wait no, come back… don’t you want these headcanons? [MDNI]
a/n: this is a pretty niche kink, apparently (or at least according to what i've read online)... this may not be for everyone, so please proceed on your own discretion.
___
Let’s say that this is set in the same universe as Drowning Deep — Ryland’s the one who will bring this up, saying that he wants to try and be on the receiving end of this. He’s already taking a strap; how’s a sounder any different?
You two brush up on everything that you need to do extensively; before, during, and after the deed. Even though the idea excites him, he’s still a bit nervous (and so are you). Because if you’re going to be freaks in the bedroom, you might as well be on the correct and safe side.
You let Ryland choose his own poison — that is, the sounder that you’ll be using on him. And, ever the scientific-minded man that he is, he goes for the titanium sounder. It’s got some weight; it’ll slide in with no difficulty, and even easier when it’s properly lubricated.
Fail-safes are established right away: if Ryland so much as hurts at any point, you’ve both agreed that you’re going to stop everything immediately and skip right onto aftercare. You also won’t be playing with the sounder without his explicit, verbal request; and you’ve agreed that he must be truthful throughout the entire session. No masking or hiding discomfort or pleasure. You have every confidence that Ryland won’t fail you, particularly in the latter agreement. He’s a pretty straightforward guy — he regularly voices out his thoughts, even to the point of rambling or accidentally talking over you. You can’t watch a documentary without him sharing a fact that he’ll explain for the next couple of minutes at least twice or thrice. He’s cute like that.
He’s even cuter when you’re in the act itself. Ryland will ask for this on his most stressful days, when all he wants is to zone out and not think; a common occurrence in the bedroom, since he loves relinquishing control after a particularly tiring week. It’s not difficult to get into the mood with him. As soon as he sheds his outerwear and Converse, he’s draping himself all over you; pawing and nuzzling and whining that he needs you. He pays his due in kisses until you drag him to bed and tell him to fully strip.
Ryland gets to decide how he’s supposed to get half-hard. On some days you use your hand, giving him light, kittenish strokes enough to have him semi-aroused; on others, you use your mouth. You purposefully avoid the glans, however. You want to save every moment keeping that area untouched until the main event happens.
Ryland watches with heavily lidded eyes as you gently spread him open at the head — glistening with copious amounts of lube — and excitedly anticipates the cool, metal sounder sliding into his cock, which is just as slippery as his shaft. He’s terribly sensitive, even without anything happening. You’ll hear him muffling his noises by biting his lips into a thin line. His feet, which flank your sitting form, idly stroke the sheets as he waits for contact… until it comes. He breaks before the first centimeter has sunken into him, and you have to remind him to breathe and collect himself, or else you won’t continue. You hold onto the hooked end firmly.
He complains when you stop. “I need it now, baby, please,” his bottom lip juts out in protest, “come on, put it in, please, please, please…!” You tap on his inner thigh to keep them still and widely spread, and he obeys; he straightens himself up so you’ll grant his wish. You’re methodical and patient in your approach. The wait kills Ryland, but he knows it’s for his own safety — it’s because of this that he doesn’t dare rush you.
His head (the one on top 😉) will be lolling backwards as soon as you’ve inserted the sounder all the way in. Despite the thin width, Ryland feels so, so full — his nerves are singing at the sensation of the rod perfectly fitting into his urethra — he’s unable to decide whether he wants to pee or come, and that ambiguous sensation is chiefly why he’s convinced that he’s going insane. He’s caressing himself all over: his abdomen and chest; and he’s tweaking his nipples to heighten the feeling even more.
You ask if he’s ready for you to begin stimulating him manually with the toy, and he nods. You smile, lean forward, and kiss him, making sure to push his glasses up the bridge of his pretty, pretty nose (where you plant a little kiss too) and tell him once more to not hesitate to speak up if he feels uncomfortable.
As much as Ryland braces himself, he’s ultimately reduced to a puddle of incoherent babbling and drool and tears once you pull up and down and shift the toy around — a little to the left, right; then towards him and away. He’s digging his heels into the mattress and crying out with those higher pitched moans that make you exponentially wetter each time they escape his throat. All the squirming that he’s doing with his pelvis is creating a feedback loop: it’s exacerbating the stimulation inside his cock, which consequently just plunges him deeper. You tried doing miniscule circles with the sounder once, and this had Ryland howling in pleasure. He swears he could feel it deep in his balls.
