In Knots

cw: pain kink, degradation 

It’s not the being tied up that Dabi minds. Actually, he loves it—the way Hawks is always expert at positioning the ropes so they make his muscles ache without cutting off blood flow, keeping him tied just so, like a gift. He doesn’t mind the way he’s got his chest pressed

into the bed, his hips raised up, the red lines of the silk garters running across the back of his thighs and matching up with the lace-topped stockings that provide such a delicate contrast to the rest of his ravaged body. He’d wanted black, as always, but then Hawks had suggested crimson and he couldn’t say no. Not with the sleek, elemental gleam of possessiveness in Hawks’ eye as he looked at the red of it, the color of his own feathers pressed into Dabi’s flesh. Funny, in a way, it almost matched his body hair—though that was lighter, softer. 

He’d wished it was black until he met Hawks. But that’s all very beside the point; he doesn’t mind being tied up and presented, doesn’t mind his hard cock straining the fabric of his panties and making him wish he had something to rut against. It’s what he requested, after all. It’s the fucking waiting and teasing that’s driving him insane, and he growls in frustration as Hawks’ fingers slip across the back of his thighs, and the feather stroking over the silk of his underwear draws away once more.   

“No offense, but can you get on with it already?” He huffs the words into the sheets, fingers clenching and unclenching from where they’re bound. He’s hard and needy and he just wants Hawks to fuck him, dammit. Impatient, he squirms against the ropes binding his wrists, and hears a sigh from behind him. It’s a soft noise, just a little hiss of breath, but the weight behind it is enough to make him think twice.   

“You know, Dabi, this is really your biggest problem,” Hawks says, and the tone of his words has Dabi going still. Normally, Hawks is playful, needy, teasing but fun in bed. Even when he tops, he tends to be lenient and praise-heavy, even with as bratty as Dabi can act at times. Yet this...this feels different. There’s a cold pressure to his voice, and Dabi realizes it’s the same tone he used when they’d first met, keeping each other at arm’s length and circling suspiciously around one another.   

It shouldn’t make his gut stir, and yet. “You’re always so pushy, so demanding, and yet you don’t have any kind of manners. I think it’s about time somebody taught you some. You need to learn that your mouthing off will have consequences, while good behavior brings you good things. It’s pretty simple, really, and I’m sure you’re smart enough to get it.” All at once, a hand is fisted in his hair and Dabi sees sparks bursting behind his eyes as his head is yanked back at a harsh angle, until he’s staring at the ceiling, chest hovering just off the bed.  

“When you’re a good boy, and you take the pain, you get good things. The more you take, the better it is for you. But when you’re bad, and run your mouth, you don’t get shit.”  

Then the hand releases, and Dabi falls back to the bed, trying not to be breathless. Hawks has never spoken to him like that before, has never treated him with such a casual harshness, and he struggles to find his witty retort.

“Wow, sounds like you’re finally gonna put your money where your mouth is,” he quips, but it’s a little weak even to his ears.  That doesn’t prevent the harsh slap that lands on his ass, leaving it stinging with pain as he hisses and jolts forward.

Hawks’ voice is in his ear again, and he blinks through the brief watering of his eyes at the pain. “Nuh-uh. First of all, you’re going to address me as ‘sir’. Second, you’re gonna do what you’re fucking told or I’ll just leave you here. Third, no using your Quirk. And fourth, you don’t cum until I tell you to.” That ice never leaves his tone, and Dabi feels a shiver run up his spine at it.   

Another slap lands, Hawks’ palm feeling wider than it ever has as it leaves a red mark across his flesh, the heat fading quickly against the air. Another lands, and another, and another, until he finally squirms and bucks his hips. “Fuck, easy with that—“  Hawks tuts, and he stumbles over his instincts. “—sir.” He’s almost ashamed of how easily it slips out of him, but the next touch to his sore ass is a simple caress, stroking over the abused flesh and soothing the sting.   

“Better,” says Hawks, and Dabi can hear the noise of him moving, something clicking against something else. “But nowhere near good enough. I already told you, the more pain you take, the better it will be for you. So if you want me to pay attention to this—“ his hand slips between Dabi’s thighs, cupping his hard cock. How is he still this hard? Yet every stroke had sent a pulse through him, and now he can’t stop the way his hips roll into the grip.   “—Then you need to be asking for something else.”  

