Chapter 4: Punishment
Bakugo’s finger was a torturous metronome, a slow, steady beat that mapped the frantic rhythm of Shoto’s pulse. He kept Shoto balanced on that knife-edge of sensation, where every nerve was alive and screaming but the deep, empty ache within remained untouched, a hollow pit of need.
“Kiri’s gonna take his sweet time,” Bakugo murmured, his lips grazing the shell of Shoto’s ear. “He likes to wash up. Brush his teeth. Maybe make some fucking coffee. You’re just gonna lie here and drip all over my hand, thinking about how you disobeyed.”
“I didn’t—” Shoto gasped, his hips twitching upward.
A sharp smack landed on his outer thigh, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting. “You did. You tried to get what you needed without us. That’s disobedience. You know what happens to disobedient omegas?”
Shoto shook his head, tears of frustration welling in his eyes as Bakugo’s finger never ceased its maddening circles.
“They get exactly what they asked for,” Bakugo said, his voice dropping to a predatory purr. “And nothing more. You wanted friction on that greedy little cunt? You’re gonna get it. But you don’t get our knots. Not until we say.”
The bathroom door clicked open down the hall. Footsteps, casual and unhurried, approached.
Kirishima appeared in the doorway, a towel slung low on his hips, his hair damp. He smelled of clean soap and his own warm, amber scent. He leaned against the frame, taking in the scene: Shoto splayed and trembling, Bakugo’s hand working between his legs, the sheet beneath them dark with slick.
“He giving you trouble?” Kirishima asked, his voice a rough caress.
“Just reminding him of the rules,” Bakugo said, finally removing his hand. Shoto whined at the loss, the cold air a shock. “He needs a lesson in patience. And in asking properly.”
Kirishima nodded slowly, his dark eyes softening with a understanding that felt more dangerous than Bakugo’s anger. “Yeah. I think you’re right.” He walked to the bed, dropping the towel. His cock was already half-hard, thickening as he looked at Shoto’s ruined, quivering form. “Come here, Sho.”
He didn’t reach for Shoto. He simply sat on the edge of the mattress and patted his own thick, heavily muscled thigh. The meaning was clear.
Shoto stared, shame and a perverse, twisting heat coiling in his gut. “No.”
“Yes,” Bakugo said, shoving him. “Now. On your knees.”
Shoto moved like a marionette with cut strings. He clambered off the bed, his legs shaky, and knelt on the floor between Kirishima’s spread legs. The position was obscenely submissive. His face was level with Kirishima’s cock, but that wasn’t the target.
“Go on,” Kirishima said, his voice gentle but inflexible. “You wanted to use it so bad earlier. Use it now. Ride it until you come. Show us you can be a good omega and take your punishment.”
Tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down Shoto’s cheeks. He shuffled forward on his knees, the rough carpet biting his skin. He positioned his soaked, swollen cunt over the hard curve of Kirishima’s quadricep. The contact was instant and agonizing. It was pressure, but not penetration. It was friction, but it wasn’t fill.
“Hold his hips,” Bakugo instructed, coming to stand beside them, a looming overseer. Kirishima’s large hands settled on Shoto’s bony hips, his grip firm and immovable.
“Start,” Bakugo commanded.
Shoto rocked forward. The glide of his slick folds over the unyielding muscle sent a jolt through him. It was good. It was also utterly, devastatingly insufficient. He did it again, a little faster, a sob catching in his throat. He could feel every ridge and contour of Kirishima’s leg, a brutal mockery of the fullness he craved.
“That’s it,” Kirishima encouraged, his thumbs rubbing small circles into Shoto’s hip bones. “Use me. Get yourself off.”
“He’s not gonna come like that,” Bakugo scoffed, circling them. “He’s too fucked in the head. Thinks he’s too good for a simple thigh. Thinks he needs a prince’s treatment.” His hand cracked down, a sudden, sharp spank on the curve of Shoto’s ass. The sting bloomed, mixing with the building, frustrating pleasure. “Work harder, halfie. Grind that needy pussy down like you mean it.”
