WELCOME TO MY BLOG

it starts soft, shoto lying on his back with his wrists pinned loosely above his head, skin glowing under the dim light of your room. his chest rises and falls in shallow waves, a tremor in every breath, as if anticipation alone has already undone him.

you take your time. you always do. he’s still new to giving himself over like this, and his nerves crackle just under the surface. one hand smooths over his sternum, down the hard plane of his stomach, until your fingertips toy with the band of his sweats. he shifts at the touch, thighs drawing closer together, cock twitching under the thin fabric.

“stay still,” you murmur, quiet but firm. he does. his body obeys before his mind even processes the command, because you’ve trained him into softness, into listening.

your fingers press to his lips, and he opens immediately. tongue darting out, mouth closing around them like he’s starving for even that. it’s needy, messy, more desperate than you asked for. when you pull back, slick trails across his chin, and he blushes but doesn’t apologize.

he doesn’t have to.

from beside the bed, you pick up the glass bowl resting on the dresser. ice cubes clink softly against the sides, the sound alone making his eyes widen.

“don’t tense.”

you set a piece against the line of his throat, and his whole body jolts like electricity just shot through him. his wrists tug instinctively against your hold, legs pushing down into the sheets.

“ah—” he gasps, sharp, but you hush him again. the ice melts fast against his heated skin, water beading down the slope of his collarbone. you follow its path with your mouth, tongue hot, and he whimpers at the contrast.

his eyes flutter half shut, a whiny, broken little sound spilling out when you place another cube lower—right above his nipple. it burns cold, his chest arching into it even though he’s trembling like mad.

“you’re so good for me, sho,” you praise softly, circling the cube until his nipple pebbles under the freezing touch. “so sensitive everywhere.”

“f-fuck,” he stutters, voice already fraying, “it’s—too much—”

“too much?” you echo, but your smile is kind, even as your hand replaces the cube with the warmth of your palm. he moans, head tossing back, overwhelmed by the relief. “you like it too much, baby. don’t you?”

he nods, frantic, words lost.

his world is black the moment you slide the blindfold over his eyes. shoto doesn’t protest—he never does—but his chest rises sharper, breath pushing past his lips like he’s already bracing. he’s so quiet, always so careful, but in this darkness, stripped of sight, he trembles under every brush of your touch like he’s been rewired entirely for you.

your hand smooths down his bare chest, lingering at the sharp rise of his collarbone, over the faint shiver of his stomach. “relax,” you whisper, soft but firm. “you wanted to try this, remember?”

he nods immediately, hair brushing the pillow, arms stiff by his sides as if he’s afraid to move.

the first drip of wax makes him jerk. it splashes just below his collarbone, red meeting pale skin in a sudden bloom of heat. his breath catches—sharp, quick, like he’s not sure if he should moan or beg for you to stop.

“ah—!” his voice breaks in a way you rarely hear.

“good boy,” you murmur, watching his chest twitch as the wax hardens, as his lashes flutter uselessly under the blindfold. “you took it so well.”

he whines. actually whines, thin and shaky, throat bobbing as if he’s embarrassed to let the sound slip out.

you let him squirm for a moment before lifting the ice. pressed against the opposite side of his chest, it pulls another gasp from him—this one softer, desperate, his back arching at the jarring contrast.

“too much?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“no—no, don’t stop.” his voice is breathless, needy, not the flat monotone everyone else gets but the one reserved only for you, when he’s unraveling piece by piece.

you alternate—hot wax trailing down his sternum, cold ice dragged over the curve of his ribs, every nerve set alight. his fists curl in the sheets, body straining to chase and retreat from sensation at once.

“please,” he whispers at one point, legs shifting restlessly, cock already hard against his stomach. “please, i—”

you hush him with your hand on his throat, light pressure that makes him choke on whatever plea he meant to finish. “don’t rush me,” you say, slow and even, like you’re scolding a child. “you’re going to stay right here, take what i give you, until i say otherwise.”

his body shudders.

the next pour of wax lands on his stomach, and he almost bucks up off the bed, a ragged noise breaking from his chest. the ice follows instantly, melting over the hardened wax, cold water dripping down his sides.

he’s shaking now—legs trembling, chest rising fast, lips parted like he’s begging without words.

“you’re so sensitive like this,” you whisper, leaning close so your breath ghosts over his ear. “you don’t need your fire. don’t need your ice. just me.”

his hands twitch like he wants to hold you but doesn’t dare. “y-you,” he breathes, voice cracking. “only you.”

you kiss the corner of his jaw, let the next drip of wax fall just below his navel, and press the ice directly after. his hips jerk violently, a strangled cry tearing from him as he bites down on it too late.

and you smile, because shoto is falling apart under your hands, blind and trembling and so fucking good for you.

    ༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆

his back arches violently as the next dollop of hot wax lands on his lower chest, ice pressed immediately after against the hardened patch. his mouth falls open in a strangled gasp, blindfolded eyes fluttering beneath the dark fabric. he’s shivering, shuddering, muscles taut as if every nerve ending is on fire, and yet he’s so still, obeying your command even as his hips twitch uncontrollably against the sheets.

“don’t move, sho,” you murmur, hand brushing down the length of his torso to trace where the ice and wax meet. his breathing is ragged, chest heaving, and each inhale brings another gasp that sounds almost like pleading.

he’s drenched in sweat now, cock straining against his stomach, leaking hot pre that stains your hand when you slide over him, deliberately teasing, never letting him reach the point of release.

“please,” he whispers, voice cracking, so soft it could be swallowed by the shadows in the room. “i’m so close, please, please—”

you press your hand to his chest, leaning close, whispering just above his ear: “not yet. you stay right here. feel every drop, every shiver, every hot and cold. your body belongs to me until i say otherwise.”

he chokes on a whine, shivering violently as you alternate: wax down his stomach, ice pressed right after, hips jerking despite himself, cock twitching, leaking, so ready it hurts.

“ah—fuck—can’t, can’t—” he gasps, clutching at the sheets, teeth biting down, but your hand stops him mid-motion. “quiet, sho. obey. don’t ruin it yet.”

he groans, body quaking, blindfolded, trapped in sensation, every nerve screaming, but he listens. the desperation in him is intoxicating—the way he jerks and trembles under your hands, so on edge, so completely undone, is all yours.

you let him come right to the cliff several times, hands ghosting over his chest, thighs brushing against his, cock twitching hot and hard without permission. each time he whines your name, you murmur softly, “not yet. stay full. stay trembling.”

he’s a shivering mess, sweat dripping, chest heaving, hair plastered to his forehead, cock leaking constantly, trembling like he’s about to fall apart. and through it all, the hot wax, cold ice, and your soft, controlling hands keep him right on the edge—denied, teased, made to feel every sensation to the fullest.

finally, when his body is trembling violently, eyes fluttering blindly beneath the blindfold, every muscle taut, every nerve raw, you lean down and whisper:

“now, sho… now you get to cum.”

his whine breaks instantly into a strangled, desperate scream as you stroke him slow, deliberate, until his hips buck uncontrollably, body shaking, crying out your name. he’s ruined for you, fully and completely, and all the while, he melts into your arms, clinging, shivering, moaning, every bit of him yours.

and when it’s over, he’s so exhausted he can barely breathe, limbs sprawled, blindfold soaked with sweat, lips trembling with aftershocks, and you hold him close, soft and warm, letting him ride out the shivers in silence.

denji’s never been good at patience. he never learned how to wait for things — food, money, love — all of it’s always been about grabbing what he can the second it’s in front of him. and now, with your leg between his, thigh warm and firm under the soft cotton of his sweats, patience feels impossible.

“c’mon,” he whines, already rutting down against you in little stuttering jerks. his messy blond hair sticks up every which way, and his pupils are so blown it’s like he’s half feral. “please, lemme just—i’ll be quick, promise, mommy.”

the word slips out of him without him even realizing, and your hand stills where it had been rubbing up and down his back. denji freezes too, wide eyes darting up to you.

