They were sitting on the couch watching some B-movie horror. More precisely, she was sitting on the couch and he was sitting on her lap. He didn't even let her take off his work uniform, demanding that they start their "therapy" as soon as he crossed the threshold of her apartment.

They did that sometimes. When he had stressful workdays, accumulated problems, when only screams and grumbles came out of his mouth - she immediately understood what he needed.

And now he was sitting completely tied up with his mouth taped shut. Periodically, he quietly moáned and weakly resisted. At first, he was angry that out of all the existing methods of emotional release, only being tied up and controlled by someone helped him. Now he was used to it, almost resigned. He only grumbled sometimes and looked at her with those angry eyes of his, carefully hiding a slight shame.

"She decided that going down to the basement in the middle of the night was a good idea. What a cliche."

You chuckled quietly, stroking Katsuki’s bútt with your left hand.