Shoto cried out, his movements becoming more frantic, less rhythmic. He was humping Kirishima’s leg now, a messy, graceless animal trying to find the right angle. His clit dragged against the hard muscle, sparking little bursts of sharp sensation, but the orgasm felt miles away, trapped behind a wall of empty, aching need.
“Please,” he babbled, his forehead dropping to Kirishima’s shoulder. “Please, it’s not enough. I can’t. I need—”
“You need to come,” Kirishima finished for him, his voice kind but unyielding. “So come. On my leg. That’s your job right now.”
“It hurts,” Shoto sobbed, the words ripped from a place of raw, childish honesty.
“I know, baby,” Kirishima murmured, and the endearment was worse than any insult. “That’s the point. Next time you feel that heat coming, you crawl to us. You don’t try to solve it yourself. You understand? This aching is because you forgot who takes care of you.”
Another spank landed, this one on the other cheek. Bakugo’s palm was hot and heavy. “His cunt’s dripping enough to lubricate a damn engine, and he still can’t get there. Pathetic.”
The dual assault—the unrelenting, insufficient friction, the degrading commentary, the sharp bites of pain on his ass—began to warp the sensations in Shoto’s overloaded brain. The humiliation melted into the heat. The shame became a part of the arousal. The empty ache was a void he was meant to fall into, and they were the only ones who could pull him out.
His cries shifted from pleas to a continuous, high-pitched whine. His movements lost all pretense of control. He was just rutting, mindlessly, against the solid limb, his body coated in a fine sheen of sweat and slick. The coiling tension in his belly was changing, tightening into something painful and bright.
“He’s close,” Kirishima observed, his grip tightening.
Bakugo leaned down, his mouth next to Shoto’s ear. “You gonna come all over his leg like a bitch in heat? You gonna make a mess and thank us for it?”
The image, the filthy permission in Bakugo’s tone, was the final key. The frustrating, shallow pleasure suddenly crested, transforming into a shocking, violent detonation. It wasn’t the soul-shattering release of being filled. It was a sharp, convulsive snap, a lightning strike centered solely on his oversensitive clit.
Shoto screamed, a short, broken sound, as his body locked. His cunt clenched around nothing, spilling a fresh gush of slick that soaked Kirishima’s thigh and dripped onto the floorboards beneath. The waves were sharp, almost painful, wracking through him with desperate, unsatisfying intensity. He shook through it, held upright only by Kirishima’s hands.
As the last tremors subsided, a deep, wretched sob burst from his chest. The orgasm had been a relief, but it had scraped him raw and left the deeper hunger completely untouched. He was emptier than before.
Bakugo’s hand, surprisingly gentle, smoothed the sweaty hair from his forehead. “There. Was that so hard?” He dipped his fingers between Shoto’s legs, collecting the mingled sweat and slick, and brought them to Shoto’s mouth. “Taste it. That’s what obedience gets you. Now clean him up.”
Dazed, Shoto obediently opened his mouth, licking his own bitter-salt taste from Bakugo’s fingers. Then, with Kirishima’s hands guiding his head, he lowered his mouth to the slick-coated skin of Kirishima’s thigh. He licked a broad, slow stripe through the mess he’d made, his tongue tasting himself, the tang of Kirishima’s skin, the faint salt of sweat. It was the most degrading thing he’d ever done.
And it made his spent cunt give a feeble, interested throb.
When he was done, Kirishima hauled him up by the arms and laid him back on the bed. He was pliant, hollowed out, tears still leaking from the corners of his eyes.
Kirishima looked down at him, his expression unreadable. Then he looked at Bakugo. A silent communication passed between them.
A silent communication passed between them. Kirishima nodded once, a small, decisive motion, before turning his full attention back to the shuddering omega on the bed. He cupped Shoto’s jaw, his thumb wiping away a tear track with a roughness that was almost tender.
“You did so good, Sho,” Kirishima said, his voice a low rumble. “You took your punishment perfect. But you were still naughty at the start. That means you’re not done.” His thumb pressed against Shoto’s bottom lip. “You remember the rule now? About asking?”
