✦ ──── SEVEN MINUTES
virgin! will graham x virgin!f!reader
masterlist — taglist
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wc. 9.2 k
premise.
based on this ask!
smuttier request.. college student will and reader, maybe both having their first time together? maybe he’s a bit more submissive in these days (think of his s1-self amped up), trying oral for the first time, p in v etc
You and Will are both seen as the local 'nerds', which led to the two of you being friends pretty early on in colllege. Parties are usually neither of your things, but after your other friends insist you come, you bring along Will for mental support. After a game of 7 minutes in heaven game that makes you question a lot,... things escalate.
warnings.
smu!, oral (f receiving), unprotected pinv., hair pulling, kind of sub!will, will coming early because you fell too good... :(
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Will let out a quiet sigh as he dropped into the old desk chair in his dorm room. The wood groaned beneath him, followed by the familiar squeak as he leaned back for a moment, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose.
Classes had dragged on longer than usual, and Professor Adaway's reminder about his overdue report was still echoing around in his head.
He reached down and unbuckled the leather satchel resting beside his chair before pulling out a plastic container. Cold pasta. No sauce. No seasoning. Just plain noodles he'd made in bulk two nights ago.
It was simple and predictable.
Exactly the way he liked it.
He peeled the lid off the container, already lifting his fork when footsteps approached his dorm door.
Will closed his eyes for a brief second.
Please don't let someone need notes.
Without looking up, he spoke in the tired voice of someone who had spent the entire semester being everyone's unofficial tutor.
A knock sounded on his door.
“What do you need?” he muttered, piercing a few noodles with his fork. His tone wasn't rude so much as exhausted.
His brow furrowed as it was no professor and no frantic student asking him to explain the same thing again.
Slowly, he looked up.
You slowly opened his door and peaked in through the doorway, your backpack hanging from one shoulder while a notebook rested against your chest. A small smile tugged at your lips when your eyes met his.
“Hey, Will,” you greeted softly.
The tension in his shoulders eased almost immediately.
“Oh.” his expression softened before he could stop it. “Hi.”
He lowered his fork into the container and sat up a little straighter, brushing an absent hand over the front of his sweater as though suddenly aware of how slouched he'd been.
“You need help with something?” he asked.
You smiled a little wider and shook your head, “No, actually… I just handed in my report.”
“...Professor Adaway mentioned you still haven't turned yours in,” you added, giving him an amused look.
Will's face pinched into a grimace.
He let out a long sigh before dropping his head back against the chair.
“I know,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “He's mentioned it three times today.”
You laughed quietly.
“I'll finish it.” Will sighed again, glancing toward you and he noticed you still hadn't come inside.
“You busy?” you asked, nodding toward the room. “Or... can I come in?”
Will looked around his dorm as though checking it for the first time.
Books were stacked in uneven piles across the floor. Papers covered half his desk. A flannel jacket had been abandoned over the back of his chair sometime earlier that week.
It wasn't exactly tidy.
Still...
“It's not exactly presentable,” he admitted with an awkward smile.
His eyes drifted back to yours.
“...But, yeah.” He gestured toward the room with his fork. “Come in.”
You slipped inside, carefully closing the door behind you.
His dorm looked exactly as it always did.
Aside from a crowded bookshelf, a few novels, and stacks of class notes, there wasn't much that made the room feel lived in.
Your attention shifted toward the open container sitting on his desk.
You tilted your head, “...Cold pasta again?”
Will followed your gaze before looking back at you, a sheepish smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, “...Yeah.”
You couldn't help but laugh, “No sauce?”
He glanced down at the noodles as if genuinely considering the question.
“...No.”
“No cheese?”
“...No.”
You stared at him for a second before shaking your head with an amused smile.
“Will…” you huffed
Will leaned back in his chair, balancing it carefully on its back two legs as he studied you across the room.
His eyes lingered for a moment longer than he'd intended.
You were adjusting your glasses, you always did that when you were thinking, or when you were nervous. The small movement had become so familiar to him that he barely noticed he'd started recognising it.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “You look awfully pleased with yourself... knowing my lunch.” he observed.
You chuckled “I earned myself that title.”
“The title?” he asked, furrowing his brows.
“Professional Will Graham Observer.” you laughed, he let out a quiet snort at that, shaking his head.
“...That's a terrible title,” he said, though the smile never quite left his face.
“I know,” you admitted with a laugh. “I'm still working on it.”
Will reached for another bite of pasta while you absentmindedly fiddled with the cuff of your sleeve.
His eyes flicked down, there it was again, that nervous habit.
Slowly, he lowered his fork.
“You okay?” he asked gently, giving you his full attention now. His head tilted ever so slightly, concern softening his features.
You hesitated, “...Can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” he replied automatically before immediately realizing how that sounded.
His ears turned pink.
“I… I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Go ahead.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“There…” you took a small breath, looking down at the folder clutched against your chest before meeting his eyes again. “There's a dorm party tonight.”
Will blinked, a party?
His expression gave away exactly what he thought of that idea.
You hurried on before he could say anything.
“I know,” you said quickly, “You don't really go to parties.”
“And neither do I, but... I was thinking…”
You fidgeted with your sleeve again.
“...Maybe we could go together?”
Will stayed quiet for a moment, and once again you rushed to fill it.
“Just so it's less awkward,” you explained, words tumbling out faster now. “We could stay for a little while, and if it's terrible, we leave!”
You gave a nervous smile, “And if you don't want to go, that's completely okay. I just thought I'd ask.”
Will stared at the floor for a second giving it an honest thought.
A crowded dorm, loud music, many strangers and people talking over each other… the thought alone made his shoulders tense.
Normally, his answer would've been immediate, No, absolutely not.
But then he looked back at you.
You were still there, trying not to look embarrassed for asking.
He knew you well enough to recognise that expression, you expected him to refuse.
He sighed quietly, dragging a hand through his already messy hair.
“...Okay,” he said after a moment.
Your eyebrows shot up, “What…?”
“I'll go.” he said, almost too casually.
You blinked, “...Really?”
The surprise in your voice made him glance away, suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious.
“You don't have to,” you repeated quickly. “Seriously, Will. I don't want you agreeing just because–”
“I know.” he looked back at you with a small, tired smile, “I know I don't have to...I want to go with you.”
The words slipped out before he could think about them.
For a split second, his own sentence seemed to catch him off guard.
He cleared his throat, “I mean… I'd rather go if you're there.”
Your smile softened, and a warm feeling settled in his chest at the sight of it.
You stepped backward toward the door, already reaching for the handle.
“I'll text you the place,” you said with an encouraging smile. “We can walk over together?”
“I'd like that,” he replied without hesitation, meeting your eyes.
You nodded, “Okay… thanks, Will!”
He gave a tiny shrug, suddenly finding his pasta container very interesting.
The words lingered in the room for a moment after you disappeared into the hallway.
Will sat perfectly still.
Then, slowly, a shy smile spread across his face.
He looked down at his pasta before letting out a quiet breath through his nose.
For someone who hated parties...
He had agreed awfully quickly. And somehow, he had the feeling it had very little to do with the party itself.
A few minutes later, his phone buzzed.
> Meet me outside then? :)
He stared at the smiley face for a moment, then he typed back.
> Okay.
> See you soon!
The next half of the day consisted mostly of Will pacing the length of his dorm.
He couldn't concentrate, he even tried working on his report, but he managed exactly three sentences before deleting two of them.
Eventually, he stood in front of the tiny mirror hanging on the back of his door.
His sweater looked fine.
His hair… hopeless as ever.
He ran his fingers through it anyway, only succeeding in making it stick up even more.
“...Good enough,” he sighed.
He grabbed his keys and stepped out into the cool evening air.
The music was audible before he even reached the party. Bass thumped through the walls hard enough that he could almost feel it beneath his shoes.
His stomach sank.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Then he spotted you, you were waiting just outside the door with your hands tucked into your jacket pockets, absentmindedly rocking back and forth on your heels.
When you noticed him approaching, your face brightened.
“There you are,” you said warmly, pushing yourself away from the wall.
Will couldn't help returning a small smile, “I said I'd come,” he replied, slowing to a stop beside you.
“You did.” You looked at him for a moment before smiling to yourself. “I was only about... seventy percent convinced.”
He let out a quiet laugh.
"...Ready?" you asked after a moment, though there was uncertainty in your own voice.
Will glanced sideways at you, “You don't sound very convinced.”
You sighed a bit, “That’s because… I am… as ready as I'm going to be.”
He nodded once, “...Me too.”
Together, you stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the loud noise inside.
Students packed every available space.
Some were dancing.
Others shouted over the music with red plastic cups in hand.
A couple was already making out against the kitchen counter.
Will instinctively stiffened, his shoulders tensing.
You offered him a reassuring smile.
“We're okay,” you said gently, raising your voice just enough for him to hear.
He leaned slightly toward you so he wouldn't have to strain over the music.
“This was definitely a terrible idea.” he said quietly, glancing around the room with wide eyes.
A folding table had been turned into a makeshift drinks station.
You returned a minute later carrying two red plastic cups.
“I found the mystery punch,” you announced, offering him one.
Will accepted it cautiously, glancing into the red cup, “Mystery…?”
You lifted your cup first, an awkward smile on your lips, “Here goes nothing.”
Taking a careful sip, you immediately scrunched up your face, “Eugh… oh” you coughed a bit into your sleeve, “Oh… that’s...that's mostly straight alcohol.”
Will frowned, suspiciously glancing at his cup, “That bad?”
Against his better judgment, he took a sip, his face twisted as the strange mix of alcohol burned down his throat.
He swallowed with visible effort before staring into the cup, “I see…” he deadpanned.
You looked down at the drink for another second.
Then, before he could say anything else, you tipped your head back and drank the entire cup in one go.
“...You…” Will blinked once in disbelief. “...You just drank all of that.”
You lowered the empty cup, “Yeah…”
He reached out almost instinctively, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist before you could take another step.
The gesture was tentative, as though he wasn't entirely sure he was allowed.
“Slow down–” he said, searching your face.
“Are you actually okay?”
You looked up at him, “I’m okay…” you insisted.
Will held your gaze for another moment before letting out a quiet sigh.
“...I'm keeping an eye on you tonight,” he murmured.
You smiled, your heart warming a little at the quiet promise,“I was hoping you wo–”
“There you are!” a familiar voice squealed over the music.
You stumbled half a step before you turned around seeing your friend, “Jenny…” you smiled.
She squeezed you tightly before finally letting go, “I've been looking everywhere for you!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing where she stood.
Will instinctively took a small step back at Jenny's loud ringing voice.
He tightened his grip around his cup, quietly watching the two of you greet each other.
“Hi,” he offered politely when Jenny finally noticed him standing beside you.
“Oh!” Jenny's eyes widened. “Will!”
Will felt oddly self-conscious.
“...Yeah,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.
You noticed the slight tension creeping back into his shoulders.