Oh, and the cum shots that you get when you do this to him. Exquisite. Ryland cums so much that he’s practically boneless when he’s done emptying himself. He doesn’t even register you pulling the sounder out or while you’re wiping him down with a cool cloth. What he does have an ear for, is when you’re praising him for how well he took everything; that he was so pretty and good and that you’re happy that he’s all satisfied and relaxed. You do have to help him to the bathroom to pee; his legs feel like water and he needs you there for extra support.
Very, very cuddly afterwards. Ryland is all warm and wrapped up in bed, relishing in being the little spoon and having his hair played with until he dozes off. He’s planting soft pecks all over your face as he thanks you for melting all that built-up stress and taking care of him in every way.
—summary. They arrived at the inn but there’s only one room and too much time. Y/N for sure wouldn’t mind if Tobi messes with some more Or Obito and (Y/N) have a fun night while being alone
—content warning. Sounding, somewhat dubcon
—word count. ~ 2,55k
—azia's notes. Guys please tell me if I forgot to add a warning and if y’all continued read just a warning k?
𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯-𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱
The two of you, Tobi and (Y/N), sat in a small inn along the outskirts of a quiet village, far from the chaos of your current mission. The night air was cool, and the soft glow from the single lantern hanging in the room cast shadows on the wooden walls. You were tired after a long day of travelling, but Tobi, as always, seemed to have boundless energy. You could feel his gaze on you, even from behind that ridiculous mask.
“Tobi is a good boy!” he chirped, bouncing onto the bed next to you, completely disregarding your need for personal space. His voice was loud and high-pitched, instantly shattering any hopes of peace for the evening.
You groaned, leaning back against the headboard. “Tobi, can you give me a break? We’ve been running around all day, and I just want to rest for a bit.”
But, of course, Tobi wasn’t having it. He scooted closer, practically glued to your side, and leaned in until his masked face was inches from yours. “But (Y/N)-senpai, Tobi wants to make sure you’re having fun! Isn’t it better to relax with some company?”
You blinked, immediately suspicious of his behaviour. Sure, Tobi was always weird, but lately, his antics have been… different. He seemed to invade your personal space more than usual, always finding excuses to be close. And the mask — the way he always gave you little peeks from behind it, almost as if he was trying to see your reaction.
He leaned closer again, and though you couldn’t see his face through the mask, you could feel his eyes on you. “Wanna see Tobi’s face? Just a little peek, (Y/N)-senpai?” he teased, his voice light and playful.
You swore you saw him shift the mask slightly, giving you just the tiniest glimpse of his face beneath. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it either. It was like some sort of strange game for him — always pulling you in close, always teasing with that mask of his.
You narrowed your eyes, uncomfortable but also curious. “Tobi, what is it with you and that mask? You’re always showing me little peeks. It’s… weird.”
Tobi tilted his head, giving a mock gasp of surprise. “Weird? Senpai, why would you say that? Tobi just likes being close to you!” He leaned even closer, and you could feel his breath through the small opening in the mask. “Tobi thinks you’re special.”
There it was again — that bizarre, almost too-close interaction. And every time, it sent your mind racing with questions. Was Tobi… flirting with you? Or was it just another one of his insane jokes? You couldn’t tell. He was always so unpredictable.
“Okay, okay, seriously.” You shifted uncomfortably, pushing him away slightly. “You’re acting really… I don’t know, kind of gay? You’re always leaning in close, giving me little peeks. It’s weird.”
Tobi let out a playful laugh, completely unfazed by your comment. “Gay? Silly (Y/N)-senpai! Tobi just wants you to have fun! Isn’t that what friends do?”
You weren’t sure how to respond. Tobi, with his unpredictable nature, was impossible to figure out. Every move he made, every strange comment, left you wondering if he was messing with you or if there was something more going on in that chaotic brain of his.
But then, as if to prove your point, he suddenly leaned in again and pressed his mask softly against your cheek, as close to a kiss as he could manage with that thing on. It lasted only a second before he pulled away, giggling like a child who had just played the most harmless prank.
Your face heated, and you glared at him. “What the hell was that?”
“Tobi is just being affectionate!” he said in a sing-song voice. “It’s how friends show they care, right? Right, (Y/N)-senpai?”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Maybe it was just Tobi being Tobi, or maybe… you didn’t even want to think about it. “Whatever, just… go to bed.”