Shoto’s heterochromatic eyes, glassy with spent tears, focused on Kirishima’s face. A fresh, desperate hope flickered in their depths. He understood. This was the path forward, the only one they would give him. His throat worked, swallowing around a dry sob.
“So you gotta beg for it,” Kirishima continued, his gaze unwavering. “You have to ask for your alpha’s cock. You have to promise you can be good for us. That you’ll be our good boy. Can you do that?”
The words unlocked something primal and shattered in Shoto’s chest. The composure he’d clutched like a shield since he first presented dissolved into dust.
“Please,” he whimpered, the sound scraping raw from his throat. He turned his head, nuzzling desperately into Kirishima’s palm. “Please, alpha, I need it. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll be so good.”
“Need what?” Bakugo prompted from his place at the foot of the bed, his voice a blade. “Use your fucking words. What do you want?”
Shoto’s pleas tumbled out in a frantic, wet stream. “Your cock! I want your cock, I want Kirishima’s cock, I need you to fuck me, please, I can’t— I’m empty, it’s hurting, make it stop!” He reached for Kirishima’s wrist, his fingers clinging. “I promise, I promise I can be good for my alphas. I’ll be a good boy. I won’t hide, I won’t try to sneak, just please, please fill me up. Make me feel all better. I need to feel you.”
He was babbling, his hips lifting off the mattress in a feeble, involuntary thrust, seeking contact that wasn’t there. The earlier orgasm was a distant memory, irrelevant. The heat was a live wire in his veins, and their approval was the only cure.
“See?” Bakugo said to Kirishima, a note of grim satisfaction in his tone. “He can learn.” He moved then, a blur of purposeful motion. He grabbed Shoto’s ankles and wrenched his legs apart, exposing him completely—the glistening, swollen folds, the pink, fluttering hole that clenched around nothing. “He wants it so bad he’s vibrating. Think he earned it?”
“Yeah,” Kirishima breathed, his eyes dark with hunger. He didn’t need gentle patience now. The time for that had passed. He positioned himself between Shoto’s splayed thighs, his broad hands sliding under Shoto’s ass to tilt his hips up. The head of his cock, thick and ruddy, nudged against Shoto’s sodden entrance. “You promise you’re our good boy?”
“Yes! Yes, alpha, yours, I’m yours, please!” Shoto sobbed, his back arching, trying to impale himself on the insistent pressure.
Kirishima drove into him with one long, relentless push.
The fullness was instant, breathtaking, a profound relief so intense it was its own kind of pain. Shoto’s cry echoed off the walls, a raw sound of deliverance. Kirishima sheathed himself to the root in that slick, scalding heat, his own groan a sharp, punched-out thing. He stayed there, buried, letting Shoto’s body spasm and clench around him, both of them adjusting to the brutal, perfect fit.
“Fuck,” Kirishima gritted out, his composure cracking. “You’re fucking made for this.” He withdrew slowly, almost completely, watching with rapt attention as his slick-coated length emerged. Then he slammed back in, setting a deep, punishing rhythm that was nothing like the shallow frustration of the thigh. Each thrust punched the air from Shoto’s lungs, jolting his body up the bed.
Bakugo watched, one hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking in time with Kirishima’s strokes. “Look at that,” he muttered, almost to himself. “His greedy hole just sucking you right back in. Can’t get enough.”
Kirishima’s pace escalated, becoming faster, harder. The bedsprings screamed in protest. He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next deep plunge, Shoto shattered.
A guttural, broken scream was torn from him as his vision whited out. This was nothing like the sharp, superficial climax from before. This was a deep, internal detonation that rolled from his core out to his fingertips, an endless wave of convulsing pleasure that squeezed Kirishima’s cock like a vise. His cunt milked the thick length inside him, spilling fresh slick around the brutal rhythm that didn’t stop.
Kirishima cursed, his rhythm faltering as the intense pressure dragged him over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he locked himself deep as his knot swelled rapidly, inflating inside Shoto’s clutching channel. He came with a ragged shout, his release flooding Shoto’s depths in hot, pulsing jets that seemed to go on forever, spilling out around the tight seal of his knot.
Shoto mewled, oversensitive and full, the internal stretch of the knot a delicious, constant ache. He was floating, weightless, utterly claimed.