Jenny, blissfully unaware, launched straight into another story, “Oh my God, you have to hear this, so there's this guy from my sociology class–” she began without stopping for even a breath.
You smiled patiently, nodding along as she rambled about party games, embarrassing stories, and a new crush she'd apparently developed sometime that week.
Will tried his best to follow the conversation.
He really did.
But between the music, the voices, and the alcohol warming his head just enough to make everything feel louder, the words blurred together.
His attention drifted instead toward you.
You kept smiling politely.
Every now and then, your eyes flickered toward him, almost checking to make sure he was still okay.
Each time, he'd give the smallest nod.
Then Jenny clapped her hands together.
“Oh!” she made, her grin growing wide, “You two have to come with me!”
Before either of you could protest, she grabbed your wrist.
Will looked helplessly in your direction, following you now like a lost dog.
But you looked equally confused.
“Jenny,” you laughed nervously, trying not to trip as she pulled you through the crowded room. “What exactly did I just agree to?”
“You'll love it!” she reassured you, but it frankly did little to calm your nerves.
The four of you stopped near a circle of students sitting cross-legged on the floor.
An empty bottle rested in the middle.
Beside it, the storage closet.
Jenny accepted two tiny plastic shot glasses from someone nearby before handing one to each of you.
You frowned down at the clear liquid, “Vodka!” Jenny answered before you had even asked.
“And we're playing…” You glanced between the bottle and the closet before slowly looking back at her.
“...Seven Minutes in Heaven?”
“Exactly!”
Will went very still, his fingers tightened around the tiny cup, his pulse quickening.
A cramped closet.
Seven minutes.
Usually with a stranger.
His mind supplied every awkward possibility,... absolutely not.
He opened his mouth to decline, then he looked over at you, your expression mirrored his almost perfectly, eyes just a little wider than usual and a nervous smile that wasn’t fooling anyone.
You looked every bit as overwhelmed as he felt.
Jenny was already cheering, “Come on!”
You glanced at Will.
“...We don't actually have to do this,” you whispered so only he could hear.
Will looked around the circle, “Do you want to?”
You immediately shook your head, “Not really…”
“...Me neither.”
You sighed before tossing the shot back in one swallow, Will did the same.
Your face scrunched up as the vodka burned your throat.
The two of you settled onto the floor beside the others.
Will sat close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.
Someone reached forward and spun the bottle.
Round and round it went.
Conversation faded into the background as Will watched it slow.
Please don't be me.
Please.
The bottle wobbled once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
Its neck pointed directly at him.
Will stared at it, this really had to be his unlucky day.
“...Oh.” his voice came out barely above a whisper.
Around the circle, a few laughs and cheers erupted.
His stomach sank.
Slowly, he looked toward you.
Your eyes met his immediately.
“...I'm sorry,” you mouthed instinctively, though you weren't entirely sure what you were apologizing for.
Will managed the smallest, most resigned smile.
He wasn't blaming you.
“Well… I guess that's me.” Will said after a long pause, forcing a nervous smile as he looked around the circle.
He rubbed the back of his neck, already feeling the heat creeping into his cheeks.
Someone reached forward and spun the bottle again.
You watched it turn with your stomach in knots.
The bottle slowed, wobbled and then came to a stop, pointing at …you!
“...Uhh.”
The sound escaped you before you could stop it.
You stared at the bottle as though it might somehow change directions.
Your face immediately grew warm at the whispers and cheers of other students.
Will looked just as stunned, his eyes met yours and you almost laughed, not because this was particularly funny, but because it was somehow the least terrible outcome imaginable.
If you had to be locked in a tiny closet with anyone here...
You were relieved it was him.
“I…” You looked back toward the group before awkwardly standing. “Well…”
You smoothed your hands over your pants, trying to give yourself something to do.
“I guess this could've gone worse.”
Will stood a moment later, “...Yeah”
Jenny was already clapping excitedly, “Go on!”
Someone opened the small storage closet beside the group.
It was barely large enough for two people.
You exchanged one last helpless glance with Will.
So together, you stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind you.
It was… small.
Much smaller than either of you had expected.
Shelves lined one wall, filled with forgotten cleaning supplies and cardboard boxes.
The only light came through the thin gap beneath the door, leaving the tiny space bathed in soft shadows.
There wasn't enough room to stand comfortably without almost touching.
You instinctively took half a step backward.
Your shoulder bumped into the wall.
Will shifted to give you more room.
There wasn't any...
“...Sorry,” he murmured automatically.
For a moment, neither of you spoke in the dark silence, from outside you could hear the slightly muffled laughter and music.
Will shifted his weight.
In the cramped space, his shoulder lightly brushed yours.
He immediately stilled. “Sorry–” he said again.
You couldn't help smiling, “You don't have to apologize every time we accidentally touch.”
He looked away for a second, “Alright…”
Something about that made him relax just a little.
After a moment, he cleared his throat, “...It could've been worse.”
You tilted your head.
“I mean… you could've ended up in here with someone you don't know.” he clarified.
You laughed quietly, “Or some guy who thinks this game is an excuse to shove his tongue down my throat.”
Will visibly grimaced, “Yeah… that would've been awful.”
“It would've.”
You shifted your feet, trying to get comfortable.
There wasn't enough room.
Your balance faltered slightly, “Oh–”
Before you could stumble into one of the shelves, a hand gently caught your forearm.
Will had reached out instinctively.
His fingers rested lightly against your sleeve, steady enough to keep you upright.
“You okay?”
You looked down at where his hand rested on your arm, then back up at him.
“...Yeah, thanks”
Only then did Will seem to realise he was still touching you, holding you, his eyes widened, “Sorry–”
You laughed under your breath, feeling the slight awkwardness ease a bit.
Because… you were simply alone with your friend, … something that, to both of you, was becoming far more precious than either was ready to admit.
Will let out a slow breath, “...How long do you think we've got left?”
“...Five minutes?” you guessed with a small shrug. “Maybe.”
He sighed, “...Right.”
There was nowhere to look without looking at each other.
Nowhere to step without brushing shoulders.
“...Why do people actually enjoy this?” he wondered aloud, glancing toward the closed door.
“I think… most people probably spend these seven minutes making out.” you pointed out.
Will felt his ears burn red, “Oh– right.”
You noticed the faint flush creeping up his neck, a smile tugging at your lips, “You didn't think about that?”
He gave the smallest shake of his head, “Not really–”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Mostly… about how small this room is.” he glanced around the tiny closet.
His shoulders rose in a tiny shrug and you couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
“Will… if it's too much… we can just leave,” you said with a reassuring smile.
Without really thinking, you reached out through the darkness.
Your hand found the front of his sweater first, you halted, “Sorry– I was aiming for your shoulder.”
Will looked down.
Even through the fabric, he could feel the warmth of your hand resting lightly against his chest.
Then you slid your hand upward until it rested gently on his shoulder.
“There,” you chuckled, “Found it.”
You gave his shoulder a reassuring pat and instead of pulling away immediately, your hand lingered there for another moment.
Almost without thinking, his own hand lifted, carefully resting lightly over yours.
Your eyes drifted down to where his fingers covered yours.
Then back up to him.
Neither of you said anything.
There wasn't really anything to say.
The dim strip of light beneath the door caught the side of his face, soft enough that you could finally make out his expression.
His cheeks were pink.
His eyes refused to stay on yours for more than a second before darting away again.
Your fingers curled gently around his, making his heart give a slow, unfamiliar thud against his ribs.
Will looked back at your face.
Even in the darkness, he could just make out the outline of your features.
The way a loose strand of hair had fallen across your cheek.
The softness in your eyes whenever you looked at him.
His chest felt strangely tight.
You looked toward the door for a moment before speaking again, you laughed nervously under your breath, “This is probably going to sound really stupid.”
Will perked up hearing that, and you took a deep breath, continuing, “I was just thinking...if everyone outside expects us to... you know…”
Your cheeks warmed at even the thought of it, “...Kiss.”
The word came out barely above a whisper. Will's heart skipped and you hurried to explain yourself, but it didn’t really help your case.
“I'm not saying we have to.” you laughed awkwardly, “Actually– I'm not even sure why I said that out loud.”
You looked down at your shoes, “I just…I wondered what would happen if we did.”
The tiny room fell completely silent.
Will stared at you.
He wasn't sure he'd heard you correctly.
His pulse was suddenly loud enough that he could hear it in his ears.
Slowly, he took half a step closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough to try and make out your expression.
“...you would want that?” he asked quietly.
“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.”
He swallowed, a small little “Okay…” barely making it past his lips.
Awkwardly the two of you moved just the tiniest bit closer, you leaned forward first, your lips brushing his, softly. Will froze completely at first, his mind seemingly blank for a long moment.
Then, very cautiously, he kissed you back.
He wasn't particularly skilled.
If anything, he was almost painfully careful.
As though he was terrified of doing something wrong.
You smiled into the kiss.
His hand, still loosely holding yours, squeezed gently.
The kiss lingered for another second.
Then another.
Without thinking, he lifted his free hand.
“...Can I?” he whispered against your lips, his voice almost inaudible.
You looked at him for a second before realizing what he meant.
“You can,” you whispered back with a smile.
Only then did his fingertips settle lightly against your waist.
When you shifted your weight, the cramped space forced you both backward.
Will's shoulders bumped lightly against the wall with a muted thump.
You instinctively steadied yourself by resting your hands against the front of his sweater.
Eventually, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath.
You smiled shyly, “I don't think anyone's ever going to believe we spent seven minutes in here just talking.”
“...Probably not.” Will muttered, “I should probably admit something…”
He rubbed the back of his neck “...That was my first real kiss.”
The confession hung in the air.
Your expression softened immediately, “It was?” you asked.
He nodded once, looking almost painfully bashful, “...Was it that obvious?”
“...No.”
You gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
Will searched your face for a moment, almost as if he were trying to convince himself that the kiss had actually happened.
"...Can I kiss you again?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I was hoping you would," you admitted.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in once more, the kiss coming easier than the first.
His free hand found your arm before sliding, almost absentmindedly, to rest lightly against your waist again.
His heart felt like it might beat straight out of his chest.
You reached up, gently brushing a curl away from his forehead before letting your fingers linger in his hair.
Will's breath caught almost imperceptibly, he'd never really been touched like this before.
Without thinking, he leaned ever so slightly into your hand.
“...This is… very new..” he breathed against your lips, clearly nervous.
You nodded in agreement.
A loud knock rattled the closet door.
“Time's up!” someone called from outside, laughter carrying through the wood.
Before either of you could react, the door swung open.
Bright light spilled into the tiny closet.
Both of you instinctively stepped apart.
Will immediately ran a hand through his already messy hair, trying to look as though nothing had happened.
His cheeks were unmistakably flushed.
Yours probably were too.
A chorus of teasing cheers erupted from the group gathered outside.
“There they are!”
“Took you long enough!”