Tobi laughed again but finally backed off, hopping into the other side of the bed with a carefree hum. “Good night, (Y/N)-senpai!” he chirped, as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
You rolled your eyes and pulled the blanket over yourself, trying not to dwell too much on how close Tobi had gotten. Just as you were about to drift to the sweet promise of rest, you felt Tobi‘s presence getting closer to you. Nearly caging you between the wall and him.
You tried to ignore the closeness and drifted off.
It was well past midnight when you finally stirred, groggy and half-asleep, only to feel an unexpected warmth pressed against your back. For a moment, you thought it was a dream—until you realised, very quickly, that it was anything but…
Tobi.
Your eyes shot open as the weight of his arm draped lazily across your waist, registered. The soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing was right behind your ear, way too close for comfort. His bare face, mask discarded somewhere in the room, was resting lightly against the back of your neck. He was hugging you or more like spooning you, really.
“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath, the irritation building as you fully woke up.
You shifted slightly, trying to break free from his hold without waking him up, but his grip only tightened in response. His breath hit your skin again, warmer than it had any right to be at this hour.
“Tobi…” you hissed, trying to wriggle out of the awkward position. “What the hell are you doing?”
But there was no answer. Of course there wasn’t. He was fast asleep, and judging by the way his body was pressed so intimately against yours, he didn’t have a care in the world.
A leg of his was positioned between your legs, you realised after trying to wiggle out again and the leg pressed more up, making you grind on it involuntarily. A strange tightness formed in the pit of your stomach.
How had you even ended up in this situation? Sharing a double bed with Tobi of all people. There was only one room left at the inn, and it came with one bed—one damn bed—and of course, he had convinced you that it’d be “fine” and that “Tobi is a good boy!” It was ridiculous, and now here you were, trapped in his ridiculous, clingy embrace.
You sighed, more out of frustration than anything else. His hold on you was surprisingly firm for someone who looked like a child in an adult’s body. His arm wrapped securely around your midsection, keeping you pulled against him like he was some over-affectionate pet. His hair—without the mask in the way—brushed against your neck, tickling you enough to make your skin crawl.
You grumbled under your breath, feeling a mix of annoyance and confusion. Why was he always like this? He invaded your space, poked and teased, and now—he was hugging you like you were some sort of stuffed toy.
“Is this guy serious…?” you muttered to yourself, trying to gently pry his arm off you without waking him.
But, as if sensing your attempt to escape, Tobi shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible and burying his face even deeper against the back of your neck. You could feel his breath tickling your skin, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.
“This is so gay…” you muttered again, heat rising to your face as you realised how close his lips were to your neck.
Normally, you'd expect this kind of behaviour from him during the day when he was wide awake and playing his usual irritating games, but this? Hugging you from behind, face-to-face contact—without his mask? That was a whole new level of weird.
You groaned, shifting more aggressively now, hoping to wake him up in the process. Anything to get out of this awkward position. “Tobi, seriously, get off me.”
But Tobi, even in his sleep, was relentless. His grip tightened slightly as he shifted his body, now pressing even closer, his grown erection prominent in that position, like he was trying to get into your back. It was maddening.
You could feel your patience thinning with each passing second. The softness of his breathing, the warmth of his body against yours, the fact that he was clinging to you and being apparently turned on by whatever fucked up dream he aparently had, made you feel like some sort of pillow—it was too much.
“Tobi…” you growled, voice low but seething. “Wake up.”
A sleepy mumble escaped his lips as he finally stirred, his body twitching slightly as if he was coming out of a deep dream. "Mmm… Senpai?" he mumbled drowsily, his voice softer and way more deeper than you’d ever heard it, which would have caught you off guard in any normal setting.
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, if you ‘senpai me ’ one time.” You growled when he didn't go completely off.
He finally blinked his eyes open, still half-asleep, and you felt him register what was happening. Slowly, as if the reality of his position hit him, he let go and shifted back, pulling away just enough to give you some breathing room. But his voice still carried that playful, oblivious tone as he chuckled softly.
“Aww, (Y/N)-senpai... Tobi just wanted to stay warm,” he mumbled, not even fully awake yet.
You turned over to face him, which quickly failed with Tobis hand securing your position to not see his face. You resorted to glaring in the dim light of the room.
"Stay warm somewhere else," you grumbled, rubbing your face in exasperation. "You're practically suffocating me."
You rolled your eyes, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, as far away from him as you could humanely get. “Just... stay on your side, Tobi. And if you hug me again, I’m throwing you out the window.”
