draws the woman to her feet. He circles her unmoving figure for a few intimidating turns, letting his height and proximity soak into her senses.

“You may call me ‘sir,’ and I think I’ll call you ‘free-use whore. Do you like your new name?”

“I’m very grateful, sir,” she responds meekly with eyes still trained on his shoes.

No need to go through the laborious process of breaking her, of earning her submission. The woman is broken already, so willing to be used by anyone her master deems worthy. Rindou leads her to the stage.

“Should I cut your clothes off, free-use whore, or should I let you strip?” Rindou asks, just loud enough that the tables seated by the slave could hear.

The slave’s shoulders draw up to her ears. “Please, sir, but my master bought me these clothes.”

“So loyal,” Rindou says, but he tuts in disapproval around the seemingly kind words. “But I would have liked to carve the leather from your body. Okay. You have ten seconds. Don’t make me wait.”

A mad scramble ensues, while the slave struggles to remove the tight leather bustier. The skirt falls to the floor easily. She finishes within his deadline, and Rindou dumps her clothes off the stage.

A pulley secures to a wood beam with a rope that connects to the ceiling and dangles down directly over the stage. For a woman that specially captures his interest, the slow and methodical process of tying a woman up becomes intense foreplay, but this slave is just one of many, so the basic rigging will suffice. Rindou fastens two leather handcuffs to the ropes and tugs a few times to note the stability. Cranking the pulley, Rindou adjusts the height until his slave can stand comfortably on her two feet with her hands manacled and stretched high in the air. He foregoes leg restraints or a spreader bar, preferring to see her legs squirm and buckle as he works her over.

Stretched straight as a pencil, there is nowhere to hide from Rindou’s eyes as he circles her once more. She is older than he first realized, more Ran’s type. There’s a fleshiness to her breasts and hips, suggesting maybe the after-effects of childbirth, but still in good shape for her age, maintained for her master. When he draws his noses across the little hollows in her throat, he can scent her cleanliness, that she is well-cared for. Rindou intends to take good care of her in turn.

The club provides dozens of toys for patrons to use on stage: whips and crops of every weight and shape, clamps, thick, twining rope, plugs, and gags. Rindou opts for a leather flogger. Twenty or so lashes should be both reward – for her loyalty to her master – and punishment – for denying Rindou even a moment of fun.

He rubs his bare hands up and down the woman’s body, coasting gently across her breasts and belly, and then more firmly across her back, ass, and thighs. The flesh warms up as he kneads her.

Two steps back, a pleasant, warning whoosh, and then, a clap. The cheek of the slave’s ass clenches on instinct and then relaxes, reddening nicely. Several times, Rindou brings the flogger down on the fattest part of her ass, and the slave does not make a sound.

Taking her chin in hand, Rindou twists her neck back to see her expression. Her blank servility is replaced by a blazing light in her brown eyes. The start of the beating sparks life into her as much as it sparks heat into her bruising ass.

“Eyes on me, free-use whore,” Rindou orders.

He watches his work as he whips her twice as hard this time before daring appraising glances to her face. Yes, there is the expression he lives for. The shuddering, gasping pleasure, the conflict. No matter how hard a slave tries to stay good and still and quiet, Rindou revels in breaking them down with pain and pleasure until they weep before him. They don’t want his crop; they need it.

The flogger travels, drifting away from her fleshy ass to her lower back and upper thighs, sure to welt and bruise. Between impacts, he teasingly brushes the tails of the flogger along her inner thighs and between her legs. Such a well-trained slave will know better than to cum without permission, but Rindou hopes she does, hopes he can surprise her into it, just so he can punish her further for failing him.

A decent-sized crowd has circled their stage now. Rindou scans it, grateful not to see his brother or Sanzu watching. Just worshipping and envious faces. As it should be. And…

Rindou’s eyes zero back on a girl he almost passed over. Amid a sea of bodies, many attractive and barely dressed, he does a double-take when he sees you.

You look like a doll: pert mouth, beseeching eyes, delicate throat. The shadows that cloak the crowd do little to conceal the rapt expression on your face or the softness of your cheeks.

Fucking beautiful.