Neither of you had any idea what expression you were supposed to make.
You stepped out of the closet first.
The music hit you all over again.
The lights suddenly felt much brighter than before.
So many people were looking at you.
Your stomach flipped.
For a second, you simply stood there, unsure what to do next.
“...You okay?” Will asked gently, concern written plainly across his face.
You startled slightly, then you looked at him and nodded.
“Yeah,” you said, though your voice sounded quieter than usual, “I just…”
“I think I need a minute.”
He nodded in understanding.
You glanced toward the front door, “...I'm going to go outside.”
He frowned slightly, “For some air?”
“...And maybe a cigarette.”
The words surprised even you a little. You hardly ever smoked. Only when you were especially stressed.
Will's eyes lingered on you for a moment.
He knew that.
In the two years he'd known you, he'd only ever seen you smoke a handful of times.
Usually after a terrible exam.
His brows drew together.
“...Okay,” he said gently, giving a small nod. “Just... be careful.”
You looked at him for a second.
There was something almost disappointed in the way he'd said it,as though he thought you wanted to be alone.
“I thought…” you said carefully, “...you'd come with me.”
Will blinked, then nodded, almost shy.
“...Yeah,” he answered a little too quickly.
Then, realising how eager he'd sounded, he rubbed the back of his neck, “I mean… I’d like that.”
The two of you quietly slipped away from the students.
“Don't disappear!” Jenny called after you.
“I'll be back later!” you promised, waving over your shoulder before pushing open the front door.
The music disappeared the moment it closed behind you. You descended the stairs in silence until you pushed out of the main entrance, and the cool evening air greeted you instead.
The sudden quiet felt almost startling after the chaos inside.
Then, you wandered toward a weathered wooden bench outside.
You sat first and Will settled beside you, leaving just enough space between you to be polite.
You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes.
Will recognised it immediately. He was sure you'd had that same pack since autumn.
There were still only a few missing.
You tapped a cigarette free before lighting it.
The end glowed orange.
You took a slow inhale.
Almost immediately… you coughed.
“...Every time,” you muttered, laughing quietly at yourself.
Will smiled a bit, “You'd think it'd get easier…”
You leaned back against the bench, letting the smoke drift into the cool evening air.
“I'd rather never get used to them.” you mumbled.
For a little while, you simply sat together.
You looked down at the cigarette between your fingers.
“I…” you began quietly. “I don't know why I kissed you.”
The confession came out in a rush.
“I mean– I know why I kissed you.”
You looked away toward the campus lawn.
“I just…” you smiled awkwardly, “I hadn't planned to.”
Will was quiet for a long moment.
He watched the smoke curl into the night before speaking.
“...Neither had I…” Will said quietly.
After a moment, Will glanced toward you again, “...For what it's worth… I'm really glad it was you.”
You felt your cheeks warm, “...Yeah?”
He nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I don't think…” He looked down for a second before meeting your eyes again. “...I would've wanted it to be with anyone else.”
Your smile softened until it almost hurt.
You reached over without thinking, your fingers finding his hand where it rested on the bench between you.
This time, when your fingers intertwined, Will looked down at your joined hands before smiling quietly to himself.
“...Me neither,” you admitted.
After another drag from your cigarette, you glanced sideways at him.
“I'm guessing you don't really want to go back to the party after this?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips.
Will looked back toward the dorm building, where the muffled bass still vibrated through the walls. He didn't even have to think about the answer.
“...Not really,” he admitted, shaking his head.
He leaned back against the bench, looking up at the darkening sky for a moment before continuing.
“...Can I ask you something?” you asked suddenly.
Will turned to you immediately.
“Yeah,” he answered without hesitation.
You hesitated, rolling the cigarette slowly between your fingers.
“You haven't…” you paused, searching for the right words, “...Done it yet.”
You looked over at him carefully, “Right?”
The question caught him completely off guard, colour creeping into his cheeks almost instantly.
He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb absently across his knuckles before giving a small, embarrassed nod.
“...No,” he admitted quietly, “I just...never met the right person."
The confession left him feeling strangely exposed.
He glanced toward you, half-expecting you to laugh, instead you looked just as flustered as him.
“...Me neither.” you admitted.
He blinked, almost confused, he knew you were… a bit more on the socially awkward side, but he surely thought you…
“You haven't?”
You shook your head, “No. I guess we're both a little behind everyone else…”
“...Maybe.”
There wasn't an ounce of judgment in either of your voices.
You took another slow drag from the cigarette before letting the smoke drift lazily upward.
Will found himself watching the pale wisps disappear into the night, though his attention kept wandering back to you instead.
The soft glow of the streetlamp caught the side of your face.
He wondered if you were thinking about the kiss.
He knew he was.
It kept replaying in his head whether he wanted it to or not.
The way you'd smiled at him afterward.
The warmth of your hand in his.
The fact that you'd kissed him at all.
“...We should probably head back,” he said eventually, though there wasn't much conviction behind the suggestion.
You nodded, taking one last drag before stubbing the cigarette out beneath your shoe.
“...Probably.”
You both stood.
Your shoulders nearly brushed every few steps, neither of you making any effort to increase the distance.
The music grew louder as you approached the entrance.
Will reached the door first and instinctively held it open for you.
You hesitated in front of the door, “...We don't actually have to stay.” you said with a shrug.
“...My room?” Will suggested immediately.
Then, worried he'd sounded too eager, he quickly added, “I mean– if that's alright with you.”
“I was hoping you'd say that.”
Something warm settled in his chest, he smiled back without even realizing it.
The walk across campus felt much shorter this time.
“It was way too loud in there anyway,” you said with a relieved sigh, slipping your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you walked beside him.
Will glanced over at you and nodded in agreement.
“It really was.”
After a brief pause, you smiled to yourself.
“I actually downloaded this new research paper earlier today.”
You looked over at him, your eyes brightening with familiar enthusiasm.
“It's about post-mortem decomposition in freezing temperatures!” you told him excitedly, “I haven't finished reading it yet, but it looked really interesting.”
Will couldn't help smiling.
Somehow, after everything that had happened tonight, the idea of sitting together and reading forensic research felt oddly comforting.
It was familiar.
A few minutes later, Will unlocked the door to his dorm.
The room greeted you with the same familiar quiet it always had, and looked just exactly how it did that morning when you visited him.
He quietly slipped off his shoes before sitting down on the edge of his bed.
Closing the door behind you, you slipped your own shoes off before settling beside him on the mattress.
The space between your shoulders was noticeably smaller than it would've been that morning.
You unlocked your phone and opened the article.
“Look…” you said, immediately slipping back into the animated tone Will knew so well.
“The researchers compared decomposition rates in sustained sub-zero environments with bodies recovered during seasonal thawing.”
You scrolled through the introduction as you spoke.
“They're arguing that freezing doesn't stop decomposition nearly as much as people assume… it mostly delays certain stages.”
Will leaned closer, his attention immediately captured.
“What sample size?”
“Forty-three documented cases.”
He nodded thoughtfully, “That's actually better than I expected.”
“I thought so too.”
The conversation settled into a familiar rhythm almost effortlessly.
You explained the methodology while he occasionally interrupted with questions and remarks.
Neither of you even noticed how close together you'd become while looking at the phone.
“Look at this,” you said excitedly, enlarging one of the figures on the screen.
“They graphed the decomposition rates over time.”
You angled the phone so he could see it better.
“The curve changes completely after prolonged freezing.”
Will leaned in until your heads were nearly level.
His eyes followed the graph carefully, “Hm.”
He reached over to scroll farther down the paper, reading through it with genuine interest.
“They even controlled for clothing insulation,” he murmured.
“And burial depth…” you added.
He nodded approvingly.
After a while, you looked up from the article.
Will was still reading the screen with complete concentration, his brow faintly furrowed as he worked through one of the statistical tables.
A fond smile tugged at your lips.
Almost at the same time, he slowly looked up and turned toward you.
Neither of you had realised quite how close you'd drifted together while reading.
There were only a few inches between you now.
Close enough that you could see the tiny flecks of green mixed into his blue eyes.
Close enough that he noticed the small smile still lingering on your lips.
Will searched your expression carefully.
“You've gone quiet,” he murmured.
You giggled, “So have you.”
He let out a small breath through his nose, “...I'm thinking.”
“About?”
He hesitated for a second, “...Whether I can kiss you again.”
The question was so earnest that your heart almost melted.
“You don't have to ask every time.”
“I know.”
He smiled shyly.
“...I still want to.”
You reached over, gently leaning forward, your lips meeting in a slow kiss.
His fingertips rested lightly against your cheek.
You leaned into his touch.
The kiss lingered for several quiet seconds before you finally pulled back just enough to breathe.
“Will…”
You looked at him for another moment before gently brushing a curl away from his forehead.
“I like kissing you.”
The confession made his cheeks immediately flush.
Before he could overthink it, he leaned in once more.
This kiss was different from the others.
It was slower, more intimate. A sigh escaped him, a low murmur against your mouth that felt like an invitation.
You deepened the kiss, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips.
He parted them willingly, a soft groan escaping him. You tasted a hint of something sweet from the party punch, but mostly, you tasted him.
He fumbled a little, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer.
You lifted yourself, willingly so, planting yourself in his lap, one leg on either side of his hip.
Will moaned again, an almost pathetic sound leaving him as just the press of your hips against him caused him to let it out.
You felt a flutter of something hot bloom in your chest.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged.
He looked so… flushed. And.. desperate.The realisation of what was happening, of how quickly things had escalated, hit you with a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the passion of the kiss.
“I… I’m sorry,” Will stammered, his voice rough, his gaze falling away from yours, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson.
He looked more than flustered, almost panicked.
“I shouldn’t have… if you don’t want to, I understand. I just…” he trailed off, his hands leaving your sides, “I can stop. I didn’t mean to– I just…”
The vulnerability in his eyes, the slight tremor in his voice … it was a potent mix.
Without another thought, you leaned forward again, your lips finding his before he could spiral further into his own self-doubt.
The kiss was you telling him, without words, that this was exactly what you wanted.
And then, with an impulse you couldn’t explain, you shifted.
Before Will could fully process what happened, you were pressing him against the mattress, straddling his hips.
The movement was a little clumsy, a little awkward, but the effect was immediate.
Will let out a choked sound, his eyes flying open, wide with surprise.
His hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, now seemed to have nowhere to go.
“You can,” you breathed against his lips, your voice a little breathless, “put your hands on my hips.”
He hesitated for a moment, his breath catching.
Then, slowly, his hands began to move. They lifted, trembling slightly, and then settled onto your hips.
The initial touch was so light, you almost didn’t feel it. But then, as if gathering courage, he squeezed.
The pressure sent a wave of heat through you, a delicious contrast to his earlier nervousness.
You leaned into his touch, your own hands now tangling in his hair.
The kiss deepened, your lips moving against his.
His breath hitched with each movement of your hips, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips, a silent plea for you to continue.