Tobi had a big smile on his lips and suddenly felt energised. “You sure you don't want some help with that problem from your beloved one and only Tobi?”He whispered behind your ear and grazed your neck slightly. Your reaction made him regret not activating his kamui.
You had flipped him over on the bed and straddled his hips and pinning his hands besides his black locks. That was the first time you saw his face, his pale complexion had you stare at his half scarred face. And his eyes, they were hypnotising you with their depth. They held so much admiration, that it slightly even creeped you out and at the same time appreciated in a twisted sense.
You just stayed like that for a minute, then you felt something grabbing your waist. With a panicked look down you only got a mischiefly grin as an answer.
A dark woody cold thing grabbed and tightened around your waist, going under your shirt.
“Tobi, just be normal for once” you snared slightly, too occupied to notice that Obito had something in his mind all that time and that he wasn’t even really listening right now. His sole focus was on how the moon was illuminating you in such a beautiful hue and how your eyes looked ethereal from that position.
He moved his arms to knock you out of balance and clashing on his half scarred lips. Obito enjoyed the moment, the wood wrapped around you tightens when you tried to pull up from the surprisingly soft kiss.
One branch snaked itself around one peck, letting Tobi feel your ragged heartbeat through the branch.
“Let me fucking go” You hissed against scared lip. Contradictory to your words your hips rutted back on the others bulge, getting a drawn out sigh of your name with a shudder from Tobi.
After one last push from you, you pulled yourself up with all the strength you could muster and clamped your hand on Obitos lower face. “Don’t even think about mentioning this to the others or you will end up dead” you threatened with a slightly trembling voice. Then his hand went from circling your thigh to your forming erection.
Your hips involuntarily pushed forward to meet with Obito’s lazy strokes as the vines started to travel under your undergarments, making you gasp as it grips your dick firmly. You leaned back, quivering but yearning more.
“Just lean back” Obito’s smooth voice could be heard but your mind was too occupied by the vine circling your tripping tip, making you spasm.
At first it was uncomfortable. The vine trying to wiggle in made you want to break out of the hold but Obito’s arms holding you there, didn't leave you any room to argue as tears pathetically were about to fall out at any given moment.
However after the small rod finally breached the ring, you felt invigorating for a small moment like it’s meant to be there inside of you.
Just soon after your world came crashing down with the gentle pressure he added. The unfamiliar but somewhat familiar feeling lets you relax into Obitos lap more and huff a bit for not feeling the imagined pleasure that was promised indirectly to you.
Just as you were about to protest a gasp was heared and you came undone. The resistance felt like a firework in your core as one of the vines nudges your prostate in a new way, you didn’t know was possible. Precum was lazyly dribbling from the stuffed hole and with one final push the pressure got too much.
You pushed your pants down, letting the white substance dribble into Obitos torso.
Black was already foaming on the edges of your vision and you began to lean down on Obito but just as sleep took you, you mustered out the rarely quiet voice of Tobi. “You look so beautiful like this” he reached out.
Obito had a tired but amused smile, stretching slightly before settling back onto his side of the bed however not really completely going to his side with you in his arms. “Sleep well...”
His face bare for once, looked almost innocent, even if his actions were far from it.
Obito’s laugh was soft, and somehow, even without the mask, he still managed to annoy your half asleep self. "Tobi will try to be gentler next time, senpai!"
You sighed, closing your eyes again, doing your best to ignore the lingering heat from where his body had been pressed against yours just moments ago. You just had to make it through the night. Only one night...
There’s something undeniably beautiful about a full steel lineup.
Different lengths. Different curves. Different sensations waiting to happen.
This ultimate sounding kit isn’t about rushing — it’s about patience, control, and the quiet thrill of cold stainless steel warming slowly against the body. Everything arranged neatly in its own case like instruments waiting for a performance.
For those who understand that precision is part of the pleasure.
I want a girl to tie me down so I can’t do anything, but she can do anything to me. She stratles me on my chest so she is in reverse cowgirl, and starts to suck me just enough to get me hard all the way, then she stops. I don’t feel anything for a minute but then something slowly enters my dick, I can feel its ridges sliding down my length going deeper and deeper, she starts to stroke while still sliding the sound down my dick so I and it only makes the texture and sensation even more extreme as in her own way she enters me. Until it finally goes deep enough I can feel it hit my p spot, noticing my increasingly arching back and knowing what it means, she laughs as she pushes it a little further in and then starts pulling it out, then back in fucking my dick and driving me wild as I make incoherent noises, she can feel that I’m close and pushes it all the way in pushing me over the edge and making me cum, but I can’t all the way, I am being blocked by the sound, and I beg for her to let it out. She gives my tip a little kiss and quickly but steadily pulls it out with her waiting mouth already around the tip. The release of pressure shoot the first little bit in but then the rest simply oozes into her waiting mouth. Wanting every drop she places her finger at the base of my taint and proceeds to slid the lingering cum up and out of my hole while sucking me dry.