“…mommy, huh?” you murmur, letting the word roll slow and teasing off your tongue.

his cheeks go red instantly, but his hips don’t stop moving — if anything, they grind down harder, chasing friction against your thigh. “i didn’t—shit, i didn’t mean—” his voice cracks as you flex your leg under him, giving him more pressure to grind against. “fuck—”

“you didn’t mean to call me mommy?” your tone is lilting, sweet, dangerous. one hand slides into his hair and tugs his head back, making him gasp. “or you didn’t mean to let it slip?”

denji squirms, face hot, but his cock is straining against his sweats, leaking through the thin fabric where it presses to your thigh. “i—it just came out, i dunno, i—”

“but you like it, don’t you?” you cut him off, pressing your thigh harder up between his legs. his whole body jolts, mouth falling open in a strangled moan. “you like calling me mommy.”

he nods before his brain catches up with his mouth. “yes—fuck, yes, i like it, mommy, i like it—”

“good boy.” the praise makes him keen, hips stuttering against your thigh. you let him rut there, sweaty and messy, his hands clutching at your shoulders as though he’s afraid you’ll shove him off. he’s trembling already, so worked up it’s pathetic.

“please, please let me—lemme cum, mommy, please,” he babbles, forehead dropping against your collarbone. “i’ll be good, i’ll do anything, i need it so bad—”

your fingers curl tight in his hair, tugging his head up until he’s forced to look at you. his lips are kiss-bruised from biting them, his chest heaving like he’s drowning.

“not yet.”

the whine that rips out of him is animalistic. his hips grind down harder, desperate, but you catch his jaw in your hand and hold him there. “denji,” you warn, voice low.

“i can’t—I can’t stop, it feels so good, i’ll die if i don’t cum—”

“you’ll do what mommy says.” your thigh shifts, cruelly pulling back some of the pressure he was clinging to. he gasps, eyes wide and desperate, tears threatening to spill. “you’ll wait until i say so. got it?”

he nods furiously, even as his hips twitch like he’s fighting his own body. “got it, got it, mommy, please—”

you lean in close, lips brushing his ear. “good boy. keep riding my thigh. make it messy. make it hurt. but you don’t cum until i say.”

denji’s broken little moan could shatter glass. he rocks down against you with reckless abandon, every drag of his cock against your thigh painting darker stains into his sweats. he’s panting, whimpering, sobbing your name, begging in between curses.

“mommy, mommy, it’s too much, i can’t—”

your hand tightens in his hair again, forcing him to arch back and look at you through tear-blurred eyes. “you can. you will. or i’ll make you start over.”

that threat nearly breaks him. he grinds harder, messier, until his body starts to shake, every muscle taut. he’s so close you can feel it in the way he twitches, the way he sobs.

“mommy, please—please, can i cum? i’ll be so good, i’ll do whatever you want, i need it, please let me—”

you wait until he’s right on the edge, until his whole body is wound up like a live wire. then, sweet as sugar, you murmur:

“no.”

he screams in frustration, hips jerking helplessly as his orgasm tears itself away before it can break. he slumps forward, trembling all over, cock throbbing painfully against your thigh.

“n-no, fuck, i was so close, please don’t do this to-

 mmmph!”

he's cut off by your fingers stuffing his mouth, drool already building up in his mouth.

“shhh baby, you know i hate it when you throw your tantrums..”

you guide him down once more, pressing his hips flush against your thigh,  his cock twitches, hot and heavy, and he leans into you, nose brushing your collarbone, lips soft against your skin.

“don’t try to move too fast, baby,” you coo, running your fingers through his messy hair. “i said sit, not shove your cock all over me. pace yourself.”

he groans, hands fisting in your thighs, body trembling like he’s vibrating on his own. “i-i can’t help it, mommy,” he whines, eyes wide and pleading. “it’s so warm, you feel so good—please, let me ride you!”

you chuckle, tilting your chin down to brush your lips over the top of his head. “not yet. you’re going to take this slow, understand? all of it is mine. you don’t get to come until i say. my little brat needs to learn patience.”

denji shivers violently, thighs trembling, and he presses himself closer, trying anyway, cock leaking and slick against your leg. you place a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from grinding too hard, letting him feel the control without giving up an inch.

“hngh—fuck, mommy—” he whines, high-pitched and needy. his face is pink, lips parted, mascaraed with drool where he’s been whining against your skin. “please, i’m yours, please—please let me—”

“shh,” you hush him, fingers tangling in his hair, thumbs brushing along his jaw. “look at you, baby. shaking, dripping, so desperate. this is why you needed me. my good boy, so needy already, but you’re going to stay right there. ride my thigh, learn to stay on edge.”

he gasps at the words, the edge teasing him mercilessly. you grind your thigh just enough to keep him twitching, cock leaking, hands gripping your leg, hips jerking involuntarily against you. he’s dripping in your control, every little sound a whine that makes you ache to touch more.

“look at that, baby,” you murmur, dragging a hand down his spine, over his shoulders, letting him feel your warmth, “cock twitching, leaking all over me. so messy, so needy… so perfect for mommy.”

his breath hitches, back arching, trembling through every inch of him, and he whimpers, “i-i can’t—i’ll… i’ll ruin it, mommy…”

“oh, you already did,” you tease, voice soft, almost lullaby-like. “but it’s okay. my brat can be messy. i like that. you like it too, don’t you? being my little desperate baby, cock leaking, taking it all without permission?”

he whines again, hips jerking up, hands pressing into your thigh as if he can physically pull the words out of you, begging with every twitch, every little shiver. “y-yes… yes, mommy, i’m yours… please, i’m yours—please touch me, please, please—”

“not yet, baby,” you murmur, voice low and commanding, letting your fingers curl into his messy hair, tilting his head so he’s forced to look at you. “my little brat isn’t allowed to come until i say so, that means slow down and stop. do you understand?”

he whines, face flushing darker, chest heaving, hands still gripping your thigh as if it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “y-yes… mommy, please… i’ll be good… just—just let me stay close…”

you smile, brushing your thumb over the tip of his nose, letting him feel your warmth press against him. “stay close? of course. stay warm. sit on my thigh, feel every inch of me, and wait. you’re mine, baby, and mommy decides when it’s your turn.”

denji shudders violently, hips twitching even as he obeys, and every gasp, whine, and little squeak is music to your ears. his cock leaks against your leg, sticky and warm, and he’s so desperate it’s almost painful to watch. he tries to grind a little, just the tiniest bit, and you press a finger into his chest to stop him.

“don’t move without permission,” you warn, voice sweet but firm. “you’re going to stay right there and feel all of this without taking it for yourself. mommy’s in charge.”

he groans, a broken, high-pitched sound, and buries his face into your neck, muffling a whimper. “f-fuck… i’m yours, mommy… so hot… please… i can’t…”

“i know, baby,” you coo, hand sliding down to stroke the side of his back, tracing circles over his shoulder blades, fingers dragging lightly over his spine. “that’s why mommy’s here. to tease you, to keep you right on edge. look at you… trembling, whining, dripping for me. so needy, so perfect.”

his knees tremble as he tries to adjust, hips jerking reflexively, but you keep him firmly in place, thigh pressed just right so every twitch drives him further into need without relief. “mmm, that’s it, baby… ride me like that. stay right here. every little shiver, every little groan, it’s yours to give me, but not your release.”

denji cries out softly, a mix of frustration and desperate pleasure, curling himself closer to you, hands gripping at your hips, nails digging in as if he could anchor himself to you. “p-please, mommy… i’m–… feels too good… i can’t—”

“you can,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple. “you’re my little brat, my messy, needy baby. you can take it, stay full, stay warm, stay on my thigh. mommy knows exactly what you need, and right now, you need to learn patience.”

he shivers uncontrollably, chest rising and falling fast, voice breaking with muffled whines as he leans into you, cock slick and twitching, body begging for release. but every touch you give, every warm press of your thigh, keeps him right there—so close, so desperate, and totally under your control.

his lips part, soft little whimpers slipping out, “mm-mommy… i… can i… please… just a little…”

“no, baby,” you hush him gently, brushing your fingers through his hair, tucking him closer, “not yet. stay full. stay warm. stay mine. mommy will decide when you get your reward.”

he’s trembling in your lap harsh now, chest pressed against yours, arms draped around your waist like he’s scared you’ll leave if he lets go. every little squirm, every tiny buck of his hips makes his cock twitch wet and hot against you, and he’s whining, whining, whining like a spoiled little brat who can’t get enough.