Then, your fingers found the first button of his shirt.
That small movement seemed to electrify the air between you.
You fumbled slightly, your nerves finally catching up to the adrenaline coursing through you.
Will’s breath hitched again, a soft, questioning sound against your mouth.
His eyes flickered open, his gaze almost confused, fixed on your hands at his chest. “What… what are you doing?” he whispered, his voice a little rough.
You paused, your fingers still on the button.
“You don’t have to,” you said softly, your voice laced with a warmth you hadn’t expected. “But we can… do it together. If you want to.”
He looked at your hands, then back at your face, as if searching for an answer.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
He leaned in again, closing the distance between your mouths,
When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, his hands were still firm on your hips, his eyes searching yours.
“Can I… touch you?” he asked, his voice a low vulnerable rumble.
You met his gaze, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“Yes,” you breathed.
And with that, you began to pull your own shirt over your head, the fabric sliding away to reveal the soft skin beneath.
The cool air of the room was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from your skin.
Will’s eyes widened as he drank in the sight of you topless, straddling him now.
He felt his entire face redden with colour and he drew a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper as he asked, “I… I want to taste you. Properly.”
They almost slipped from his mouth, like he forgot he was so nervous just a moment ago.
It sent a jolt of heat right through you, leaving you momentarily breathless, blush creeping up your neck.
“I mean… I’ve… I’ve never…” he began, his voice trailing off, the uncertainty returning, “Done… that.”
You reached out, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “You can try it,” you said softly.
With that, you shifted, carefully sliding off his hips and laying back on the bed, the sheets cool against your skin.
Will watched you, his eyes wide and a little anxious.
He moved, his fingers fumbling a little as he undid the button of your jeans, then the zipper. He slid them down your legs, followed by your panties, his touch feather-light.
He hovered between your legs for a moment, an awkward stillness in his posture.
You could feel his gaze on you, so exposed now, in front of him.
You pressed your knees together, unsure if you should open them for him, but the wetness suddenly dripping between your legs told you to spread open.
Very slowly you let your knees fall to the side, Will seemed to inspect you for a moment before he dragged a finger through your folds, his touch sent shivers up your spine.
He was clearly unsure of what to do.
Then, he scooted back slightly, leaning down, his breath now warm against your inner thighs.
You could feel the heat of his face, and a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over you.
He lowered his head, his lips brushing against your wet folds, hesitant at first.
You could feel his uncertainty, but his hot breath against your wet core made your hips twitch instinctively against his face.
He slowly leaned in and licked over your clit, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
The sensation was soft, surprising, and undeniably good.
You couldn’t help the small sound of content that escaped you.
“How does that feel?” he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled.
“Really good,” you breathed.
He did it again, his tongue circling your bundle of nerves, a slow, teasing movement.
You felt a flush of heat bloom deep within you.
You could feel him lean in more, his tongue now dragging a fat stripe over your wet hole, exploring and tasting.
“You taste… warm,” he mumbled after a moment, “And sweet.”
His words were lost in another slow, deliberate lick, and you arched against his face, a soft moan escaping your lips.
You could feel the slickness of his mouth, pleasure washing over you as his tongue circled your clit.
Your hands rested against his head, digging into the soft strands of his curls and giving a gentle tug.
Will groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your skin, and you felt him press closer, encouraged by your reaction.
Then, you felt his thumb brushing against your clit.
His lips glistened with your wetness as he pulled back slightly.
“Can I… put a finger inside?” he asked, his voice rough and low.
You nodded, your breath catching in your throat.
“Carefully,” you whispered.
He slowly circled your fluttering hole with one finger before slowly easing it into you.
You tensed for a moment, a small gasp escaping your lips.
The feeling was intensely new, even if the sensation wasn't entirely unfamiliar. You'd never had someone else inside you before.
“Is that… okay?” he asked, his thumb still stroking your clit.
“Yes,” you breathed.
He licked over your swollen clit again, a long, deep stroke that made you arch into him.
He gently began to move the finger inside you, while his tongue continued its blissful work.
The combination was almost too much. You felt yourself spiraling, the pleasure building like a white hot fever in your stomach.
You twisted in the sheets, Will slowly curled the finger inside you, his tongue lapping at your bundle of nerves, making you suck in ragged breaths as the pleasure became incredibly intense.
You gasped for breath, your hips bucking against his face, your hands gripping his hair tighter as you moaned his name.
“Will… oh– fuck– Will…”
Your orgasm crashed over you as Will finger fucked you, the sound of his tongue lapping up your wetness almost an obscene sticky sound.
He didn’t stop, pleasuring you through your orgasm, leaving you breathless and trembling, your body humming with residual sensation.
But, it seemed like Will was still focused on you, continuing, but you flinched back slightly.
“Will,” you gasped, your voice shaky, “I– I already came.”
He paused, his tongue still lingering, then pulled back, removing his finger from your clenching hole, his lips glistening.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He sat up and looked at you, you felt blush bloom across your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, still melting from the intensity of your climax.
You could quite clearly see the tent straining against the fabric of his pants.
Despite that, he seemed almost oblivious, his attention solely fixed on you.
He looked utterly fascinated by you and your reaction.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Can I... do it again?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
You let out a breathy laugh.
“Give me a second,” you managed, still trying to regain your composure. You patted the space on the bed next to your head, “Come here.”
He shifted, moving to lie beside you, his hip brushing against yours.
You nuzzled into his chest, burying your face in the soft fabric of his flannel shirt.
You pressed little kisses to his neck, inhaling his scent. Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, and you began to unbutton them, one by one.
As you did, you looked up at him, “Don't you want to feel good too?” you whispered.
Will nodded a bit too eagerly, his gaze flickering down to his lap before he scrambled to pull off his jeans, leaving him in a pair of slightly worn, grey boxers with fish on them.
You couldn't help but smile, “Those are cute…”
He flushed deeper, a mortified look on his face.
“They're old,” he mumbled, trying to defend them, tugging at the waistband.
“If you don't like them,” you offered shyly, “you can take them off.”
He hesitated for a moment, then, with a quick movement, he slipped them off.
Softly you leaned in to kiss him again, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue.
Your hand moved over his side, carefully and hesitantly reaching between your hot bodies, you cupped his flushed cock, gently pumping it a few times when his hips moved closer to yours.
He felt impossibly electric, almost like it was… too much.
But, he didn’t feel like he could ask you to stop right there… how pathetic would it be for him to ask you for a break already. You had barely even touched him.
Softly he pushed your hand away, breaking the kiss as he gasped for air, “Will–” you interrupted, afraid you made him uncomfortable.
But Will just sat up, kneeling between your legs as he pushed them apart.
“Can I put it inside…?” he panted against the skin of your neck. You nodded carefully, “Yes…”
Your pussy was hot and inviting, slick from your orgasm. He was almost shaky, lining himself up with you, feeling your opening flutter around his already leaky tip.
“Will… you can go slow…” you tried to reassure him, your hand brushing over his jaw. He nodded wordlessly, eyes clenching shut as if he braced himself for something horrible.
He pushed forward, easing his tip in betweenUn your folds, causing you to both tense and moan at the stretch of his cock.
At first he seemed to go incredibly slow, trying to ease himself in inch by inch until about halfway through you let out a gasp.
You fluttered and clenched around him, your nails scratching into the skin of his shoulderblades.
Then, it was a blur, almost involuntarily, he buried himself to the hilt, a desperate, instinctive push inside of you.
He swore, in that moment, he'd never felt anything like your hot core around him.
You were so warm, so wet, so incredibly tight.
Fuck.
His head fell forward, landing in the crook of your neck, he was panting, gasping and whimpering already.
At the sudden fullness inside of you, you let out a loud moan, “Fuck– Will–”
And it wasn’t helping him…. at all.
Your nails dug deeper into his shoulder, the other one raking through his brown curls.
You clenched and unclenched around him, slowly getting used to the hot stretch that began to feel like pleasure and less like pain.
He had to pull himself away from you to stop the tentative pull of your hands through his hair, he didn’t even knowing having his strands pulled on had that effect on him but it made his head spin and his cock twitch dangerously.
He felt so unbelievably weak, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips.
“Will?” you breathed raspily, looking up at him through half lidded eyes and flushed cheeks.
You didn’t want him to feel bad, or like he was hurting you, maybe he thought you needed a moment to adjust.
“It feels good…” you encouraged him, your voice breathless.
“Feels really good…” you praised and the words had his cock twitch incredibly hard inside you.
“Ah– I–” he whimpered, feeling your hands grasp for him again, he braced one hand beside your head, trying to hold as still as he could, and not look at your pleasure filled expression.
“I just– I…” he sounded pathetic stumbling over his words again and again. “Just… need a minute…” he forced out.
He breathed hot and heavy, almost ragged and vulnerable. He really wanted to please you, and just moments before that had been easier than he anticipated, but now… it felt almost impossible.
He felt like if he just moved one bit he would feel… too good and come.
“Will…” you cooed gently, one leg wrapping around his hip, he had to bite his lip hard to not give in.
He whined at the sound of your voice, almost feeling stupid for how pathetic he was acting.
“Just– a bit–” he repeated, trying to block out the sense of warmth and tightness that enveloped him.
He stayed incredibly still, almost feeling bad for denying you, but if he moved now he would embarrass himself.
Will sucked in another ragged breath, his fist clenching the pillow behind your head, blinking away wet hot overwhelming tears that formed in his eyes.
“Ah… Will– it’s okay… come on–” you moaned, the leg around his hip pulling him closer.
Immediately his hips stuttered into you, he staggered, stilling again, feeling the heat of you clench around him.
“Wait–” he rasped, glancing down at where he sat buried inside of you.
The sight alone of his happy trail brushing against your lower stomach and the part where he connected with you, was enough to make him whimper again.
He clenched his eyes shut trying to focus on anything but how easy your wetness made it to slide into you. How you clenched around him, wanted him deeper.
“Maybe... maybe we could switch positions?” you suggested softly, your voice a little breathless, “If that would help?”
Will's eyes fluttered open, a flicker of desperate hope in them.
He nodded shakily, and with a groan he pulled out of you, his already flushed tip red and glistening with precum.
He used the moment of separation to press his mouth to yours, a desperate, almost frantic kiss.
He needed to calm down, still the raging pleasure inside him for a moment.
You kissed him back, lips and tongue moving together, and slowly the urgency in him began to calm to a more manageable level of desire.
He laid back down, the sheets cool against his skin, and you hovered over him.
Slowly you lined him up with you, and with a careful movement, you lowered yourself down on him.
His twitchy cock slid in much easier this time, but the initial stretch still made you tense for a moment.
Will felt a sliver of confidence return.
He was still… feeling good, but he felt more in control, less on the edge of an immediate, embarrassing release.
“Can I move?” you asked, your voice a low hum against his ear.
He nodded, a shaky exhale escaping him.