Dabi licks his lips, trying to figure out what the hell this puzzle means through the haze in his mind. In the meantime, his panties get yanked down and there’s the familiar noise of a cap, and he startles to feel the chill of lube pouring over his hot, sensitive skin. It almost stings too, the sudden cold against the raw skin, and he bites into his lip until Hawks fingers start to spread it over his entrance. One finger dips inside and he allows himself a moan, automatically clenching on the intrusion. The hand pauses, and it dawns on him what Hawks wants. And it’s not normally something he does, but apparently, they’re not doing normal tonight. Not anywhere close. He writhes internally with the words, but he knows his pause won’t be tolerated much longer, and they burst out before he can stop them.

“....Please, sir...spank me more,” he grates. It feels stupid, he feels stupid, this whole thing feels like an exercise in boring humiliation and idiocy until a white line of pain lights across the back of one thigh and he yelps in shock.

One of Hawks’ feathers had whipped him, not breaking the skin, but so sudden that he nearly jumped out of his skin. Then that finger is pressing forward into him, the pleasurable burn of the stretch contrasting with the way his thigh is now throbbing above the line of his stockings. It’s mind-blowing, and he feels so oversensitized that even a finger has him gasping for air.   

Pain is normal to him. Pain is an everyday thing, and he’s learned to live with it. It’s just that Hawks is wielding it in such an exquisite way, coupling it with the finger that now curls to rub against his prostate as another strike lands, and he wants this. He wants it so badly, the pain and the pleasure and everything. It’s like his mind goes pleasantly numb, and his brain starts to trade one for the other. Hawks’ free hand wraps around the front of his thigh, toying with the silk of his underwear and then finally, blessedly pulling it aside. Nimble fingers tug at his piercings a few times, sending jolts of ecstasy along his cock, and then start to pump his length steadily. Yet every time he moans too loudly, it all stops, and he gets another strike.  

“I want to cum,” he says into the sheets, somewhere after losing track of how many blows have been landed to his thighs. Is it two fingers in him now, or three? They ache and sting sweetly even when the feather is drawn away, hard as a switch rod, and he feels his cock leaking so much it makes Hawks‘s strokes slick. Wet, messy—he feels filthy in the best way.   

There’s a soft snort, and everything stops, leaving him to groan into the sheets. “If you want to cum, then what do you ask for? What’s the lesson I’ve been trying to teach you this whole time?” There’s a puddle of drool under his mouth, and his hips stutter wholly against his will at the way Hawks speaks. Like a bird of prey, circling some poor creature, he feels the chill of the shadow above him and yet tries to arch more, begging to be devoured.  

“Please, give me more pain. Make it hurt so I can cum, sir. Please.”   

“That’s right. Good boy.” Yet it sounds nothing like the normal praise, and somehow, that makes Dabi even harder. He feels like he earned it this time. The fingers slide out of him and his thighs tremble until he worries about collapsing, as though Hawks’ hand was the only thing holding him in place.  He lets out a shudder of breath when Hawks’ strap pushes into him, but he’s loose enough now to take it with ease. “Don’t cum. I’m telling you no, you dirty bitch.” 

The words are another shock—Hawks isn’t one for giving dirty talk, though he loves to receive it. Yet he doesn’t even fumble the words, and they send another pulse of liquid heat through Dabi’s already wrecked body.   

“No, sir, I won’t—please, just please fuck me. Make it hurt, whatever you want, I don’t care,” he groans out, and the sparks around him are real this time as Hawks bottoms out against him.   

“That’s right. It’s whatever I fucking want, baby.” That hand lands against his ass and he almost sobs with the confusion of agony and delight inside him. It hurts, it feels like his entire body is throbbing, and yet he’s so close to the edge of his orgasm he can practically taste it, especially as Hawks starts thrusting into him roughly. It’s like being used, like he’s just a receptacle for pleasure, and something in him wants to obey so badly.  So much of his life is spent rebelling and fighting back, but here, it’s easy to give in. Easy to put his trust in Hawks, when he knows he shouldn’t. Easy to be vulnerable, when that can be deadly. Yet he spreads his legs a little wider and realizes the pathetic grunts and whimpers at each thrust are coming from him, louder whenever Hawks spanks his ass. He probably won’t be able to sit down for a whole week but it doesn’t matter. Everything fades to incoherence and the feeling of being taken and claimed and turned into a pretty, filthy slut.   Which is exactly what Hawks is calling him. 

“That’s right, baby. Take my dick. You’re so fucking open back here, all spread out and red for me. Looks so pretty, especially wrapped up in this lace—I want you to cum on it for me. I want you to cum on your nice, brand new stockings so they’re wrecked up, just like a whore’s should be.” There’s an extra tug and a tearing noise as Hawks’ fingers rip a hole in one side of his stockings, then the other. They weren’t cheap, either, but something about the sheer possessiveness about being torn into like this has him forgetting everything else as he arches his back for more. 

He needs this, wants it, begs for it by the end.