Thinking of a pretty cock being sounded. How you’d moan? Darling I wonder what would happen if you needed to piss? Hmm? All nice and full, too bad I’m not removing it. You can hold it until I’m done playing.
This Day4 of kinkober and is a collaboration with @wildandsmile. The prompt is sounding. Enjoy!
The fluorescent lights of Jujutsu Tech's infirmary hummed a sterile farewell as Nanami Kento slid his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Another cursed spirit dissection, another stack of reports taller than Yuji’s optimism. His tailored suit felt like a cage, the wool blend scratching against skin rubbed raw by residual cursed energy. Home. The word echoed in his weary bones like a promise of silence and scotch. He didn’t bother turning off lights; the empty corridors could keep their own ghosts company. His polished Oxfords clicked a precise rhythm against the linoleum, a metronome counting down to solitude.
His apartment door yielded with a soft sigh, revealing the dim sanctuary beyond. Nanami’s shoulders dropped a fraction, the tension leaching away. Until he saw it: his favourite armchair, the deep leather one angled perfectly toward the city skyline, occupied. Gojo Satoru lounged like a fallen star, legs draped over one armrest, blindfold pushed up into messy white hair, crunching Nanami’s expensive imported rice crackers. "Took you long enough, Kento!" Gojo chirped, spraying crumbs. "These are surprisingly addictive. Bit salty, though. Got any plum wine?"
Nanami’s knuckles tightened around his briefcase handle, the leather creaking under the strain. He didn’t raise his voice—didn’t need to. The glacial stillness settling over him was louder than any shout. He methodically hung his coat, aligned his shoes, and walked to the liquor cabinet, ignoring Gojo’s exaggerated crunching. The clink of crystal as he poured two fingers of single malt was precise, surgical. He took a slow sip, letting the peat smoke burn away the day’s residue before turning. Gojo grinned, dangling a cracker like bait. "Thirsty work, waiting for you. You really should stock better snacks."
Nanami set his glass down with deliberate softness, the crystal barely whispering against the lacquered wood. His gaze swept past Gojo’s sprawled form to the bedroom door, lingering for a heartbeat. "Your commentary," he stated, voice flat as a blade, "is as tiresome as your presence." He moved toward the bedroom, footsteps silent on the tatami. Gojo’s grin widened, a flash of teeth in the dimness. "Aw, leaving so soon? And here I thought we could—" The sentence died as Nanami paused in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the frame.
Nanami didn’t turn. His fingers curled around the silk tie loosened at his throat, sliding it free with a whisper of fabric. Gojo’s playful smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of wary curiosity as Nanami finally pivoted, the tie coiled like a serpent in his palm. The air thickened, charged with the quiet promise of retribution. "Persistent disruptions," Nanami stated, his voice devoid of inflection, "demand persistent solutions." He took a single step forward, the movement economical, deliberate. Gojo shifted, ready to teleport, but Nanami’s cursed energy flared—a crushing, invisible weight pinning Gojo’s limbs to the leather. "Don’t," Nanami warned, the word colder than the scotch he’d abandoned.
Nanami closed the distance in three precise strides, the coiled silk whispering against his knuckles. Gojo strained against the crushing weight of Nanami's cursed energy, Infinity flickering uselessly—Nanami's technique bypassed it entirely, targeting the space *around* him like a vice. "Kento, this is—" Gojo's protest choked off as Nanami's knee pressed into his sternum, pinning him deeper into the leather. The tie slithered around Gojo's wrists with practiced efficiency, knotting tight against the chair's armrest before Nanami hauled him up by the collar.
Nanami hauled Gojo upright, ignoring the choked gasp. The silk tie cinched tighter around Gojo's wrists as Nanami dragged him toward the bedroom, his steps unhurried, deliberate. Gojo stumbled, bare feet scraping against the tatami. "Seriously, Kento? Over crackers?" His voice held a forced lightness, but his eyes—wide and visible without the blindfold—tracked Nanami’s movements with sharp intensity. Nanami didn’t reply. The bedroom door swung open. He shoved Gojo backward onto the bed, the mattress groaning under the impact.