“mmm, my messy little baby,” you coo, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly so he has to look at you. “look at you… riding my thigh, leaking for me, hips jerking even when i said no. you’re such a naughty boy.”

he arches, whining, face buried against your chest now. “i-i can’t help it, mommy… feels too good… i’m gonna… gonna…”

“no,” you whisper firmly, pressing your thigh harder into him. “you’re staying right here, baby. every twitch, every little squeeze—mine. i decide when you get to come.”

he shivers violently, letting out a broken little moan, hands gripping your hips, fingernails digging in. “please… please… i’ll do anything… just let me… feel you… mommy…”

you grin, brushing a finger over the tip of his leaking cock, dragging it down the shaft just slightly to remind him that he’s on the edge. “mmm, that’s right, baby… so needy, so desperate… look at you, cock twitching, dripping all over me. you like being my brat, don’t you? teasing yourself for mommy?”

he groans, back arching, legs trembling as he presses against you, helpless. “y-yes… mommy… please… i’m yours… i can’t… can’t hold it—”

you lean down, lips brushing his temple, neck, whispering praise and command all at once. “you can, baby. you’re mine. stay warm, stay full, stay shaking just like this. every little whine, every little groan, it’s all yours to give me—but not your release.”

he whines loudly now, a broken little sound that makes you ache to ruin him even further. his hips jerk against your thigh, trying to chase the friction, and you press firmly down, holding him still, letting him feel every inch of you without letting him take it for himself.

“so good… taking it so well for mommy,” you murmur, stroking his back, dragging your nails lightly along his spine. “look at you… shaking, whining, leaking… such a perfect little brat.”

he gasps, high-pitched, trembling, every muscle quivering. “f-fuck… mommy… please… can’t… i’m… so close… feels too good…”

“not yet, baby,” you whisper, tilting his head to look at you. “stay full. stay warm. mommy decides when it’s time. you don’t get to come until i say.”

his hands fist in your thighs again, hips jerking, back arching, mouth opening in helpless little whimpers. “i-i… please… mommy… m’gonna… can’t… can’t hold it…”

you hum softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “i know, baby..”

he’s shaking now, drool slicking his lips, cock hard and leaking, hips twitching even though he’s trying to obey. every little touch, every word you murmur makes him tremble more, louder, until he’s babbling, whining, and begging all at once.

“please… mommy… i-i’m yours… gonna… m’gonna… please…”

“yes, baby,” you whisper, hands sliding down to hold him against your thigh, grinding him just enough to make him twitch. 

he’s shaking violently in your lap, body trembling, cock slick and hot, whining against your thigh, desperate beyond words. every twitch, every jerk of his hips makes him moan, whimper, babble brokenly, and you let your fingers trail through his messy hair, tilting his head so he looks at you with glassy, desperate eyes.

“my little brat,” you murmur, voice soft but commanding, “so needy… so messy… so ready to come for mommy.”

he gasps, arching back, gripping your waist, nails digging in, lips parting in a broken moan. “p-please… mommy… i… i can’t hold it… feels too good… fuck—”

you brush your lips over his temple, jaw, whispering into his ear: “that’s it, baby… let go for me. let mommy take it. all yours. all messy and warm and mine.”

his hands clutch your thighs, legs trembling as his hips buck against your firm grip. “i-i’m… m’gonna… oh fuck… mommy—”

you press your thigh harder into him, grinding just enough to push him past the edge. the moment he cums is explosive: cock pulsing and spurting, leaking hot and sticky all over your leg, back arching, hips jerking uncontrollably. he’s babbling incoherently, voice high and broken, “f-fuck! mommy! i’m yours! oh god! oh fuck! s-so good! m’gonna—please—”

you hold him tight, rocking gently, fingers in his hair, lips brushing his temple. every shiver, every sob, every desperate little moan—he’s completely undone, body trembling, mind foggy, cock emptying helplessly into your lap.

“good boy,” you murmur, voice soft, gentle, full of praise. “my messy, needy little brat… all yours, all mine. look at you… shaking, babbling… so perfect.”

he collapses into your chest, unable to speak, only shivering and clinging to you, lips wet and parted, eyes glassy. the little sobs that escape him are raw, unfiltered, and you brush your hands over his back and hair, rocking him gently as he slowly comes down from the overstimulation.

“you did so well, baby,” you whisper, kissing the crown of his head. “so perfect… my little brat… all warm and messy… mine.”

he wraps his arms around you tighter, trembling, mumbling brokenly against your chest, “m-mine… i’m yours… mommy… thank you…”

he’s squirming on your lap before you even tell him to stay still, hips twitching, cock hard and leaking against your thigh. his blindfold hides those mischievous eyes, but you can feel the fire of him trying to fight it—the part of him that doesn’t want to admit how much he needs you.

“gojo,” you murmur, dragging a finger down his chest, over his nipples, making him shiver, “stay still. you’re not allowed to move unless i say so.”

“wha—y-you’re cruel,” he whines, voice high and breathless. his hands push against your sides, trying to shift, squirm, anything to get friction that doesn’t belong to you.

you just smile, soft and patient, and hold him down with a knee against his hip. “i’m not cruel, baby. i’m being careful. you’re going to like it if you just let me take care of you.”

he groans, half-protesting, half-moan, thighs trembling. his cock leaks more onto your lap, sticky and warm, and every twitch makes your fingers itch to trace his slick, to tease him even more.

“stop squirming,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss the side of his neck, teeth grazing lightly. “you’re so needy already. look at you, whining like a little baby and dripping for me.”

“i-it’s not fair!” he gasps, back arching instinctively. “fuck, it’s too much, you’re… you’re—”

“too much for who?” you coo, hand gliding over the hard length of him through his shorts. “for me? or for you?”

his voice cracks, whining, “f-fuck, y-you—i’m gonna—”

“no, baby,” you murmur, cupping his jaw, tilting his head so your lips brush over his, “not yet. not until i say. stay full for me.”

he groans, face flushing, and his hands finally settle—helpless—on your thighs. every twitch, every little jerk of his hips presses him harder into your lap. you can feel him trying to come, trying to fight, but your hand at his chest, stroking slow circles over his nipples, keeps him right on the edge, whining like he’s being undone.

“look at you,” you murmur, voice soft, almost like a lullaby. “cock leaking, trembling… so pathetic for me already. you like being controlled, don’t you?”

“n-no, i-i—” he whines, words breaking into moans, “y-yes—fuck, y-you’re gonna—”

“shh,” you hush him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. your other hand drags lightly down his stomach, brushing over his hard length, feeling him twitch under your touch. “stay warm for me, stay full, stay mine.”

he’s shivering now, hips jerking despite himself, whining and gasping, face hot and red, and every time you slide your fingers over him, flicking the tip just slightly, his entire body convulses.

“gojo…” you murmur against his ear, “you sound so pretty when you’re whining. don’t fight it. let me hear it all.”

he tries, his mouth opening, but it’s all breathless little noises—half-protests, half-moan, little squeaks you know he thinks he’s hiding. “f-fuck, baby, it’s—too much… i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” you whisper, stroking him through it. “you can take it, my baby. i’m right here. stay full, stay trembling, and don’t even think about coming without permission.”

he groans, whines, arches his back off your lap, and you tighten your grip on his hips, pressing him flush against you. every tug and tease sends another shiver through him, and his breath comes in short, broken pants.

“i-it hurts!” he whines, body stiff, voice cracking. “it feels—too good—i can’t—”

“i know,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down his side. “that’s why you’re whining. that’s why you’re mine. look at you—cock hard, leaking, shaking like a little baby.”

he’s going dumb now, face buried in your chest, every moan muffled, trembling all over. his hips jerk reflexively, but your hand keeps him exactly where you want, teasing the head, running slick down his shaft, keeping him on the brink.