The attention is not one-sided either. You’re no Princess Kaguya, no moon princess. Your beauty is of the earthly variety, and while striking is neither hypnotic nor overpowering. If not for your rapt focus on his every move, he might have been able to look away, yet there you are, sidled to the very edge of the stage, staring up with hungry interest.

You do not flinch back from direct eye contact. The stage puts Rindou above your eyeline, so he looks down at you like a supplicant on your knees. He thinks the position suits you beautifully.

Blinking, Rindou realizes he is losing focus on the task at hand. It is unfair and dangerous, so he returns his attention to the woman who has submitted herself to his mercy.

The blows resume, harder than ever as he nears twenty. She breathes heavily through the blows but does not make a sound. Rindou graces his fingers along the stripes he painted into her ass, feeling the heat of the bruises blistering beneath her skin. Exactly the kind of woman he hoped to find tonight.

It is not a desire to hurt that draws Rindou to BDSM; he gets enough of that in his day job. The precise focus on a woman’s body, taking the measure of her every whimper and pulse to determine his next move, the worship in the act, that is what makes his blood sing. And yes, perhaps the idea of hurting someone who likes it for a change, reveres it. A psychoanalyst could likely dig deeper into his desire for control, but Rindou has never asked someone to explain his actions and feelings to himself. It is enough that listening to the swoosh-thwack-keen sound that follows a flick of a whip makes his nerves zing.

A particularly hard whip of the flogger doesn’t elicit a scream from the slave, but a layer of sweat emerges from her chest and forehead. Rindou rubs two fingers through the trail of slickness, down between the valley of her breasts and beyond the round of her stomach, to the even slicker fount between her legs.

You shiver, so pronounced that Rindou can see it when he glances up. What is it about you – your open mouth, your immersion in the scene, maybe the fact that you look unowned, unclaimed – that makes Rindou consider switching partners here and now?

Under your gaze, his cock grows fully hard.

He smears the wetness of his partner around her clit, enough to make her squirm within her bounds. Two quick slaps, one to each breast, hard and mean. The slave is squeaking now, panting for his fingers that drive up and down her slit. Somehow, his pretty little voyeur reacts just as intensely, hands flying to her chest as if she has been beaten in turn.

Rindou doesn’t think about the scene as he starts to finger the slave before him, as he pulls her nipples taut from her body or decorates her belly with his handprints. No sound she makes, no expression can compete with your wide-eyed admiration, so cute, so pretty. He is rushing the scene, had planned to clamp the slave’s nipples, to force an unearned orgasm and then punish her with a studded flogger, but your eyes turn him sloppy.

Who knows which of you cast the spell, both seemingly hypnotized by the other’s attentions, but it is under its allure that the slave cums on Rindou’s fingers. Soft walls squeeze down around his fingers, and Rindou hears for the first time how the woman has been pleading for permission to cum all this time, trying her best to avoid a critical error. The beautiful convulsions of her body are matched by tears of deep-seated shame. Rindou hardly notices as you are trembling nearly as hard.

The distraction earns the slave some mercy. Rindou spanks her ass perfunctorily a dozen times with the original flogger for her disobedience. Quite soft of him, really.

The scene ends abruptly, hurried along by Rindou’s desire. He wants to meet you.

No diversion is pretty enough to make him neglect his responsibilities, however, so Rindou finally breaks eye contact to focus on the exhausted woman before him. He uncuffs her gently, ghosting soft fingers along her sore wrists. There is a thick blanket waiting on the edge of the stage, which Rindou uses to wrap her up securely. In her ear, he whispers reassurances that he was not disappointed, that she had done magnificently, that she was so lovely.

Her master waits in the wings, so Rindou does not need to commit himself to fully bringing her down, passing her off to the man whose favor she truly cherishes.

“She did a wonderful job. You must be so proud,” Rindou tells Morikawa as they make the pass off. Rindou gives her thick head of hair a final stroke before bundling her directly into Morikawa’s wide lap, doubly secured by blanket and arms.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Mr. Haitani. If I could trouble you in turn, I have a real estate venture that might appeal to a man such as yourself,” Morikawa says solicitously.

Cliché as fuck. Irritation hisses through his veins, interrupting his high.

Rindou did not come out to talk business with any fat bastard who learns his name. Sharing pussy did not entitle anyone to a sit down. Besides, his cock is still untouched.