Nanami’s expression remained impassive as he ripped a strip of fabric from Gojo’s own shirt sleeve—a sharp tear echoing in the sudden silence. He gagged the sorcerer efficiently, silencing further protests. Gojo’s muffled laugh vibrated against the cloth, eyes alight with chaotic amusement even as Nanami secured his ankles to the bedpost with ruthless precision using his belt. The mattress dipped under Nanami’s knee pressing into Gojo’s hip, immobilizing him completely. Only then did Nanami retrieve the slender, polished ribbed steel sound from his bedside drawer—a tool normally reserved for cursed object analysis, gleaming coldly under the dim bedroom light.
Nanami's thumb brushed the cool steel, his gaze fixed on Gojo's bound form. The sorcerer's chest rose and fell rapidly beneath torn fabric, muffled sounds vibrating against the gag—not fear, but furious exhilaration. Nanami uncapped the sterile lubricant with clinical detachment. The sharp scent of antiseptic cut through the room as he coated the instrument's length, the viscous fluid catching the low light. Gojo's eyes widened fractionally, tracking the movement with rapt intensity.
Nanami's free hand slid beneath Gojo's waistband, fingers encountering the hot, straining line of his erection. He wrapped his palm around it with deliberate slowness, feeling the pulse beneath velvet skin. Gojo arched off the mattress with a choked groan, the sound thick and desperate against the gag. Nanami's thumb circled the leaking tip, spreading slickness as he leaned down, his breath ghosting over Gojo's exposed collarbone. "Patience," Nanami murmured, teeth grazing a peaked nipple through thin cotton. Gojo jerked against his bonds, muscles corded tight as wire.
Nanami’s fingers deftly unfastened Gojo’s trousers, peeling the fabric down his hips just enough to expose the flushed, straining length beneath. His palm slid along Gojo’s shaft with deliberate, unhurried strokes, thumb swirling over the slick head where precome beaded. Gojo’s hips bucked helplessly against the restraints, a muffled groan tearing from behind the gag as Nanami’s other hand slipped beneath his thin shirt. Calloused fingertips grazed a peaked nipple, pinching lightly until Gojo’s back arched off the mattress like a drawn bow.
The silk underwear slid lower, inch by torturous inch. Nanami hooked his thumbs into the waistband, dragging the fabric down Gojo’s thighs with agonizing slowness. Cool air ghosted over exposed skin, tightening Gojo’s flesh as every nerve ending screamed. Nanami paused, fingertips tracing the sharp jut of Gojo’s hipbone, the frantic pulse pounding in his femoral artery. Below, Gojo’s cock strained upward, flushed dark and leaking onto his abdomen. Nanami’s exhaled sharply through his nose.
The lubricant glistened thickly on the polished steel sound. Nanami’s gaze remained clinical, detached, even as his knuckles whitened around the instrument. He pressed the cool tip against Gojo’s, tracing the slit. Gojo froze, breath hitching audibly through the gag. A tremor ran through him—not fear, but raw anticipation vibrating beneath Nanami’s restraining tie. Nanami applied steady pressure. The tip breached, impossibly intimate, impossibly cold. Gojo’s entire body arched violently, tendons standing out like cables against his throat. A ragged, muffled cry tore free as Nanami advanced the steel with meticulous slowness, inch by excruciating inch, filling him with invasive chill.
The steel slid deeper, a glacial intrusion that scraped nerves raw. Gojo’s muffled scream dissolved into frantic, shallow breaths, his body shuddering against the restraints. Sweat slicked his temples, matting white hair to his skin. Nanami watched the dilation of his pupils—wide, black pools swallowing the blue—as he rotated the instrument with cruel precision. A choked whimper escaped the gag. Nanami leaned close, his voice a low rasp against Gojo’s ear. "Still find disruptions amusing?"
Gojo’s response was a violent jerk, hips straining upward only to be pinned by Nanami’s weight. The sound shifted inside him, grazing sensitive walls. Tears welled, spilling hot tracks down his temples. Nanami withdrew it fractionally, then pushed deeper still, the ribbed steel catching on inner ridges. Gojo’s back bowed off the mattress, every muscle locked in agony. His bound wrists twisted against silk, skin chafing crimson.