“so good for me, baby,” you coo, kissing the crown of his head, brushing a hand through his hair. “you’re such a perfect little whiner. all heat and trembling, leaking for me, cock stuffed and helpless…”

he whimpers loudly now, finally letting go of all pretense, the stoic, cocky gojo completely gone. his body shakes, drooling, leaking, and every breath is little bursts of desperation and need.

“please—please—i can’t hold—” he gasps, but you shush him softly, humming against his skin. “not yet, baby. stay full. you’re mine, and i say when you come.”

his hands curl into your thighs, nails digging in, hips bucking instinctively, but he’s dumb now—shaky, helpless, completely undone under your gentle, relentless control.

his arms are wrapped around you so tight, it’s like he thinks you’re going to slip away if he lets go for even a second. satoru’s long body curls around yours, legs tangling, nose buried against the side of your throat where he won’t shut up—little sighs, whines, half-muffled please’s that make your skin warm. you’ve got him seated on your cock, snug and stretched, every inch of him filled up, and he’s losing his mind just staying still.

“don’t make me,” he groans, rocking his hips the tiniest bit, like maybe if he’s subtle enough you won’t notice. “baby, i can’t—feels so good, please, lemme move.”

you stroke his back slow, soothing, and he melts under your touch even as he kicks his feet a little in frustration. “hush. you can take it. that’s all i want right now, satoru. just you, sitting pretty and warm for me.”

he shivers, biting down on a sound that still slips out anyway. his fingers fist in your shirt, knuckles white, nails digging just enough to remind you he’s trembling on the edge. he’s not used to being denied—he’s used to moving how he wants, overwhelming you with his stamina and energy. being kept still like this makes him twitchy, makes his chest rise and fall fast, makes his cock leak against his stomach in hot, messy drops.

“you’re cruel,” he mumbles against your throat, though there’s no venom in it. it’s all breathy and ruined, like he’s half-sobbing. “you know i can’t behave, ‘m too needy. please, baby, i’ll be so good if you just let me—”

but you just hush him again, cupping his jaw and tilting his head back so you can see his face. he’s flushed, lashes damp, his mouth pouting open. he looks like a mess already, like he’s been edged for hours instead of minutes. you can feel him clenching around you, little spasms every time you whisper praise into his ear.

“look at you. so full. keeping me nice and warm. my perfect boy.”

the words make him shake harder, a broken little whine tearing out of his throat. his hips buck instinctively, but you pin him down with just a hand on his waist, firm and steady. he’s not going anywhere.

“stop—fuck, i can’t,” he gasps, head dropping onto your shoulder. “you’re gonna kill me, i can’t just sit here. i need it, i need you to—”

you kiss his temple, soft and patient, letting him squirm without giving him what he wants. “you need what i give you. and right now, i want you to wait.”

his whole body tenses at that, thighs trembling where they’re spread over yours. you can feel his cock leaking constantly, messy against both of you, and he chokes on a sob when he realizes you’re serious. he’s not cumming until you say so.

“please,” he whimpers, voice cracking, and your heart twists at how wrecked he sounds. “please, don’t make me wait. ‘m your good boy, i swear. let me move, let me cum—just once, baby, please.”

but you just stroke his hair, keep him pinned down, and feel every desperate shiver run through him as he clings tighter, burying his face in your neck like if he hides there maybe you’ll give in.

he’s needy, touch-starved, trembling everywhere. and he’s not going anywhere until you decide he’s earned it.

you’ve been seated on his cock for so long that you can feel the way it twitches with every beat of his pulse, swollen and aching inside you, begging for friction. and gojo—cocky, smug, untouchable gojo—is reduced to this: a trembling mess who can’t stop pawing at you, mouthing at your collarbone like a man desperate for water.

“please,” he breathes, his voice cracking, “please just a little, baby, i’ll be so good, promise.”

your hand strokes slowly through his hair, smoothing down messy strands as if you’re calming a child. “mm, you said that last time. and what happened?”

his whole body jerks, because he remembers—he begged and cried and still came without permission, ruining himself all over your thighs. he groans into your neck, muffling the sound, but his hips still twitch helplessly under you.

you clench around him deliberately, and his grip on you tightens like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “fuck, fuck, don’t do that,” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut.

“don’t do what?” you ask, voice soft, teasing, almost cruel in its gentleness.

he shakes his head, panting, unable to answer, because everything is too much. the warmth of you around him, the way you don’t move, the way your body holds him still. he’s unraveling thread by thread, and all you’ve done is sit pretty and let him suffer in your arms.

his hands slide down your back, clutching at your hips, and you catch them before he can lift you. “no moving,” you murmur, pressing them flat against your stomach so he can feel where he sits inside you. “you stay right here, okay? nice and full. i like you like this.”

gojo shudders, moans, his breath hot against your skin. “i can’t,” he whines, the pitch of his voice higher than usual, fragile. “it’s too much.”

you tilt his chin up so you can look at him, at the tear-bright shimmer in his eyes, the flushed desperation painting his face. “you can. you will. my pretty boy can take it.”

the praise makes his lips part on a broken sound, his hips bucking once before you squeeze his face gently to still him. he nods frantically, messy strands of hair falling into his eyes, his whole body trembling against yours as if agreeing is the only thing keeping him together.

“that’s it,” you whisper, rocking your body just enough to make him sob, “just let me hold you like this. let me make you feel good by not letting you have it yet. you need to learn patience, baby.”

gojo clings tighter, burying his face against your throat, his body so hot it feels feverish. every little whimper is muffled into your skin, every plea cut off by his own need to hide his face.

and all the while, his cock throbs inside you, leaking, twitching, caught in that endless torment of being right there—so close, so warm, so unbearably good—without relief. he’s drowning in it, in you, in the way you keep him.

he doesn’t realize he’s drooling until you tilt his head back again, thumb swiping along the corner of his lips. “look at you,” you hum, eyes tender even as your tone carries that lilt of command, “my strongest sorcerer, falling apart just from being kept warm. i should keep you like this all night.”

the thought alone makes him whimper brokenly, and when you kiss the corner of his mouth, he melts completely, a needy, touch-starved mess.

xxxxx

his whines break into something sharper, hips twitching up when they’re not supposed to. your eyes snap open and you catch the flush running high across his cheeks, sweat beading his temple, his whole body trembling like he’s holding on by a thread. and then—oh no—he gasps, that high-pitched, needy sound, and you feel it, hot and sticky spreading inside you before he even realizes what he’s done.

“satoru.” your voice is low, warning.

he freezes instantly, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. wide blue eyes blink at you, pupils blown, lips parted as his chest rises and falls like he’s just run a marathon. he’s still sheathed so deep inside, twitching, pulsing, giving him away even though he desperately shakes his head.

“i—I didn’t mean to—” he stammers, words tumbling out fast, a panicked whine threading through every syllable. “it just—fuck, it felt s’good, you were so warm, i couldn’t—couldn’t hold it—”

your fingers curl tighter in his messy hair, tugging his head back so he has to look up at you. his breath hitches, throat bobbing as he swallows hard.

“you broke the rule,” you murmur, slow and deliberate, and the way his lashes flutter at the tone makes your lips twitch despite yourself.

“n-no, i didn’t—well, i…” he’s already falling apart, excuses collapsing before they can even form. “i tried! i really tried! ‘m sorry, baby, please don’t—don’t be mad—”

his hands clutch at you, restless, one gripping your waist like you’ll disappear if he lets go, the other dragging up to press against your chest as though he can anchor himself there. he’s still moving, not his hips, but little shifts, little clenching spasms that make you oh-so-aware of just how badly he lost control.

you tilt his chin up, and his lower lip trembles. he looks ruined, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, pupils blown out, desperate to please but already so far gone he’s choking on his own apology.

“what am i going to do with you, hm?”

his breath catches again, tears shining at the corners of his eyes. “anything. you can—anything you want, just—don’t stop touching me, please—”

needy little baby. and he knows it.

giyu is like stone when you tell him to get on the bed. shoulders squared, jaw tight, that same stubborn silence he always wears like armor. you can see the faint flush on his cheeks though, betraying him, and that makes you smile.