Slowly you moved on him, lifting your hips up and down in slow circles, the movements making your thighs burn delicately.
While at first he felt slightly more confident, that faded incredibly fast, not only was he objected to seeing your hot and flushed form move on him, that expression of pleasure etched onto your face, but also the feeling from before returned rather quickly.
After your first few movements, his hips snapped up into you, an involuntary reaction.
He gasped, a whiny sound, and stammered, “Wait, wait a second–”
But it was too late.
The building pressure, the exquisite friction, the sheer bliss of your puffy pussy clenching around him… it was too much.
You felt him buck his hips into yours again, and a sudden warmth filled you up.
“Ah– ah– fuck–” Will choked, his eyes squeezing shut as his hands clenched your thighs harder now.
His hips buckled and fucked up into you as he moaned and whined.
You halted, almost confused, and the warm leaking sensation made you flutter around him, still you were… surprised.
Will was… incredibly shaky and embarrassed, “I– I’m sorry–” he stuttered, looking entirely horrified.
“I'm so, so sorry–” he choked out, his face red.
“I didn't mean to... I just... you felt so good,” he gasped, a pathetic whimper escaping him as he tried to catch his breath, still feeling shaky from his sudden climax.
“You felt so good, I couldn't... I couldn't hold back anymore…” he tried to explain, utterly humiliated, the words tumbling out in a jumbled, pathetic mess.
He let out another broken whimper, still feeling the aftershocks of pleasure that only made his shame worse.
You frankly were… surprised how quick you even made him come, but your expression softened into understanding.
“It's okay, Will,” you murmured, your voice gentle as you leaned down, wrapping your arms around him.
He nuzzled into your chest, his body still trembling slightly.
You stroked his hair, letting him rest against you.
“Don't worry about it,” you continued softly. “Really. It happens.”
He let out a shaky sigh, his voice muffled against your skin.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered shamefully.
You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a soft smile on your lips. “There's no need,” you said.
“But,” you added playfully, “we could go again anytime…”
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hannibal nbc taglist . . .‧˚꒰🔦꒱༘‧ @ilovehorror-18 @kashimeowr @afw5 @andyinthemiddleofsixx @robertthehoover @sebbymybaby21 @luanniidae
a/n: what monster have I created here? girl idk... please take it with a grain of salt ive been writing this for ages now and I cant be asked to proof read it so... its #whatever
The BEST trope is when a character tells another “let’s run away together, we can leave all of this behind and start a new life somewhere” and gets rejected. And then the rest of the tragedy unfolds
summary . will isn't keen on hurting you, but he can compromise by using the threat of it.
tw . gun play, fear play, light dom/sub, soft dom to sub top will, pre canon, established relationship
wc . 1k
You were scared. You were scared, and he endeared it.
He shifted back in his chair, his legs apart. With a whisper of a tut, he coaxed you to look at his thighs, his fingertips gliding over a gun. There weren't any bullets, of course—he wouldn't do that to his sweet girl—but he knows he can scare you into thinking it. Just by barely pressing his finger on the trigger.
His legs part farther to accommodate for you, kneeled between his legs. You could see how badly he wanted to touch you. How his breath shifted, he couldn't hide it, he never could.
His foot purposely rests between your thighs, far enough for him to notice if you try to get off. Inches away from acting out, where if you did, he'd know.
Carefully, softly, he picked up the gun. It was cold on your cheek, and he lightly slapped it against you to keep you focused. He pressed harder when you whined, in turn making him sigh.
"What did I tell you?" He soothes you with a stroke of the barrel, nudging it near your lips. "Open. Open your mouth. What'd I tell you?" He repeats, watching you follow sweetly, kitten licking around the muzzle. It earns approval, another sigh from him that makes you feel lighter.
He keeps the muzzle on your tongue, just a bit too big for you. He inches it deeper, but not far enough to hurt your jaw. How badly he wants to praise you.
After you wet the barrel enough to his liking, he gently pulls it out from your mouth. "Lie back, on the bed," He's already getting up, tutting your face away from his groin, painfully hard in his slacks. He quickly fixes his glasses and watches you scramble for his approval that you love so much. He barely chuckles, sitting on his knees and spreading your own apart. You're able to push away the gun with your heel, where he laughs again, gripping.
"Cheeky," His grin falls, picking it up and shooing your ankle away with another hit of the barrel. He keeps your legs apart with his other hand, threatening to hurt you if you don't comply. "I'm nice to you, why don't you listen?" In anticipation, you start to squirm and flail, Will splaying a hand over your ribs to keep you down, then up further near your chest. The pressure forces you to calm your breathing.
He looks into your eyes, in a way that begs for consent, and the gleam in yours confirms it.
Will drags the tip of the gun down your ribcage, tilting the gun upwards to deprave you of its touch. "You don't deserve my hands," It trails down, slower, until you can feel the cold barrel right through your panties. They're soaked through, and he slides it between your folds, neglecting your clit. His thumb strokes on your chest, humming knowingly.
"..That's right. I know, honey. I know," He meets your lifting hips with presses just as hard, your moans making him strain in his pants. "I know, I know, shh, shh, shh.."
He's entranced for a bit, here. How you're so willing to listen to him, when he makes you. You're so sweet that it makes him sick, and he gives in.
He carefully leans over you, his hand nudging underneath your head to cradle it, meeting you in a tender kiss. It's slow, but it's wanting, the gun presses harder again before it's gone. His fingers are a bit more urgent. They're careful when they pull your panties aside, groaning into your lips when he feels you cry on his fingers. The sensation makes you buck, and he shushes you again.
The blood running to his cock is making him dizzy, along with your tongue prodding in his mouth; he always put you first, until he couldn't anymore. He quickly pulls his touch away to fumble with his pants, his dick flushed and crying. Will moans just from the relief, hiking your hips further towards him on the bed with a tug of your thigh.
He continues using your mouth as a muzzle, coaxing your sex to stretch on his fingers as he sinks a finger inside, giving you the heel of his palm to grind on. Hums of praises vibrate through you again when you flutter, Will pulling away to rest his head against yours with labored breaths.
Almost impatiently, he slowly sinks inside of you, Will needing to close his eyes out of pure bliss; you were always so warm, it drove him insane. His cock twitches erratically as he struggles to bottom out, spurred by your fingers in his dark curls. Weak groans follow once he starts moving, taking you into another kiss.
He always tries to be slow, with you. His hips drag, your hips barely kissing each time, though he indulges and sinks deeper every few. His nape is warm when you pull him closer, his kisses growing messy and hot the longer he fucks you, cooing praises just like the first time you took him.
He pulls away to suck your throat, along the side of your neck, busying himself through pleasure he can't express; the scruff of his beard scratches you there, which he soothes with more kisses. Moans follow from the two of you, Will feeling you squeeze again—he gets faster, as far as his sluggish body will take him, purposefully grinding to stimulate your swollen clit.
Will moans abruptly the moment you clench down on him through your orgasm, your nails biting into his shoulders. He keeps his hips flush to your own, feeling your rampant pulse on his lips; it's exactly what he wanted, to edge you or make you cum until you cried. Because then, he knows you trust him.
Will grows sloppy and noisy, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, whimpering as he felt his orgasm coiling. As sappy as it was, being unraveled by you was his favorite part, losing control knowing you'd take care of him. He came with a weak moan, the blood in his cock draining all thought from him, if he had any left.
Will feels pity. He really does. Seeing you squirm under his hold. Being the target of his stress relief was not something you thought you would be at first but here you both are.
His eyes staring down at you, almost mocking. His forearm under your head as his thumb slightly brushed your cheek. The soft skin under his roughened palm. Looking so pretty, cheeks damp with tears. Sometimes brushing them away with his touch.
His other hand in-between your legs. One leg on top of yours to refrain you from closing them. The sounds echoed the quietness of his cabin. Sometimes a bark or two but his mind was not at that.
It was at the soft mewls leaving your lips. His fingers slowly teasing that soft spongy spot. Over and over. Coaxing everything you had to offer. "C'mon baby, one more."
"can't Will— s'too much—", you softly sobbed. Your legs threatening to close. Shaking when you straighten them. You couldn't even coax another plea before feeling the burn of another orgasm. Your eyes closing, another cry leaving your lips.
"there we go. .", Will cooed. Pulling his hands out before paying attention to your clit. Rubbing lazy circles. "Such a pretty girl for me", he placed a soft kiss on your damp cheek. His lips widening into a smile against your skin.
Your hips squirming while his fingers still worked on your clit. "so eager, want more?", he teased. Your whining making him laugh. He finally relented, having you spent as he brought his fingers to his lips. Licking them clean with a deep hum. "Taste so sweet, always so sweet for me", he whispered as he leaned down pressing his lips with her.
His tongue pushing against yours, making you taste yourself on his tongue. Pulling back as he traced your lips with his tongue before smiling. "So good for me", he praised before pulling you close. Letting you curl up against his chest as he pulled the sheets over the both of you.
Every thought that weigh his mind disappeared. The only thing that occupied it now was you. Everything about you was his hearts demise.
synopsis: dazai realizes something about himself, and he doesn't know how to tell you; however, it isn't nearly as bad as you thought it would be. it doesn't stop you from teasing him, though.
introduction: this is but the beginning to unleashing whatever monster lays in waiting deep in the crevices of his cracking mind. and my dear, you seem dead set on letting it come out to play.
i don't really have an explanation for this other than i just wanted to make him a somno freak. it's his birthday, but this a gift from me to you - xoxo, ghxst.
contents: ~7.9k words; nsfw cnc somnophilia; fem, afab!reader; talkative, mean bf!pervzai; reader does willingly and consensually take medication to stay asleep; a bit of primal dazai(?); cervix hitting; mutual obsession. just the two needing one another like hormonal teenagers.
a/n: this is severely late, but better than never. also, kind of proofread. it's after 2 am.
Dazai has a secret he has been keeping from you, one that isn’t too serious to him, but is still concerned you may not like it – not into it like he is. He thinks you’re pretty all the time and means it with sincerity when he thinks all the time. He doesn’t sleep much as it is, mind wandering, replaying his life behind his eyelids like a movie, staring at the ceiling to count imaginary sheep, but nothing exhausts him quite like you do. Almost immediately after you two are done having sex, whether it was intense and rough or lazy and maybe even loving, he’s down for the count, napping away wherever he lands, and can get at least a few good handfuls of hours in to rest.
At night, when he’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling or out the window, and you’re snoozing away beside him with your face half-nuzzled into the pillow and body curled up under the blanket, that’s when he thinks you’re the prettiest. Your lashes resting on the swells of your cheeks, lips subconsciously pouty or parted, nose crinkling or eyebrows wrinkling as dreams past by your REM distorted brain, your shirt riding up or opening up more from a couple loose buttons, your shorts doing the same – if you wear any. He can’t help staring at you, one hand’s fingers delicately, gently, and oh so carefully ghosting over your nose or cheek, the other wrapped around his aching erection as he tries jerking off in an attempt to knock himself out.