Bakugo moved then. He climbed onto the bed, his cock jutting thick and angry from his fist. He looked at Shoto’s blissed-out, tear-streaked face, then at his mouth, slack and wet. A dark, possessive need tightened his features.
“Good boys get rewards,” Bakugo growled, guiding the swollen head of his cock to Shoto’s lips. “Open up. You’re not done. You’re going to swallow every drop while Ei’s knot keeps you full.”
Shoto’s eyes, blurred and unfocused, drifted from Bakugo’s fierce face to the thick crown pressing against his lips. The salty, musky scent of him, layered over the deeper aroma of Kirishima’s release still flooding his core, was an intoxicating command. His mouth fell open on a shallow gasp.
Bakugo didn’t hesitate. He pushed forward, the broad head sliding over Shoto’s tongue. He didn’t stop until the back of Shoto’s throat fluttered in protest, the entire heavy length settling deep. “That’s it,” Bakugo grunted, his hips giving a minute thrust. “Suck. Use that pretty mouth you were biting shut earlier.”
Shoto obeyed, his body operating on instinct. His tongue pressed along the veined underside as he hollowed his cheeks. The simultaneous sensations were overwhelming: the deep, stretching fullness from Kirishima’s knot keeping him anchored, and the invasive, claiming pressure in his throat. He gagged, tears springing anew, but Bakugo’s hand fisted in his hair, holding him steady.
“Breathe through your nose,” Kirishima murmured beneath him, his own breathing still ragged. One of his large hands stroked the tense line of Shoto’s belly, a shocking contrast to the violation of his mouth. “You’re doing so good, baby. Taking us both like you were meant to.”
The praise, coupled with the brutal use, sent a fractured sense of rightness through Shoto’s splintered mind. He relaxed his throat, accepting the slow, shallow thrusts Bakugo began to set. Each push coated his tongue with the bitter pre-come, a taste that was becoming familiar, becoming theirs. His own moans vibrated around the cock fucking his face, a constant, muffled feedback loop.
“Look at him,” Bakugo panted, his movements growing more urgent. “Knotted full of one alpha and choking on another. This is what you are now. Our shared little fucktoy. Our good boy.”
The words good boy, wrapped in that rough, possessive tone, did something dangerous to Shoto’s insides. A fresh pulse of slick squeezed out around Kirishima’s knot. Kirishima felt it and groaned, his fingers digging into Shoto’s hip. “You hear that, Katsuki? He fucking dripped when you called him that.”
Bakugo’s crimson eyes flashed with dark triumph. He pulled his cock almost all the way out of Shoto’s spit-soaked mouth, glistening and angry. “You like that? You like being our good boy?”
“Yes,” Shoto whined, the word distorted and wet. He chased the retreating cock with his mouth, a desperate, shameful need in the motion. “Yes, please.”
“Gonna be a good boy and swallow all my come?” Bakugo demanded, sliding back in to the hilt, making Shoto’s eyes water.
“Yes! I’ll swallow it, I promise, please give it to me,” Shoto begged around the intrusion, his hands gripping Bakugo’s taut thighs.
That was all the permission Bakugo needed. His control snapped. His thrusts became erratic, brutal pistons that stole Shoto’s breath. “Fuck, here it is. Take it. Swallow.”
With a final, deep grind, Bakugo stilled, his cock pulsing violently as he came. The first spurt hit the back of Shoto’s throat, hot and thick. He gagged but remembered his promise, forcing himself to swallow convulsively. The second, third, fourth pulses followed, a relentless flood that filled his mouth with the distinct, salty-bitter taste of Bakugo’s climax. He swallowed until his throat ached, until Bakugo, with a final satisfied grunt, pulled out, dragging the softened head across his swollen lower lip.
“Open,” Bakugo ordered, breathless. Shoto obeyed, showing his empty, used mouth. A thin trail of come escaped the corner, which Bakugo wiped away with a rough thumb before pushing it back past Shoto’s lips. “Clean. Every drop belongs inside you.”
Shoto sucked the thumb clean, his body humming with a submissive exhaustion that felt like peace.