The still rod pressed against Gojo’s prostate—a deliberate, unyielding pressure that transformed agony into electric revelation. His body seized, spine arching so violently the leather restraints creaked, every muscle fiber locking around that cold intrusion. A guttural, vibrating moan tore through the gag, muffled but raw with shattered control. Tears streamed freely now, mingling with sweat on his temples as Nanami held the steel perfectly still, letting sensation cascade through Gojo’s nerves like shattering glass.
Nanami watched, impassive, as Gojo’s eyes rolled back, whites showing beneath fluttering lashes. The choked sounds escaping the cloth gag shifted—less protest, more desperate, involuntary plea. Only then did Nanami rotate the instrument minutely, ribbed edges scraping that swollen gland with surgical precision. Gojo convulsed, a silent scream contorting his face as pleasure-pain detonated behind his ribs, radiating down trembling thighs. His abdomen twitched.
Slowly, deliberately, Nanami withdrew the steel. The slide was excruciating—a drawn-out scrape against oversensitized nerves. Gojo gasped wetly against the gag, body collapsing bonelessly onto the mattress, slick with sweat and tears. His chest heaved. Nanami set the gleaming sound aside without ceremony, his gaze lingering on Gojo’s flushed skin, the raw vulnerability laid bare in the harsh light.
Nanami turned toward the bedside drawer again. This time, his fingers closed around something softer, heavier—a slightly longer silicone rod, obsidian-black and ribbed, with a subtle weight to it. A small remote control nestled beside it. He flicked the switch. A low, resonant hum filled the room, vibrating through the floorboards. Gojo’s eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide, tracking Nanami’s movement with dazed terror. The vibration wasn’t painful—yet. It promised something else entirely.
Nanami pushed the obsidian silicone rod into Gojo’s urethra with relentless precision. The ribbed surface caught on delicate tissue, pushing Gojo to the edge. Gojo’s muffled scream hitched into a wet gurgle as his hips jerked against the restraints, veins standing out like blue ropes across his thighs. Nanami watched the invasion clinically, thumb rotating the shaft to feel the internal resistance give way millimeter by millimeter. The low hum intensified, vibrating up through the steel bedframe into Gojo’s spine.
The silicone rod seated fully, its ribbed length vibrating against Gojo's prostate with relentless precision. His entire body seized—a rigid arch lifting his hips off the mattress—before collapsing into violent tremors. Tears streaked freely down his temples, mingling with sweat as muffled cries dissolved into wet, rhythmic gasps against the gag. Nanami watched the involuntary twitches ripple through Gojo’s abdomen, fingers tightening around the remote.
Gojo arched against the restraints, gag soaked through with spit and desperation. With a violent twist of his jaw, he spat the wad of fabric sideways onto the pillow. "Kento—*please*!" His voice cracked, raw and stripped bare. "Let me... let me cum." He gasped wetly as the vibration intensified. "I swear—no more disruptions. No more crackers. Just... I’ll be good."
Nanami's thumb hovered over the remote's intensity dial. Gojo's hips stuttered against the vibrating intrusion, thighs trembling as sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. The gag hung loose now, saliva-slick silk clinging to his jawline. "Please," he rasped, voice shredded raw, eyes wide and unfocused.
Nanami rotated the dial incrementally. The hum deepened, vibrating through bone. Gojo's spine snapped backward, heels digging into the mattress as a ragged cry tore loose—pure, unadulterated agony laced with something darker. Tears carved fresh tracks through the sheen of sweat. His bound wrists strained against silk, tendons standing out like bridge cables beneath skin. A faint, wet clicking sound echoed inside him with each pulse.
Nanami watched Gojo's body convulse, the vibrations traveling up the silicone rod in visible tremors. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the stained sheets below. "Focus," Nanami commanded, his voice cutting through Gojo's choked whimpers. "Discipline requires clarity." He rotated the remote dial again—minutely—and the vibration deepened into a bone-rattling hum. Gojo's teeth clamped down on the gag, a fresh wave of tears welling as his hips jerked helplessly against the restraints.
The vibration intensified, resonating deep within Gojo’s pelvis. His thighs trembled violently, toes curling inward as sweat pooled beneath his shoulder blades. Nanami observed the precise moment coherence shattered—Gojo’s eyes rolled back, unfocused and wet, while muffled pleas dissolved into guttural, rhythmic gasps. The silicone rod hummed against his prostate, each pulse dragging a fresh shudder up his spine.