“don’t look so tense,” you murmur, nudging him with a hand at the small of his back. “you trust me, don’t you?”

his nod is almost imperceptible. he doesn’t answer, doesn’t have to—because the way his fingers curl in the sheets as he kneels is enough.

you take your time. that’s the fun of it. easing him out of his uniform layers, letting his hair fall loose around his flushed face, kissing down the taut muscles of his back just to watch him shiver. giyu keeps his lips pressed tight together, holding in every sound, and you can tell already he’s going to make you work for it.

“still so quiet,” you hum against the nape of his neck. your hands stroke down his sides, nails grazing. “but i’ll have you talking soon.”

when you part his thighs and slick your fingers, he jolts—just slightly—but doesn’t protest. not verbally. instead his hips twitch forward as though betraying him, and you press a kiss to his shoulder blade.

“good boy.” the praise is soft, warm. it makes his ears go scarlet.

sliding one finger in is easy; he’s already trembling with how carefully you prepared him earlier. by the time you work him open to three, his head is bowed, hair hiding his face, and his breath is uneven against the sheets.

“don’t hide from me.” you curl your fingers just right and watch his body jolt, a strangled gasp spilling before he can catch it. “there it is. that’s what i wanted to hear.”

you withdraw slowly, slick dripping down your palm, and strap in with deliberate pace. giyu peeks over his shoulder, pupils wide, lips parted. he looks wrecked already—and you haven’t even touched him with it yet.

“i’ll be gentle,” you promise, though your smirk says otherwise. “but you’re going to take all of it for me.”

the blunt head nudges against him, and giyu’s knuckles go white where he grips the sheets.

“say it,” you murmur, leaning over his ear. “tell me you’re ready.”

it takes him a moment, fighting that stubborn pride. finally— “…ready.”

the word is breathless, barely audible, but enough.

and when you start to press in, inch by slow inch, giyu trembles like he’s never known what it means to let go.

he’s biting it back. you can tell. every twitch of his jaw, every stutter in his breath, every shiver that runs through him—he’s dying to make a sound but refuses.

you push deeper, slow, deliberate, until the strap is fully seated inside him and his whole body bows, muscles drawn tight. his shoulders quake under your hands.

“fuck, look at you,” you whisper, sliding one hand under his chest to feel the frantic beat of his heart. “taking me so well. my quiet little good boy.”

the praise slips into him like heat, but he still doesn’t speak. doesn’t whimper. only clutches the sheets like a lifeline, face pressed down so you can’t see.

you pull out halfway and sink back in hard. the wet slap of your hips makes him jerk, a strangled noise choking at the back of his throat before he swallows it down.

“don’t you dare hide that from me,” you scold, voice low and sharp against his ear. “i want to hear it. every sound. you don’t get to keep it to yourself.”

his breath shudders out, a little ragged now, and you can feel his restraint breaking. your pace steadies—deep, steady thrusts that grind against that spot inside him until he can’t help the muffled groan that slips free.

“there we go,” you murmur, pressing kisses along his shoulder as your hips roll harder. “so pretty when you make noise for me.”

“n—ngh—” he tries, the syllable caught between pain and pleasure, and you grin.

“what was that?” you mock gently. “too much? or not enough?”

you angle your hips, hitting him deeper, sharper, and this time he gasps—loud and raw—hand flying up to bite into his knuckles.

you grab his wrist, pin it down to the sheets. “uh-uh. no hiding. i want the whole room to hear how good i’m fucking you.”

he shivers, eyes squeezed shut, the tiniest whimper spilling from him now with every thrust.

and then, broken, hoarse: “…feels—so good—”

the sound makes you ache.

₊˚.༄ ✧˚.

he’s trembling under you before you’ve even started moving again, every muscle in his back and thighs strung tight, his breath coming out in these shallow little bursts like he’s barely keeping it together. his knuckles are white where they clutch the sheets, body arching into every push of your hips like he can’t decide if he wants to escape it or drown in it.

“look at you,” you murmur, sliding your hand down the slope of his spine, pressing into the dip of his lower back so you can sink even deeper. “shaking like a leaf already. so sensitive for me.”

the words make him shudder harder, a strangled whimper spilling free before he can bite it back. you drag out of him slow, then slam back in with a wet slap that knocks another sound loose, something cracked and desperate.

“that’s it,” you breathe, lips brushing his ear, “let me hear you. don’t hold it in.”

your pace builds, hips snapping into his in a steady, ruthless rhythm. every thrust drives him closer to the edge, the veins in his forearms straining as he claws at the mattress. the sounds coming out of him are scattered now—half-gasps, broken moans, little cries that slip through his bitten lip no matter how hard he tries to stay quiet.

“such a good boy,” you croon, dragging your nails lightly across his back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “taking it so well, even when you’re shaking all over my cock.”

he whines at that, body spasming around the strap, and you know you’ve got him—pulled tight between humiliation and bliss.

“fuck, listen to yourself,” you taunt, thrusting deeper, sharper, until his whole body jolts with each movement. “you sound so pathetic. my perfect little mess.”

his breath hitches violently at the word, thighs trembling under the strain of holding himself up. you grip his hips, slam into him harder, and his arms give out—he collapses into the sheets, face buried, body convulsing with every stroke.

“too much?” you mock, dragging his head back by the hair so he can’t hide. his eyes are glassy, mouth open, drool slicking the corner of his lips. “or do you love it, baby? love being ruined like this?”

his answer is a wrecked moan, long and broken, spilling from him without thought. you feel him clench around you, trembling violently, begging without words.

“use your voice,” you demand, snapping your hips forward hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall. “tell me what you want.”

his chest heaves, voice cracking as he finally manages, “p-please—please don’t stop—feels s-so good—”

your grin is feral, pace unrelenting as his body melts under you, reduced to nothing but pleading whimpers and the sound of his shaking breaths.

“that’s my boy,” you whisper, bending to kiss the sweat at the nape of his neck. “my perfect, sensitive little baby.”

and the way he cries out at that—loud, shameless, wrecked—makes you swear you’ll never let him go quiet again.

every muscle in his arms taut like he’s trying to keep himself composed, but his thighs keep quivering no matter how hard he bites down on the inside of his cheek. giyu’s always been so careful, so restrained, like he doesn’t want anyone to see too much of him, but right now? every wall he’s built is crumbling with every slow push of your strap.

he’s gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him to earth, knuckles going white, head turned to the side so you can’t see his face—except you can. you can see the way his lashes flutter and the soft, desperate parting of his lips when you grind deep, nudging just the right spot inside him.

"y-you shouldn’t—" he chokes out, but the rest of the sentence dies in his throat, broken into a shaky whimper as his hips arch up against you.

"shouldn’t what, baby?" your voice is syrup-sweet, dragging him down even further. "shouldn’t take it so well? shouldn’t be dripping on the sheets when you swore you’d be quiet?"

the flush racing up his throat betrays him, betrays how much the words stick to his skin. giyu doesn’t answer—he can’t. he only makes this strangled sound, something between a gasp and a moan, when you angle your hips just right, the rhythm slow and cruelly steady.

his cock is leaking against his stomach, precum staining his pale skin. every roll of your hips makes it twitch, his abs trembling as though his body is begging for mercy even while he shakes his head weakly, unable to form the word "stop."

"look at you," you murmur, leaning forward, making him feel every inch of you pressing in. "so quiet all the time, but now? you’re falling apart on my cock."

that does it. giyu shudders violently, toes curling against the mattress, and this soft, broken cry slips out of him. his whole body spasms, and for the first time, he looks up at you, eyes glassy, pupils blown so wide it’s like he can’t even see straight anymore.

"p-please—" he manages, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. more? less? permission to fall apart? his mind is foggy, unraveling fast, every thrust pulling him deeper into that sweet, submissive haze.

you keep your pace, tender but relentless, whispering praise and filth into his ear. "such a good boy, taking it so deep. my perfect little swordsman, so desperate to be fucked dumb. you want everyone to think you’re strong, stoic—but look at you now. nothing but my cock and the way it makes you shake."

giyu whimpers, choked and wet, and the sound is devastatingly sweet. he can’t hold himself together anymore. his body’s betraying him, rolling into every thrust, chasing the drag and burn even while his lips babble nonsense, fragments of words that don’t make sense.