Kirishima’s knot had begun to soften. With a wet, soft pop, he slipped free, followed by a sudden gush of fluid—his own release mixed with Shoto’s slick—that soaked the sheets beneath them. Shoto whimpered at the loss, the emptiness returning like a physical shock.
“Shhh, I know,” Kirishima soothed, turning him gently onto his side. He slotted himself behind Shoto, his chest to Shoto’s back. His cock, already hardening again against Shoto’s thigh, was a blunt promise. “You did perfect. But a good boy’s work isn’t done. He gets bred until he can’t remember his own name.”
Bakugo moved off the bed. He returned a moment later with a glass of water, lifting Shoto’s head to help him drink. The casual care amidst the carnage was dizzying. Shoto drank greedily, water slopping down his chin. Bakugo wiped it away with the sheet, his touch impersonal yet precise.
“You wanna put a pup in this pretty belly, Ei?” Bakugo asked, his voice a low rumble as he watched Kirishima align his renewed erection with Shoto’s spent, dripping entrance.
“More than anything,” Kirishima growled, the warmth in his voice edged with a primal possessiveness Shoto had never heard before. He didn’t push in slowly. He sheathed himself in one smooth, claiming stroke, making Shoto cry out at the sudden, delicious fullness. “Gonna fuck my seed so deep into you it takes root. Gonna watch you swell with it.”
He set a relentless, deep pace, each thrust aimed to bury himself as far as possible. The angle was different, pushing against a place that made Shoto see stars. The earlier orgasms had sensitized him to a fever pitch; every nerve was alive, screaming.
“That’s it, take it,” Kirishima chanted into his ear, his breath hot. “This cunt is ours to fill. You wanna be full of us forever, don’t you, baby? Wanna carry our mark where everyone can see?”
The image—of a rounded belly, of their combined claim visible on his body—unlocked a deep, omega yearning that transcended heat. It was a craving for permanence, for a tangible anchor to this brutal sanctuary. “Yes! Daddy, please, I want it, I want to be full of you, breed me, please—”
The forbidden word hung in the air, shocking in its clarity.
Kirishima froze for a fraction of a second, then a guttural, approving snarl ripped from his chest. His rhythm became punishing, a violent, possessive hammering that drove Shoto’s pleas into fragmented cries. “You’ll get it. Every fucking drop. You’re gonna be so full of me you’ll leak for days.”
Bakugo watched from the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable. Then he moved. He climbed up, kneeling before Shoto’s face. He wasn’t hard again, but his presence was a command. “Look at me.”
Shoto forced his bleary eyes to focus on Bakugo’s intense crimson gaze.
“You’re his good boy,” Bakugo stated, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You’re gonna take his knot and his seed and keep it. And when he’s done, you’re gonna be mine again. You belong to both of us. Every part. You understand that?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a decree. And in his fractured state, it felt like salvation. Shoto nodded, frantic, as Kirishima’s thrusts grew erratic, his knot beginning to swell once more at the base.
“I understand,” Shoto sobbed, the words ripped from him by the force of Kirishima’s penetration. “I’m yours. I’m your good boy. I’ll keep it, I promise, I’ll be so good—”
His babbling was cut off as Kirishima roared, slamming home one final time. The knot locked, impossibly large, stretching Shoto to a breathtaking degree as Kirishima pulsed inside him, his release a scalding flood that seemed to have no end. Shoto’s own orgasm was a silent, seismic event, a full-body seizure of pleasure that left him blind and deaf, aware only of the heat flooding his core and the secure, locking weight that kept it trapped inside.
Kirishima collapsed over him, a sweaty, heavy weight, his face buried in Shoto’s neck, panting words of praise and possession that Shoto felt more than heard.
Through the haze, he felt Bakugo’s hand. It settled on his lower abdomen, pressing down lightly over the place where Kirishima was still erupting inside him. The gesture was starkly, devastatingly intimate—a king claiming conquered land.
“There,” Bakugo said, his voice stripped of all its earlier rage, leaving only a thick, possessive satisfaction. “Now it’s in there. Now you’re really ours.”