“K-Kento please! I’ll—*ah!*—I’ll be quiet!” Gojo choked plea dissolved into a wet gasp as the silicone rod pulsed deeper vibration against his prostate. His thighs trembled, toes curling inward as sweat dripped onto the sheets beneath him. Nanami’s thumb remained poised on the remote dial, watching the raw desperation bloom across Gojo’s tear-streaked face—the dilated pupils, the frantic flutter of his pulse at his throat.
Nanami nodded—a small, almost serene gesture—and withdrew the silicone rod with one smooth, clinical pull. Gojo’s body arched off the mattress violently, a ragged cry tearing loose as the vibrating intrusion vanished. Release slammed into him like a physical blow; hips bucking wildly against the silk restraints, back bowing impossibly high as ropes of cum splattered hot across his own abdomen and chest in thick, shuddering pulses. His cry dissolved into choked, gasping sobs, whole body convulsing through the aftershocks.
Nanami leaned in, pressing a dry, fleeting kiss to the sweat-damp crown of Gojo’s hair—a gesture startlingly tender against the raw aftermath. His fingers worked methodically, unbuckling the silk restraints with the same precision he’d used to bind them. The fabric slithered free, leaving faint crimson imprints on Gojo’s wrists. Nanami fetched a damp cloth from the ensuite, its coolness stark against Gojo’s overheated skin as he wiped away the streaks of tears, sweat, and release. Each pass was clinical, thorough, yet devoid of cruelty—a silent restoration of dignity. Gojo shuddered, limbs loose and trembling, his breath still ragged as he watched Nanami’s impassive face.
Nanami discarded the damp cloth into a basin, the silence stretching taut between them. Gojo lay utterly spent, limbs heavy as lead, his breathing shallow and uneven. The room smelled sharply of sweat, salt, and antiseptic—a jarring blend that clung to the back of Nanami’s throat.
Without a word, Nanami shifted onto the mattress beside him, the springs groaning softly under his weight. He wrapped an arm around Gojo’s trembling shoulders, pulling him close until their bodies aligned—Gojo’s sweat-slicked back pressed flush against Nanami’s chest. The heat radiating from Gojo’s skin seeped through Nanami’s shirt, a visceral reminder of the ordeal. Nanami’s breath stirred the damp hair at Gojo’s nape as he murmured, low and rough-edged, "Are you alright?" The question hung suspended, stripped of judgment, a stark anomaly in the charged air.
“That was amazing. I’m sorry I bothered you,” Gojo mumbled into Nanami’s shirt, his voice muffled and thick with exhaustion. His trembling had subsided to faint shivers, the aftershocks of pleasure still echoing in the slackness of his limbs. The scent of sweat, salt, and something uniquely *Gojo* clung to the air—musky and vulnerable. Nanami’s arm tightened imperceptibly around him, a silent anchor in the dim light.
Nanami’s thumb brushed a damp strand of hair from Gojo’s forehead. The gesture was unexpectedly tender, almost jarring after the violence of their intimacy. “You don’t apologize for existing,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the instinctive recoil behind the defiance. The mask snapping back into place. He didn’t push. Instead, his gaze drifted to the window where the city lights bled through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. The silence stretched, comfortable now, filled only with Gojo’s slowing breaths and the distant hum of Tokyo at night. A faint smile touched Nanami’s lips—not triumphant, not cruel, but something quieter. Acknowledgment. Understanding.
Nanami smiled and turned off the light, plunging the room into velvet darkness. Only the city's distant glow seeped through the blinds, painting silver stripes across Gojo's exhausted form. The abrupt absence of harsh fluorescence softened everything—the sharp angles of Gojo's shoulders, the tension still lingering in his jaw. Nanami's arm remained around him, a solid weight anchoring Gojo to the present. "Sleep," Nanami commanded, his voice a low rumble against Gojo's spine. "The world can wait."
Nanami's smile lingered in the sudden darkness, a ghost of warmth against Gojo's spine as the city's glow painted silver stripes across their tangled limbs. The abrupt plunge into shadow softened the harsh lines of exhaustion etched into Gojo's face, transforming his tremors into something fragile, almost sacred in the quiet. Nanami's arm tightened possessively around him, fingers splaying wide over Gojo's pounding heartbeat—a silent claim echoing louder than any word. Outside, Tokyo pulsed like a living thing, sirens wailing faintly somewhere near Shibuya, neon signs bleeding crimson and electric blue through the blinds.