"please, please, please—" he breathes, voice cracking, and he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, only that his body is desperate to be taken apart completely.

he’s gone, mind melted into pure sensation, and you can feel it in the way his hole clenches desperately around you, in the way his hands finally let go of the sheets just so he can clutch at you instead, grounding himself in your warmth.

all he can do is sob and shake and take everything you give him.

“that’s right,” you coo, voice teasing, letting the praise and degradation blur together. “so quiet all the time, so rigid… and now look at you. all mine. shaking and leaking for me, good boy.”

he moans, ragged and unsteady, hips jerking as your pace picks back up—slow, deliberate, enough to make him melt into the mattress with every push. his moans break out in bursts now, uncontrolled, and you can feel him softening and clenching around you at the same time, lost in subspace, mind foggy with sensation.

“look at you,” you murmur, brushing your lips along his spine, “so fucking perfect, taking it like this. my little swordsman… ruined and trembling.”

he whimpers, and this time his hands reach back instinctively. your fingers meet his, and he curls around them, gripping tight as though holding onto you is the only thing keeping him tethered.

“that’s it, baby,” you whisper sweetly, leaning close so your lips brush his ear, “take me, my love… feel everything I’m giving you.”

he pants, voice rough, a mix of pleasure and desperation. “y-yes… don’t… stop… please…” his hand squeezes yours tighter, leaning back just enough to press his palm against yours, as if clinging to your presence lets him survive the delicious chaos inside him.

you grin, heart twisting at how utterly wrecked he is, and slide your hips harder, fast and relentless but still teasingly gentle in just the right moments. “that’s it… take it all, giyu… mine,” you coo.

and when he comes, trembling, sobbing, whole body quivering against yours, his hand still tangled in yours, you let him ride it out, slow and tender, grounding him in the only thing that matters: you.

he’s a mess, lost in subspace, but completely yours, his fingers tightening around yours as he clings to your warmth and the rhythm of your hips—soft, needy, and utterly undone.

when it finally slows, when he’s gasping and spent, you press your forehead to his back, letting him bury his face into the sheets in embarrassment, still clutching your hand.

“mine,” you whisper again, and he squeezes back, a soft, broken sound that’s all gratitude and trust, and you know,

he’s never letting go.

your boyfriend is in one of those moods again. the kind where he can’t stop sneering, voice dripping with insult even as he’s tugging you closer by the waistband of your shorts.

“the fuck are you smiling at? you look stupid.” his tone is mean, sharper than it needs to be. he says it because he knows it’ll spark that glint in your eye, because he wants the attention. katsuki bakugo is never gentle with his words, and today he’s even less patient than usual.

you smooth your thumb over the sharp cut of his jaw, smiling softer just to irritate him further. “smiling at you, baby. you’re pretty when you’re angry.”

his scowl deepens. “don’t call me pretty, dumbass. i’ll knock that smug look right off your face.” he snaps, but his hands don’t leave your body. they grip tighter, pulling you into his lap on the edge of the bed, thighs flexing under you like he’s ready to spring.

you know better than to back down. katsuki thrives on push-and-pull, the constant battle of wills, but what he doesn’t realize—what he always forgets—is how much you love peeling him down into something softer. you know how to drag him into submission without him ever noticing he’s sinking.

“i like when you talk tough,” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. “gets me all worked up.”

his laugh is sharp, mocking. “tch. you’re such a fuckin’ perv. always wet just ‘cause i call you names.” his hand slips down between you like he’s about to prove it, but you catch his wrist, pinning it back to the mattress with lazy strength.

his crimson eyes widen, then narrow. “the fuck you think you’re doing?”

“taking control, baby. you’re too worked up to touch.”

he barks out a laugh, chest heaving against yours. “you? controlling me? don’t make me laugh, princess.” he spits the word like venom, daring you to react.

you only kiss his cheek sweetly, still pinning his wrist. “yeah, me. don’t worry, i’ll take care of you. even if you’re being a little mean.”

his ears flush red. “i’m not—”

you cut him off with your hand slipping under his shirt, nails dragging lightly over the ridges of his stomach until he shudders. his protest dies in his throat, replaced by a low growl.

“don’t start this shit,” he warns, but there’s already heat flooding his skin under your touch.

you lean down, voice syrupy soft, lips brushing his ear. “relax, katsuki. let me.”

he jerks against your grip, testing. “i said i’m not lettin’ you do—”

your other hand slides higher, thumb flicking over his nipple, and his words collapse into a sharp inhale.

there it is. the weak spot he hates admitting to.

“fuck off,” he grits, but his chest arches into your palm before he can stop it.

you grin, rubbing gentle circles around the hard peak, tugging just enough to make him gasp. “see? feels good, doesn’t it?”

“shut the hell up.” his voice cracks just slightly, betraying him.

you press a kiss to his throat, slow and sweet, pinching lightly until he squirms. “it’s okay, baby. you don’t have to say it. i’ll get you there nice and slow.”

his free hand fists the sheets, knuckles pale. “i’m not some fuckin’ toy for you to mess with.”

you hum, dragging your tongue up his pulse point. “you’re right. you’re my boyfriend. i like taking care of my boyfriend.”

he snarls, trying to keep the upper hand even as his nipples harden under your teasing fingers. “you’re gonna regret this when i flip you over.”

“maybe,” you whisper against his skin, pinching harder until he gasps, “but for now, you’re not going anywhere.”

you don’t let him. you edge him with featherlight strokes, then sharp pinches, switching between his nipples until his back bows off the bed. every time he starts to grind up against you for relief, you pull back, keeping him just shy of satisfaction.

“fuck you,” he pants, sweat beading on his forehead.

“language,” you chide sweetly, leaning back just enough to look at him. his hair is wild against the pillow, eyes blazing with frustration, chest flushed pink. “be nice to me or i’ll stop.”

“bullshit,” he spits immediately. “you’re too fuckin’ needy to stop.”

your smile doesn’t falter. “maybe. but i could make you wait all night, katsuki. just touching your pretty chest, watching you squirm.”

he growls deep in his throat, jerking against your grip, but he can’t shake you off. his breathing is ragged now, each twist of your fingers making his hips twitch.

“say please,” you coax, voice dripping with patience.

“never.” his answer is immediate, sharp, defiant.

so you pinch both nipples at once, rolling them between your fingers until he yells, hips bucking uncontrollably.

“ah—fuck! stop!”

you let go instantly, soothing with soft rubs and a kiss to his sternum. “shh, it’s okay, baby. you’re doing so good for me.”

his chest heaves, eyes glassy with the edges of something he’d never admit to. “you’re—fuck—you’re crazy.”

“crazy about you,” you correct, kissing the corner of his mouth, sweet as ever. “and i know exactly how to handle you, katsuki.”

his lip curls, ready to snap again, but you’re already tugging his shirt higher, already lowering your mouth to his chest.

the second your tongue flicks over a sensitive nipple, his whole body jolts like you shocked him.

“don’t—don’t fuckin’—” his words break into a strangled sound when you suck lightly, teasing him with your mouth and fingers at once.

you hum against his skin, ignoring his weak thrashing, the sharp insults he throws between gasps. it takes patience, coaxing him through the bratty resistance, easing him closer to the edge without letting him fall.

every moan ripped from his throat makes your smile softer. you know he’ll break eventually.

he always does.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

his hips jerk up when your nails scrape lightly over the bulge, catching against the damp spot on his shorts. “f-fuckin’ tease,” he snaps, even as his breath catches. “you think you’re in control? i’ll wreck you the second you—”

you pinch his nipple hard enough to cut him off. katsuki’s head throws back with a strangled groan, his throat working as he swallows the sound down. his hands clench into fists at his sides, shaking with the effort not to grab you.

“you were saying, baby?” you murmur, soft as syrup, kissing his jaw like you didn’t just bring him to his knees with one little pinch. “hm? what was that?”

“tch—!” his words fail him again when you tug both buds at once, rolling them between your fingers. his hips buck instinctively, cock pressing helplessly against the soaked fabric of his shorts. there’s a wet stain spreading darker, his precum leaking so much it’s seeping through his boxers too.