The woman shivering in his lap tilts to the side to spare her ass a bit, and a modicum of generosity stirs in Rindou’s chest. She’ll struggle to sit tomorrow.

“I don’t get involved with that. But if you look around, you’ll find another man with purple hair here. You can speak to him about your venture. Tell him I sent you over,” Rindou offers.

Morikawa scowls at being brushed off, not realizing how great a favor Rindou has granted him. Unlike Rindou, Ran loves to talk business at all hours, lording over the losers with their get-rich-quick schemes and petty vendettas. With an introduction from Rindou, Ran will entertain him for at least a few minutes.

Even if Morikawa doesn’t see the boon for what it is, he is smart enough not to argue, excusing himself to find Ran.

The entire exchange took no more than a couple minutes, yet when Rindou turns around, you are no longer alone. A patron had zeroed in on the pretty submissive standing alone and now leans over you, mouth hovering above your ear.

Disgust broils in his gut. Disgust at the much older man bothering you yes, but also disgust at himself because the scene looks eerily familiar.

The interloper wears a suit, gold jewelry just this side of flashy, and a haughty smirk. Something straight from those dirty SM fantasies that women eat up, an outsider’s idea of a dom. He is a dime-a-dozen these days.

You, however…without the scent of sweat and pussy to distract him, he takes in a series of details he missed before. Most club patrons are dressed for the occasion in leather or latex, collars or leashes, gloves and tattoos. You are dressed for study group. You wear stovepipe pants, ballet flats, and a long-sleeved, powder blue vee-neck. Delicate earrings and glint of silver disappearing in the dip of your neckline are the only accents. The outfit highlights your figure, but the effect is something entirely modest and entirely unsuited to the venue.

You look young.

There is nothing unusual about a very young, very inexperienced woman becoming very popular in an establishment like this. A line is going to form of much older men excited to get a taste, to shape your sensibilities to suit their preferences, and in a few months, when a new young girl wanders in, their attentions will shift. It is a tale as old as sex itself.

Rindou never joins the stampede to break in new flesh. He likes women who know what they want, where their limits lie, who can communicate effectively. Half of the very young girls learn that BDSM isn’t for them. An aesthetic attraction to power, yes, but too hard or painful in practice. The other half? Brat and disobey and present way too much work for a dom just looking to release stress.

Pouty lips and lidded eyes aside, you are very much not his type. The best choice for the both of you would be for him to turn around and forget about the charged eye contact and crackling chemistry you shared.

That is what Rindou’s brain decides, but his feet decide otherwise.

Drawing close, Rindou overhears the man badgering you explain how he lives alone in an apartment in the area, not a long walk at all, trying to take you home, which means one or both of you are too shy to fuck at the club. This guy doesn’t warrant so much as a word.

“Excuse me,” Rindou says. You jolt a bit at the sight of him, resuming that dreamily aroused expression, just a little starstruck. So flattering that Rindou finds it easy to get sucked back into the vortex of your gaze. “I wanted to introduce myself – Haitani Rindou.”

The other man chokes a noise and books it. Most of the executives try to maintain a degree of anonymity for legal reasons, but tempers and egos make that difficult. Anyone deeply involved in the BDSM scene is likely to have heard of Rindou. You look less curious about the other man’s reaction than relieved.

You share your name in return, not a hint of nerves in your voice. It surprises Rindou, who was expecting a wilting flower or quivering shyness. He reassesses you, but your youth remains incontrovertible fact.

He makes a decision.

“Give me your hand,” he says. You are lovely in your obedience, unquestioningly offering your hand palm up. Rindou draws a pen from his pocket and scrawls the digits to one of his burner phones directly onto your skin. “I’m busy for the next several days, but I want to buy you a coffee. Call me if you’re interested.”

He blows on the ink to dry it, and your body lights up with a shiver.

He knows without a doubt you are going to call him. What he doesn’t know is what he is going to do with you once he has you. Maybe the next few days will surprise you both.

A door in Rindou’s future, long thought closed and locked, cracks open, just enough to let a ray of light shine through.

#rindou x reader #rindou x reader smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x reader smut #rindou haitani #in the belly of the beast #the devotion of the girl in the mirror

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