It isn’t the same, though, and he struggles to finish. It isn’t you, how warm your mouth and pussy are wrapping around him, both so wet and soft. His hand isn’t the same as yours, his movements too rough and calloused, while yours are attentive and smooth. His hand will try to mimic the memory of yours, but it takes his wandering mind and staring at your sleeping face to even get him close to some sort of pleasure. All he really wants to do is roll over on top of you to use your body until he’s satisfied and exhausted – he’s thought about it, on numerous occasions when he’s on the brink, basically edging himself, and he’s so frustrated it keeps him awake all night. That’s usually why the moment your eyes open, he’s pouncing on you in an instant, railing you further awake then toppling over to fall asleep for a few hours.
You’ve been worried about him, the poor thing’s sleep schedule worse than you remember, along with his sex drive getting harder to keep up with. Most couples complain about not having sex enough – you’re doing it almost every day unless you have to smack him away like a feral dog, and he pouts like one too. When you approached him, to ask what’s been going on, he stared at you as if you were accusing him of something before shrugging: “I don’t know. I’ve just always been like this.” That wasn’t necessarily a good enough explanation for you, but you knew better than to go poking and prodding at his psyche when he’s given you the equivalent of a ‘drop it’ as an answer.
The explanation is actually quite simple, he just isn’t sure how to bring it up to you: he wants to fuck you while you’re sleeping, whenever he wants, and it’s making him so hot and bothered to think about it as you lay on the bed beside him like a princess he isn’t allowed to touch. That’s when his hand dips under his waistband to pull his dick out and hope for the best until he either comes or his arm gets tired.
Dazai’s birthday has been on your mind recently, it coming up in a few days, and you have been brainstorming ideas while making dinner, but nothing is coming to you that would suffice for him. He doesn’t dare ask for much, if anything at all, and when he does want something, he will just save up enough money to buy it himself. He needs new glasses, but that’s a dorky and boring thing to give as a gift – plus, he doesn’t wear the pair he has now; there’s no sense in buying him a more expensive pair that he won’t bother wearing. Could get him clothes? Maybe there’s a video game coming out he hasn’t played yet? Does he still collect Pokemon cards? Your mind reels as you chop vegetables, music blaring in your headphones, preoccupied with thoughts and ideas to get your charming boyfriend for his birthday, and it would seem you might not know him as well as you’d like to believe if you don’t know what he wants.
A tickling, tingling sensation pricks at your ear when the bud is removed, and a gentle kiss is pressed under the lobe. “You’re thinking again.” Dazai murmurs, arm snaking around to your front, his chest on your back, and you sigh. “I thought we agreed I’d do all of that for the both of us?” That does make you smile, letting out a small giggle while tossing everything into the pot.
“Just trying to think of what to get you for your birthday,” you turn to face him, his palms cupping your hips, and he gazes down at you as if he hadn’t heard a word you said.
“Hm, guess that is coming up soon, isn’t it?” His sentence trails off with his mind, not one to keep track of the day. He only ever remembers because of you – he’d be twenty-two forever in his head if you aren’t there to remind him he’s getting older.
“Is there anything you want?” Your hands smooth up under his shirt, gauze rigid on your palms, the sensation familiar, safe, warm, and his heart picks up once from your question. “Anything at all?” You add, chin coming down to place on his chest while your fingertips travel around his sides to his back, slipping them under the bandages to lightly trace along his skin and scars. His contemplative eyes avoid looking in your direction, playing like he’s staring off in the distance out the kitchen window, his own hands absentmindedly kneading into your skin, long fingers slipping down the backside of your pants then back up under your shirt to follow your spine. Anything at all?
“I can ask for anything I want?” He asks, tone distant, obviously deep in thought as his fingertips run along every goosebump raising to your surface.
“Whatever is in reason, at least,” your lashes bat up at him, eyes big with childlike innocence, and he finally acknowledges you by tearing his line of sight to that precious stare – it pulls a small smile out of him while he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and using his thumb to caress your skin. He leans down, stealing a sweet kiss, holding you closer, and his fingers gradually intertwine in your hair as he steals another soft peck, a swarm of butterflies swirling around in your stomach from such loving affection. He swallows, examining every centimeter of your cute face, taking in the mesmerized grin you’re sporting, gaze darting to his lips once more as you bite down on yours, and he aches.
“I wanna fuck you while you’re sleeping,” he breathes, words trembling alongside his hands, and your previously seduced immersion rips away to plain confusion. Your smile drops down to puzzlement, head tilting, and brows twitching together a few times. You are acutely aware of Dazai’s stamina, essentially turned on to one hundred permanently and down to fuck at any moment’s notice, and willing to keep going until you push him off of you with ‘enough’s enough’ stuttering out. Even then, he’s begging twenty minutes later to let him climb back on top of you. Now he wants to do it while I’m sleeping?
“Wh-What?” You force out a light laugh, unsure what to think, and his demeanor changes, sheer panic riddling those consuming amber eyes. “While I’m… asleep?” You echo, tone pitched, but you haven’t pushed him away. You are intrigued to find out his explanation for this, but you are still skeptical, uncertain how to feel regardless of such a request.
“Uhm, y-yeah,” he begins, standing up straighter, and he’s afraid to have his hands on you. “Yeah, like… like that uhm… the consent to not…” He bites his lip, confident he is not explaining this to you correctly, and you stare up at him in bewildered amusement.
“Osa, that sounds like rape,” you giggle, words hushed, fearful someone is on the other side of the door listening in. His eyes bug, jaw dropping, and he couldn’t be trying any harder to break away from you, but you dig your nails down into his back to keep him in place, giggling more at his struggles.
“N-No! No! You still tell me if it’s okay!”
“How do I do that if I’m asleep, silly?” You whisper still, leaning up on your toes to coerce him to stare back into your eyes, holding contact, and he looks like he might cry at the accusation. He is leaning on the opposite counter, hands gripping the ledge as he looks down at you, annoyed he can’t explain it right, and now you’re laughing at him. “Are you going to wake me up to ask?” You tilt your head again, batting your lashes, then laugh softly. “I guess I wouldn’t be sleeping anymore then.”
“No,” he whines, slumping down some in his spot, defeat overpowering him that he might not want this anymore. “No, like, I ask you before we go to bed, and if you say yes then I can… I can do that while you’re sleeping. But if you say no, then I leave you alone, just like normal!” You mull that over, eyes veering off elsewhere while you think, and you faintly feel his heart pounding away at his ribcage. You have noticed your boyfriend is into some interesting things, kind and shy to bring them to your attention, and you’re never one to turn down at least a one-time try, just wondering if this is a new thing or something else he kept from you. You scan his features, seeing how adorable he looks right now: cheeks flushing a deep maroon, eyes darting everywhere, gaze downcast, and his fingers are shaking as they rest on your hips again. He’s flustered. The man that swept you off your feet when you first met with his suave charm, unwavering pursuit, and well-practiced seduction techniques is standing between your body and the kitchen counter while you tease him about how much he wants to take advantage of you in arguably the most vulnerable state of being.
Your heart stutters, features softening and melting, tongue swiping over your bottom lip before briefly biting on it as your nose gently nudges his jaw to garner his attention. “You wanna do that to me, Osamu?” You ask, flipping the question around like it’s now your idea. He bashfully side-eyes you, trying to stay on guard in case you start making fun of him again, but his arm wraps around your waist to bring you closer then nods. Legs separate to straddle his knee, climbing up more on him, arms snaking up to wrap around his neck so your fingers can mess with the hair on the nape, and his eyes change as he glances down at you in somewhat of a glare that shoots a shock of lightning up your spine. You tend to forget he used to be in the mafia, and you’re teasing him like a deranged, masochistic brat without fear of consequences. “I’ll let you take advantage of me, freak. But I better receive multiple orgasms in exchange.” You bargain, watching his scarred eyebrow slowly arch, and his sudden silence as he continues staring at you like that is driving you insane.
“You act like I’d ever deny you to begin with,” he eventually mutters. “I could start bouncing my knee now and you’d be a quivering mess in less than five minutes.” He threatens, voice dropping an octave then proving a point by bouncing it once, and you hold back a gasp, his erection brushing against your thigh You pout, brows downturning as you move your leg some to “accidentally” rub against it, and a quiet grunt gets caught in his throat. “Brat.” He whispers, landing a playful smack! on your ass before carefully peeling your body from his, leaving you in a bothered state of need.
“I’m gonna spit in your food,” you grumble. His fingers delicately grasp at your jaw to lift your head, that infuriatingly recognizable smirk dancing on his lips, and he winks.
“And I’ll spit in your mouth. Then what?” He lets you go before standing upright, coolly walking away from you to the living room, plopping down on the couch to play one of his games until dinner. Moments ago, he was the one putty in your hands, and now suddenly he turned the tables to have you practically begging for him, forget all about dinner, and order takeout as aftercare. He’s so damn mean.
☽˚｡⋆
While Dazai seems to have forgotten all about the conversation, you haven’t. You didn’t want to bring it up to him again, taking into account he did look visibly upset at you implying – even if it was a joke – he’d be raping you. It had to have taken a lot of courage for him to confess this to you, and he doesn’t ever really ask for stuff, especially for his birthday. Sex as a present never sits well with you, coming off as lazy and clearly without thought or effort; however, you kind of are out of ideas for a gift, and he never minds unwrapping you.
You did decide to try to make it a bit more special, to show you wanted to do this for him and truly didn’t mind, by going out and buying a new nightgown. It isn’t really much, but you know he’ll love it: simple, silk, blue, and accentuates your tits that even you couldn’t stop staring at yourself when you tried it on.
You really want it to be a surprise, but you also want to torment him until he’s a mess with shaking hands that can’t keep themselves off of you. You had been waiting for him to come home all day, wearing the gown to get used to how it feels, and when you were lounging around on the couch or in bed, it started to feel a bit tight, and that might be why your boobs look so good in it. You were kind of antsy, fidgeting around, finding things to do and occupy your mind; you had dinner planned and prepared so it can be quick to cook, caught up on all of your shows your were watching without him, finished a book that you didn’t know only had roughly twenty pages left anyhow, and had plenty of time to stare at the ceiling.
Where you fantasized for far too long about his request, what it would be like, if you’d enjoy it as much as him. If he’d be gentle or rough. If he’d wake you before, during, or after; if you should find something to help you stay asleep. Everything burned while imagining it: his large, warm palms cautious to glide over your thighs, carefully pulling you apart; his overly observant and sparkling eyes ogling your cunt, dripping from a wet dream about him deep within your subconscious; his perfectly thick cock slowly stretching you out, inch by inch, in hopes not to disturb you while you sleep.
Your cheeks were fuming, chest heaving, and you rushed off to the bedroom to get off alone. So, yeah, you’d say you are more than willing to let Dazai do that to you.