“look at you,” you coo, your tone dipped in sugar while your touch stays sharp. you drag your nails across his chest, circle back to his nipples until they’re red and pebbled, raw from your attention. “hard as a rock, dripping through your shorts, all because i’m being ‘mean.’”

“sh-shut the fuck up,” katsuki spits, but his voice breaks halfway through, pitched higher, weaker than he wants. he jerks his hips again like he can find friction, but you slap your palm against the wet outline of his cock through the shorts — firm, controlling.

“ah-ah,” you sing gently, pressing down just enough to make him whine in his throat. “good boys don’t hump without permission.”

his glare sharpens, but his eyes are glassy now, pupils blown. “i’m not a fuckin’ good boy.”

you smile, leaning close enough to let your lips graze the corner of his mouth without giving him the kiss. “not yet.”

your fingers tweak his nipples again, relentless, dragging another choked noise from deep in his chest. the muscles in his thighs are trembling, his shorts so wet at the front it looks obscene.

he tries for another insult, tries to bark at you again, but what slips out is only a broken moan, shaky and wet, like his body has decided for him.

“hear that?” you whisper, stroking over his chest like you’re soothing him when really you’re setting every nerve alight. “you sound so pretty when you stop fighting me. maybe if you keep begging without words, i’ll let you come.”

katsuki’s whole body jerks at that, hips stuttering. “f-fuck you,” he snarls, but it’s thin, desperate, soaked through with need.

“baby,” you hum, dragging his soaked waistband down just enough to free his cock, flushed and leaking, precum drooling down the length and staining his thighs. “sweetheart, you’re already fucking yourself on my hand. look at you. dripping everywhere. shaking.”

his jaw drops at the sight — at himself, humiliated and turned on and trembling.

you cup his balls in one hand, gentle, almost reverent, while your other hand returns to his nipples, rolling and tugging them until he’s gasping for breath.

“don’t,” he warns, but his hips are rolling forward against your touch anyway, greedy for more friction.

“don’t what?” you ask innocently, twisting his nipple hard enough to make him cry out. “don’t stop? don’t make you fall apart? don’t show you what a good boy you can be?”

the word lands, heavy and hot, and his eyes squeeze shut like he’s trying to fight it, fight you, fight himself. but his cock leaks another messy spurt down his stomach, his chest heaving under your hands.

“fuck—fuckin’ hate you,” he pants, voice breaking.

you kiss the corner of his mouth again, soft and sweet, fingers never slowing. “i know, baby. i love you too.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“what— you think just pullin’ my cock out’s gonna make me beg? get the fuck outta here,” he snaps, voice sharp even though his thighs twitch when your hand ghosts over his length. “i could get myself off faster than you’re—ah, fuck—”

your thumb brushes across his slit, spreading that slick down his shaft, and his words cut into a gasp. his hips buck once, betraying him, before he locks them down tight against the couch cushion. his eyes flash up at you like he’s daring you to mention it.

you only smile. sweet, steady. calm where he’s chaos.

“katsuki,” you murmur, thumb dragging slow circles over his flushed head, “you’re so wet for me. you’ve been dripping this whole time.”

“shut up,” he growls, but his voice cracks halfway, breaking on the shiver that runs down his spine when you squeeze his shaft just enough to make the blood pulse hot against your fingers. “don’t—don’t talk to me like i’m some fuckin’—”

“baby?” you finish for him, leaning down to kiss the sharp line of his jaw. “you are, though. look at you.”

his teeth clench like he wants to spit back another insult, but you catch his nipple between your fingers again, rolling it slow, and his whole body jerks. a raw noise bursts out of him—half-growl, half-moan—and he throws his head back against the couch.

“f-fuck, stop—”

“stop?” your hand drifts lazily down his cock, stroking him just enough to keep him trembling but never enough to give release. “you mean don’t stop.”

his chest heaves, sweat sliding down his collarbone. his cock twitches in your palm, leaking slick trails across your fingers, proof written all over his body that he doesn’t mean a single word of resistance anymore.

“you’re—fuck—you’re a pain in the ass,” he spits, but it’s breathless, ragged. his hips thrust weakly up into your fist, chasing friction he can’t control. “think you’re so good, huh? makin’ me wait—”

“mm,” you hum, pressing your thumb hard against his slit, and his words shatter into a groan. “i know i’m good. you’re the one who can’t keep your mouth shut long enough to admit you need me.”

he lets out a ragged laugh, wild and desperate. “like i’d—hahhh—ever fuckin’—admit—”

his words dissolve when you twist his nipple between two fingers, rolling it rough, while stroking him faster at the same time. his hips leave the couch, whole body bucking into your touch, like the bratty act is bleeding out of him drop by drop with every stroke.

“say it,” you whisper against his ear, soft and honey-sweet, a perfect contrast to the way you’re working him raw. “say you need me.”

his eyes squeeze shut, lips curling in a snarl, but another moan drags out of his chest, wrecked and needy. his cock kicks in your hand, precum smearing over your knuckles as you edge him higher.

“n-no—fuck you—”

“mm, you’re already fucking my hand, katsuki,” you murmur, kissing the sweat-damp side of his neck. “look at you. messy. leaking. so sweet when you’re like this.”

he bucks harder, panting like he’s losing ground fast, hands fisting the couch cushions because if he touches you he knows he’ll break.

“god, i hate you,” he gasps, voice wrecked, high and thin.

you smile against his throat, stroking him tight, squeezing just under his head until he’s trembling all over.

“no, baby. you love me like this.”

he cracks—right there, right then. a raw, helpless groan rips out of him, his head tipping back, throat bared, cock throbbing so hard in your hand it feels like he’s about to explode.

and still, you don’t let him come.

you slow your strokes, grip easing, letting him hover right at the edge while his chest heaves like he’s drowning. his eyes fly open, bloodshot and wild, and he actually pleads—

“don’t—don’t stop, please, fuck, i’ll—”

you tilt your head, all calm sweetness. “you’ll what?”

his mouth opens and closes, stubbornness fighting his own body, but his cock jerks helplessly, another spill of precum sliding down his length, betraying him more than words ever could.

“…need you,” he rasps finally, voice cracked and broken, nothing like the cocky bite he started with. “fuck, i need you.”

the words land hot between you, your smile soft as you finally stroke him faster, firmer, dragging him to the breaking point. he moans shamelessly now, hips thrusting up to meet every pass of your fist, all that bratty fire burned down into raw, aching need.

and when he comes, it’s messy, explosive, his whole body curling forward as thick ropes of cum spill over your hand, your wrist, his abs. he groans through it, half-snarling, half-whining, chest shuddering while you milk him for every drop.

when it’s over, he collapses back against the couch, panting hard, hair damp, eyes glassy with the edges of subspace.

you wipe your hand across his stomach, smearing his own mess over him, before leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“good boy,” you whisper. “see? you just needed me to take care of you.”

he groans again, weakly shoving at your shoulder, but his face burns crimson, and the way his chest rises soft and slow now tells you he’s gone pliant, boneless in your hands.

brat tamed.

he shows up at your door at midnight, hair damp from the wind, shirt half-tucked like he ran here instead of flying. he's holding two milkshakes in one hand and a stupid grin in the other, and you should be mad — you were mad — but then he’s saying:

“baby, i missed you so much it was driving me crazy. like, reed-level crazy. full-blown lab coat and formulas and shit. you gotta save me before i combust.”

and you're already melting, already unlatching the door, because you’re too soft and his smile is too bright and god, he smells like smoke and strawberry syrup and summer.

he kisses your face like he hasn’t seen you in years. cheek, eyelid, chin, nose. lips, over and over again. you forget the way your throat ached this morning, waiting for a text that never came.

“you’re my favorite person. i told ben that today. said, ‘if i die in a fireball tonight, tell her she’s the one, okay?’”

“johnny—”

“no, listen—i mean it.”

but he always means it when he's here.

it’s when he’s not that hurts the most. it’s when you’re watching his instagram story and he’s at some rooftop party he forgot to tell you about. when reed texts you before he does, saying “johnny got benched today. he’s fine. just shook up.” when you ask him what are we doing? and he jokes, “uh, watching movies and drinking milkshakes? duh?”

you try to ask again later. try to be soft and serious, your fingers twisting in your lap.