You are on the edge of couch when he gets home, one of his sweaters lazily shrugged on and hanging off your shoulder, thighs shut tightly together while your fingers danced around the hem, and chewing thoughtfully on your lip while your mind is in a daze with filthy thoughts of being taken advantage of by him, staring off into the distance, not paying a bit of attention to anything happening around you. Your cunt ached, panties sticking to you, and the anticipation of the waiting game is what was sending you into this unbearably horny spiral. Meanwhile, your boyfriend is clueless and hasn’t thought about it once since bringing it up to you.
He smiles when he sees you sitting there, approaching you, then faltering with puzzlement upon seeing the look on your face. Then his eyes graze over you, noting his sweater over your body, and the slight shift in your spot. His finger carefully reaches out to trace along your bare shoulder before sitting beside you, startling you, and he breathes out a small laugh as he places a gentle kiss to your skin. “You look awfully cute.” He whispers, arm sneaking around your waist, then gives another kiss to your neck. “I love seeing you in my clothes.” Your eyes are spinning, gawking at him, shifting again to wrap your arms around his neck, and already scooting yourself into his lap — which of course he lets you, legs straddling his knee, and your lashes bat at him when your lips curl into a pretty, decadent smile.
“Hi,” you finally greet, fingers tracing the side of his face, gazing into his attentive eyes, and inch closer. Wanting to be in his skin. Wanting his hands and mouth all over you. He hasn’t stopped smiling since laying those stunning amber takes on you, thinking about you all day — as he always does, and just content with having you there to hold. However, he also knows you; he knows the way you’re looking at him, and he knows when you straddle his knee like this, you’re ravenous.
“Trying not to beg?” He tone flips, finger and thumb grabbing your chin to ensure you give him eye contact, and when his knee bounces once, you breathe out a quick, pitched moan. Your lips fall into a pathetic pout, looking up at him practically helpless.
“You’re so mean.”
“I know,” he muses, bouncing his knee again, causing your nails to dig into the back of his neck. “You thought about something all day. What was it?” His hushed voice is on purpose, gradually reaching sultry, and it just isn’t fair.
“You,” you don’t hesitate to tell him honestly. “You’re all I ever think about.” You’re clamoring to maintain a sense of self-control, but he looks oh so extra handsome today; his cologne is still lingering, wrapping you up into a beautifully cooling hug; and he said you were cute. His head tilts, teasing, watching you, feeling how worked up you are even through his slacks. “Did you think about me?” You murmur, not wanting to be the only one in obvious, desperate, hormonal need.
“Oh, pretty girl, there’s never a time I’m not thinking about you,” he kisses your nose then your cheek then your temple, arousing blush in full bloom to your face, and he leans back to be more comfortable in his spot on the couch, his wonderful hands on your hips as he lovingly gazes up at you. “Do you want me to help?” He asks, gripping you a bit tighter, the fabric of his favorite sweater soft and welcoming on your body after a long day, and he’s already hard.
“Please,” you swallow, hands falling to his hips to stay steady, to prepare yourself, fairly certain had you thought about him any longer you would have had an orgasm without touching yourself. “I’ll be quick, I’ll be good.” You promise, anything to make sure he does this for you.
“And what do I get for letting you come all over my knee?” He asks, head raising and laying back on the cushion, thumbs pressing into your stomach. You briefly bite on your lip, dragging your teeth along the flesh then releasing it, his eyes trained on watching it bounce back, and you weren’t expecting to tell him like this.
“I-I’ll let…” You swallow again, almost embarrassed to say it out loud despite thinking about it all day, and you can’t look at him. He waits, patient, since usually the response is ‘you get to see a pretty girl have an orgasm you caused’, so he’s eager to know what his special prize is. “I’ll let you… I want you… T-To touch me, and-and fuck me while… while I sleep.” You finally force everything out of your mouth, rushing the end to prevent further delay, and his entire face drops at that. You catch his demeanor change, nervous you didn’t say it right or that you upset him for bringing it up; you lean down, crawling up his chest and getting near his ear, your lips with hints of left over gloss pressing to it so he can hear you. “I want you to take advantage of me while I’m sleeping. Touch me, fuck me, anything you want. I’ll let you do that because I want you to.” He’s been holding his breath since the words initially came out, dick jumping in his pants and hitting your leg repeatedly, and you’ll more than likely have bruises on your hips tomorrow.
“And if you make me come,” you add, as if this couldn’t get any better. “I’ll take my special sleepy medicine, so I don’t wake up.” His eyes accidentally roll back at the thought, you lying in bed during the middle of the night, completely knocked out, legs spread wide for him to do whatever he wants, you giving him all this permission and even going the extra mile to take something to keep you asleep? He’s going to bust in his pants at any moment if he continues to imagine it. “Would you like that, Osamu?” You ask him with such a sweet, innocent tone to your already airy voice, and his lips part when he begins to pant near your ear. You giggle, the sound cracking through his brain, and he’s thinking about running to the jewelry store first thing tomorrow.
“Are you sure?” He asks, a lovely courtesy, but his broken words are enough to tell you he hopes the answer’s ‘yes’ and will be miserable if it’s ‘no’.
“Yes, Osa, you have my consent,” you giggle again before kissing under his lobe, sitting yourself back up, and admiring the mess he is beneath you: face stained with fresh blood rushing to his cheeks, mouth agape with irregular breathing, chest heaving, and you can see his cock moving under his pants. “But you have to make me come first while I’m conscious.” Say less. As soon as the sentence ends, his knee is bouncing you up and down, your clit hitting it repeatedly, taking you by surprise while he holds you firmly in place, eyes clouded with unimaginable sin, watching his pretty girlfriend get off from riding his knee.
“Stupid slut,” he lets out, listening to your squeaking gasps and breathy moans, ogling your tits bouncing under the sweater, and sees the way your lashes flutter from the pleasure.
“St-Stupid boy,” you weakly counter, the bud pulsing and swollen from your previous masturbation and this mind-numbing sensation, you could drool.
“You’re bargaining a little orgasm from my knee in exchange for letting me fuck you while unconscious,” he taunts, wicked, laughing. “You’re stupid.” He laughs again, but honestly, he would have done this for you if he really did only get a kiss in return, because he loves you so much and nothing makes him happier than pleasing you. But he’s also a jerk and loves being mean to you, so the insults will continue.
“Perv,” you gasp, clinging to his wrists now, head falling back when your clit rubs on the ruined material of your panties, sticking and releasing, sticking then releasing, over and over. You have half a muddled mind to stop him and hump his leg to your heart’s content — but that would only make him laugh at you more for being ‘so pathetic’. “P-Perverted boy wanting to-to touch me in my sleep.” You grit, wanting to match his energy, but it’s getting to a point you want him to take care of you, fall to pieces and let him put you back together, only to break you apart again. You want to submit to his mercy, the desire that coursed through your veins and pounded in your ears during your unwanted solitude. Lying around just waiting for his return home, needing him and only him to subdue it all; it made you both sick and enamored, wishing you could stay home together so he’s there to take care of you whenever you’re on the brink of mental and intimate collapse.
“I am,” he agrees, breaking through your mindless whirlwind of need, catching your attention enough to glance at him with hooded eyes and furrowed brows. “I’ve been quietly jerking off to you for weeks when you’re sleeping.” He winks, watching the confidence melt away as you’re bouncing up and down on his knee with shock and soft ‘uh, uh, uh’s escaping your dropped jaw. “I watch when you shower too. What exactly are you going to do about it, hm?” You stare at him, confused, so many different thoughts running through your head now, eyebrows twitching, moans and whines stuck in your throat, and a weirdly sick, flattered satisfaction is building up inside of you to hear your boyfriend treats you like a secret obsession that he has to sneak around to peek at and masturbate alone to. Your G-spot convulses from so much impact on your clit, the tight coil in your stomach unfurling, and your head falls back, limp; raw, wantonness sounds and cries escape, and he enjoys every second of it.
“Gonna come!” You warn, repeatedly, the phrase falling out over and over, and his pace never stops. Bullying your clit, holding you tight, watching you struggle — he could do this all day every day for the rest of his life.
“Go ahead and come, pretty girl,” he encourages, bunching the fabric in his fists. “That’s all your stupid little brain knows how to do.” He insults, and you want to ride his face next to keep him from running his mouth so much. Not much of a punishment since he’d enjoy it. Your stomach tightens and body shudders, thighs trying to close on his, his movements not stopping, and you whimper with eyes squeezed tightly shut. You twitch and convulse above him, hands keeping you in place, upright, until he decides to slow. You hunch forward, forehead on his shoulder, legs trembling while your arms wrap around him, clawing at his shirt, and it feels like you’re still coming, and it isn’t enough.
“Poor thing,” he croons, massaging your skin, gently squeezing your thighs and kissing your temple. “I’m right here.” He assures, sighing softly before helping you readjust to let him hold you close, so you can cuddle into him, and is jealous when you’re clearly nodding off so easily now from that. I might finally be able to tonight, at least.
When it came time to get ready for bed, you had already taken your medication – as promised – and removed the sweater you kept on all evening, forgetting entirely what was underneath. He stared at you, gawked, ogled, captivated and mesmerized by your new sleep attire, and he merely stood on his side of the bed in a state of paralysis. You spared him a groggy glance, cocking your head.
“What is it?” You murmured then looked down, seeing the nightgown you had bought specifically for tonight, and a sleepy giggle stumbled out when you sheepishly peeked back up at him. “Do you like it? I got it for tonight.” You lightly twirled back and forth in your spot, the skirt brushing here and there against your skin, tits on display and set in place, and he swallowed. The material gently flashed under the dim glow of your lamplight in the bedroom, extremely short, hardly covering you, and he felt insignificant compared to you: boxers and some old t-shirt, like a bum.
“For tonight?” He mumbled, watching your fingers slip under the gown, hooking in your underwear, and leisurely dropping them down your legs to fall onto the floor, prominent wet spot from the day’s torment still visible in the center. He sucked in a breath, you climbed into bed without another care or thought, and his heart swelled deep within his chest at your consideration for his disgusting fantasy. You snuggled under the blanket, head hitting the pillow and a content sigh spilled out of you, nuzzling into the pillow, eyes already closed, and you looked so peaceful already.
“Goodnight, Osa,” your fingers reached for him, dropping limp on the mattress, and he decided to snap out of it to crawl in at your side, gently grabbing your hand to press multiple soft kisses to the back of it. “I love you so much.” Your voice was already drifting, losing you to the realm of unconsciousness, and his fingers carefully brushed some loose strands behind your ear then grabbed the blanket to better tuck you in, hands shaking.
“Goodnight, my darling. I love you, too,” he kisses your forehead, lips lingering, gently scratching at your scalp, and your breathing has evened out already to show you’re completely out of it. He leaned back to turn off the lamp, laid on his back, and stared at the ceiling until he would either see the back of his eyelids or couldn’t hold back from you any longer.