“do you even want to be with me? like… really with me? not just when it’s convenient or when you’re lonely or—”

and he cuts you off with a kiss. one of those forehead ones that makes your chest cave in.

“of course i do. don’t say dumb shit like that.”

but then he’s gone again.

radio silent for two days. shows up out of nowhere with a sunburn and an apology and a bouquet of half-wilted roses he probably swiped from a vendor cart.

“i suck, i know. but you’re still here, so maybe you secretly love how much i suck. twisted little masochist.”

and you laugh because it’s easier than crying. you kiss him back because he’s here, and when he’s here, he’s everything.

he sets your world on fire and doesn’t stay long enough to watch the ashes settle.

----------------------

volt’s eyes light up the second you walk into the breaker box.

“ohhh, there you are, pretty boy,” he drawls, leaning over the bar like you’re the only thing that matters. “you look so good i could burn this whole place down just for a taste.”

eddie groans from behind the counter. “volt.”

“what?” volt grins, shameless. “don’t pretend you weren’t staring at him too.”

you’re already blushing, and volt notices, of course he does, his grin widening as he hops over the bar in one smooth motion.

“don’t run from me, live wire,” he teases, leaning close. “you look all wound up tonight. what’s wrong? too much charge in that pretty little body of yours?”

eddie sighs, coming over with that steady, grounding presence, his calloused hand brushing your shoulder. “ignore him. he doesn’t know how to shut up.”

“mm, but i know how to make him moan,” volt whispers just loud enough for eddie to hear.

eddie glares, but you… you can’t help glancing between them. volt with his sharp grin and fast, bright energy. eddie with his slow burn and quiet heat.

you can feel yourself getting slick already, a slow pulse deep in your stomach as volt’s fingers brush your waist, casual but teasing.

“ohhh, yeah. he’s thinking about it,” volt says with a smirk. “aren’t you, pretty boy? thinking about us? about my mouth on that sweet cunt of yours?”

eddie growls under his breath, like volt’s just said too much. “don’t talk to him like that.”

volt laughs. “then you say it, eddie. tell him how bad you want him.”

eddie doesn’t say anything, but the way his jaw clenches… yeah. he’s thinking it too.

⸻

volt doesn’t even let the door click shut before he’s on his knees, grinning up at you like he’s just won something.

“god, you’re gorgeous like this,” he says, hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs stroking over the denim. “can’t believe eddie keeps pretending he doesn’t wanna wreck you.”

“volt—” you start, but he just laughs, leaning in to mouth at the bulge of your cockless jeans like it’s the sweetest thing in the world.

“yeah, that’s it. let me take care of you, pretty boy.”

he makes quick work of your zipper, tugging your pants down until they’re bunched at your knees. your boxers are soaked, and he groans when he sees the wet patch spreading there.

“fuck,” volt whispers, voice hoarse. “you’re dripping for me already. my perfect boy.”

he doesn’t wait for permission, just hooks a finger into the waistband, pulling your boxers down, and stares like he’s been starving.

“holy shit,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your slick folds. “look at you. bet you taste so fucking good.”

you whimper when he leans in, licking a slow stripe up your cunt before sucking your clit into his mouth.

“volt—” your voice cracks, knees threatening to give out.

“oh, i knew you’d sound like that,” he says with a wicked grin, lips glistening. “sweetest little whimpers. c’mon, let me hear ‘em, good boy.”

he dives back in, tongue working you over, alternating between teasing licks and filthy, messy suction that makes your head spin. his hands are strong on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you right where he wants you.

“volt— fuck—”

“yeah? that good?” he asks, voice muffled against your cunt. “you wanna come on my tongue, pretty boy?”

you nod desperately, hips rocking against his face, and volt groans like he’s the one being touched.

“do it. come for me. make a mess, live wire.”

the orgasm hits fast, sharp and bright, your body jerks, thighs trembling, as volt moans against your pussy, lapping up every bit of you like it’s his favorite meal.

he pulls back only when you’re too sensitive, grinning up at you with his chin slick. “fuck, you’re perfect. eddie’s gonna lose his mind when he realizes what he’s missing.”

————

“you should’ve heard him, eddie,” volt says, voice dripping with smugness as he leans back against the bar. “so sweet for me. moaned like a good boy while i had my mouth on that perfect pussy of his.”

you feel your face go hot instantly. volt’s talking loud — loud enough that anyone in the breaker box would know exactly what happened in that bathroom.

eddie’s head snaps up from where he’s wiping down the counter, his jaw tight. “volt.”

“what?” volt grins, all teeth and mischief. “you should thank me. i made him feel real good. tongue deep in that pretty little—”

eddie slams the rag down, hard enough that volt actually stops mid-sentence. “enough.”

volt blinks, then smirks like he’s delighted. “ohh, you’re jealous. adorable.”

“jealous?” eddie scoffs, stepping around the bar with deliberate, heavy steps. “you think running your mouth like that makes you look good? all you ever do is take what isn’t yours.”

volt’s grin widens. “isn’t mine? pretty sure he was moaning my name, not yours.”

you swear the air crackles between them. eddie’s hand shoots out, gripping volt’s shirt collar, dragging him down to his level. “say another word.”

volt tilts his head, unbothered. “oh, big guy’s pissed. what are you gonna do? show me up?”

eddie glances at you, the way you’re squirming, eyes wide and breathless.

“yeah,” he says, low and sharp. “i will.”

before you can say anything, eddie’s pulling you forward by the wrist, spinning you so your back hits the bar. his hand slides between your thighs, and you gasp when his fingers find how wet you still are.

“jesus, volt wasn’t lying,” eddie mutters, rough thumb circling your clit. “you’re dripping. fuck, baby, did he get you this worked up?”

volt leans casually against the wall, smirking like he’s watching his favorite show. “told you. sweetest little cunt, isn’t it?”

eddie growls and pushes two fingers inside you without warning, his other hand gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. “don’t talk.”

volt just laughs, eyes dark. “what? afraid i’ll make him come with just my voice?”

eddie curls his fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, and your breath catches. “look at me,” he commands. “you’re mine right now. understand?”

you nod frantically, head tipping back as his fingers fuck you deep. volt whistles low, clearly enjoying every second of this.

“bet i could make him scream faster,” volt says, almost sing-song.

“shut the fuck up,” eddie snaps, pulling his fingers out and licking them slow, like he’s making a point. “you taste like heaven, baby. don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

⸻

eddie doesn’t answer him. he just leans forward and presses his mouth to your pussy, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, making your knees buckle instantly.

“fuck— eddie—”

he hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl. “taste so good,” he mutters into your skin, pulling you closer. “you’re my good boy, aren’t you? let me hear you.”

volt’s watching, jaw clenched, his hand palming himself like he can’t help it. “he sounds even sweeter for you,” he says, tone half a tease and half… something else.

eddie glances up just long enough to smirk, then sucks your clit hard enough to make you cry out, hips jerking forward.

“shit— eddie, i’m—”

“come for me,” eddie murmurs, voice rough. “show him who gets you off like this.”

volt curses under his breath when you moan, your body tightening as eddie’s tongue works you over like he’s starved.

“fuck this,” volt says suddenly, moving in behind you, hands on your waist. “if he’s gonna make you come, i’m not just gonna stand here.”

eddie growls but doesn’t pull back. volt’s chest is pressed to your back, his lips on your ear, whispering, “go on, live wire. give it to us. be our perfect boy.”

the combination of eddie’s relentless mouth and volt’s filthy words shatters you. you come hard, clenching around nothing, thighs shaking as eddie groans against your pussy like he can’t get enough.

volt laughs low, kissing your neck. “guess you win this round, eddie.”

eddie pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and hungry. “wasn’t a contest.”

“mm, sure,” volt says, smirking. “but i’m next.”

you’re still trembling, caught between both of them, and you know they aren't done with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i didn't tag anybody since i'm not sure if they would be interested in reading stuff for date everything but yah