The night went on, the hesitance settled into his bones, and he wasn’t sure when would be the best time to do anything to you. His tired eyes would periodically check on you, watching you sleep soundly, wishing he could do that as easily as you do, not needing to release his stamina and overly active brain on having sex with you in order to do the same thing. He was pent up from earlier, never bothering to ask you to relieve him or helping himself, and he’s experiencing the same aches and burning you suffered through alone all day.
Dazai’s golden opportunity arose when you rolled on your back and kicked the blanket off. His teeth chew on his lip while he wonders if this is something he can actually do, eyes trailing along your neck, seeing your pulse jut out with each pump of your heart, then to your boobs that are about to spill out of your adorable new nightgown if you roll around anymore, following it down your torso, and noticing the skirt has ridden up your silky smooth thighs that he would give anything to be between right then. You look beautiful, a hand coming up to rest over his heart that thumped erratically at the sight, and he couldn’t help a wandering thought entering his brain on why he is like this – wanting to take advantage of such a vulnerable state, to touch you and kiss you, fuck load after load into you while you lay there and take it.
He sits himself up, already crawling on top of your sleeping form, scanning your face, head to the side with your face squished to the pillow, and he leans down to your neck, offering a ginger peck, eyes flickering up to watch your face closely for a reaction, but you don’t budge. Don’t make a sound. He does one more, observing, but you still don’t react. He hums quietly, leaving open mouth, sloppy, passionate kiss after kiss up your neck, tongue poking out along the way to fondle and prod at your pulse point, and makes it up behind your ear, his breath trembling near it. “Can you feel me?” He asks, hushed, then gives you a few sensual kisses on the conch and shell, making his way for your cheek. “You should see yourself right now, you’re gorgeous.” He whispers with adoring reverence, meaning it with sincerity, then kisses the corner of your mouth. No sounds, no pushing him away, no twitching – just you sleeping with serenity while your boyfriend is hovering over your unconscious body like a predator about to devour its first kill after starving for weeks.
His mouth hovers, ghosting down your chin and along your throat, tongue poking out as it licks a path down toward your chest, hands coming up to palm at your tits, gingerly squishing them around his cheeks as he buries his face in between, thumbs finding your peaked nipples under the silk fabric, and his eyes close while he revels in your soft skin pressed up on his cheeks. From here, he can hear your heartbeat, slowed, steady, while his is rattling and pounding in his ribcage. He cautiously sits himself back up to his knees, hands still massaging your chest, taking in the nightgown fully as you lay there, deadweight into the mattress, and he sighs dreamily, his fingers rolling your clothed nipples between them with his cock twitching in his boxers.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, two fingers coming up to your cheek to gradually turn your head so it’s looking straight up, just for it to lull back to its side, and he chuckles quietly to himself. Slender fingers glide back down the front of your throat, avoiding applying pressure, other hand pushing your gown up more, exposing your bare pussy to the cold air blowing in the room; goosebumps swarm your skin, small tremors and shivers happening as a natural reaction, but you remain still, unresponsive. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” His fingertips make it to your clit, circling it languidly for a handful of seconds, feeling your foot twitch, but that is all. They glide between your lips and folds, the slightest amount of pressure pressing into you, the spot above your hole extra sensitive as another few twitches make his blown-out pupils stare at you, observing, petting it with his middle finger, gently gripping your thigh to keep you spread open. “Good girl, just take everything I give you.” He whispers, strained, fighting a groan as he circles your tight, neglected hole, wanting to shove his digits in right now to stretch you out, but he wants to wait – feel your sleeping, dripping wet cunt stretch and drool from his cock.
He moves away carefully, enough to get his boxers off and tugs his shirt over his head, tossing them both over the edge of the bed, and part of him wants you completely bare with him, naked, exposed, but seeing you dressed with only your panties missing is a huge turn on, biting his lip while his hand cups your face, thumb rubbing into your cheek. “You’re so wet right now, baby. Are you dreaming about me?” He asks you, hand returning between your legs, his body slotting themselves there as well, keeping you spread, and fondles your entrance with his middle finger, hearing the evidence of your dreams and anticipation. “Awh, I think you are.” He coos, kissing your cheek. He wants to keep admiring you, bury his face into your soaked pussy, lap up every bit of sick arousal and come you might gush out, but he’s impatient. His own dick is leaking, tip red and angry from not receiving any action after all his hard work earlier and throbbing from staring at you play Sleeping Beauty – complete with a blue dress.
He fists his shaft, tugging long, leisure strokes, insatiable gaze soaking you in, wanting to burn the image of you like this in his brain forever: shining, freshly washed hair laid out on the pillow behind your head; lips in your signature drowsy pout; brows relaxed; and legs wide open like a desperate, needy whore, waiting for his cock to fuck into you. He guides the head to your clit, rubbing it up and down along your already messy pussy, teasing your hole by making circles around it or threatening to push it in with small bumps into it. He does this for a bit, soft pants slipping past his lips, squeezing his length in his fist, keeping it steady with semblance of control. You have yet to move, aside from a twitch of your foot or leg every so often from some sort of impact to your clit, the tip scorching from neglect, smearing his pre-come everywhere. “Gorgeous pussy.” He mutters under his breath, admiring the way it tries clenching around his head when he teases putting it in, then moving to your throbbing clit, then back to your hole again. He presses his slit up to it, making gradual, circular motions with them connected, and he groans inwardly, hips instinctively beginning to buck forward, and he sighs deeply when he notices your stomach tensing and body twitching in place more than usual. “Oh, she came already.” He whispers to no one, rapidly then rubbing his head against your sensitive clit, laughing to himself as your tremors continue, mind completely turned off from the medication while your body responds naturally to his touch.
Pulling back, just enough, his thumb pulls one side of you open, leaning down to gape at your hole clenching and pulse around nothing, some of your release dripping out down to the mattress, and he uses the tip to scoop it up and massage it along his shaft. “Even while sleeping, she’s still such a messy girl.” He talks about you like you’re not in the room, fingers now capturing more of your come to properly coat his dick, getting himself into position, palms under your thighs to push your knees toward your chest, and stops long enough to check on you. Still, asleep like a rock, and he realizes you didn’t even make any sleepy whimpers when you came. He situates himself above you again, resting your legs on his broad shoulders, and his cock hangs heavy between your bodies, ready to be sucked in by your cunt, jumping at the thought already. “I’m gonna stuff you full of my dick now, alright, baby?” He warns, maintaining his hushed whisper, and he knows you aren’t going to answer. That medication is working overtime tonight. “Be my good girl and take all of it, okay?” He positions himself, his head right at your opening, and gradually sinks it down inside of your tight pussy. Fighting a groan, his face buries into your neck, fingers curling into the sheets as they form fists, and his body shivers.
Your eyebrows twitch together, body paralyzed and melting into the mattress, but you don’t stir further. His cock gently drives deeper inside you, careful not to thrust full-force, worried that would wake you – despite the effects of the medicine. He keeps going at a reluctantly patient pace, his thick and long cock doing exactly what he wanted: stretching your cunt, walls frantically clenching around him, veins pulsing and protruding from the confines, your body subconsciously responding with more fluttering and a deep inhale. “Perfect girl with the best cunt I ever had.” He praises, breath hitting on your shoulder, and his hips draw back to land a powerful thrust into you before stilling, biting harshly on the inside of his cheek, the smack! of your thighs meeting one another enough to make him do it again. He pulls them back, cock barely out of you, then drives right back in, tip missing your G-spot and hitting your cervix instead. A small sound emits from your throat, making his head shoot up to check on you, but your eyes are closed, in the same position he folded you in. “There, you can take it.” He encourages, resting his forehead on your temple, shuddering, labored breathing filling the room, and his thighs shift to push your hips up further and nudging your legs better in place on his shoulders. “I got you, I’ll take care of you.” He promises, placing a kiss to your skin before his hips piston themselves with an inhuman hunger, no longer caring about preventing waking you up since it’s pretty clear you’re out for the count, able to go at whatever pace and harshness he wants.
“F-Fuck,” he whimpers, shivers running up and down his spine as he repeatedly rails his cock into your pussy, hitting your poor cervix with each thrust, wanting to push past it to be further inside of you. Crawl into your skin, make a home of you. Soft, quiet, faint sounds are coming from you, his ears pricking up, and a lopsided, exhausted smile forms, panting near your ear. “I know, baby, even while asleep I can make you feel good.” He watches your face closely, those sounds still happening, but the only other thing that happens is your head rolls forward, your noses touching. He takes that as an opportunity to give you a barely-there kiss on your lips, lingering, switching his rapid thrusts to long strokes, hips rolling to meet yours, cock slowly dragging out then pushing its way in, his lips parting against yours at the sensation, and his lashes flutter as his eyes start rolling back.
“Oh god,” he mumbles, another drag out and drive in, tip bouncing against your cervix upon impact, and his hand reaches up to gently squeeze your jaw, forcing your mouth open. His hips continue this rhythm, spitting onto your tongue, forcing your jaw down more to push your tongue out, another glob of spit landing on it, and he holds you like that to admire. “You’re driving me crazy.” He confesses. “You always drive me crazy. Insane. Asleep or awake, I need you, crave you. I need to feel you all the time.” His mouth closes in on yours, tongue licking along your spit-coated muscle, and your eyebrows furrow again, fingers twitching, and another small sound is caught in your throat with his repeated assault on your insides. He spits once more before pushing your tongue back in your mouth with the tip of his, gently closing it, your throat bobbing from swallowing, and he can’t help being pleased how submissive and obedient you are on instinct.
“Gonna be selfish and focus on me, okay?” He tells you, his hips pressed up into your thighs, dick still inside of you, and it jumps up to hit that swollen spot that is begging for attention. “I wanna fill this pretty pussy full of come, and I want it leaking out of you while you sleep for the rest of the night.” He kisses your glistening lips, hiding his face in your neck once more, and his hand slides its way to your lower back, palm flat to your spine in an attempt to hold you steady since he can feel you slipping away. “Just this once, I’m gonna be selfish.” He says more to himself than to you, and his hips down one more languid drag out before pounding into you relentlessly, heavy balls smacking against your ass, the added sensation causing his nails to dig into your flesh, deep crescents with beads of blood forming, and his aching head connects with your bullied cervix each time. Your lips fall open, groggy, hoarse ‘uh, uh, uh’s coming out, brain fogged and muddled, lines of reality and your medically inducing dreams starting to cross and morph together, the wet dream of Dazai fucking you in a hot tub blurring into being back at home in your room, the sensational surrealism the exact same feeling deep in your abdomen no matter the plane, but you can’t move.
“‘S-Samu,” your tiny voice lilts out in your bedroom and in the hot tub, the mold of his cock never leaving your cunt in both places, wanting him there forever to have your walls wrap around it and create a memory of him. In the current reality, Dazai continues fucking you into the mattress, reveling as much as he can in the selfish desire to just do whatever he pleases, to fill you with his load, the tip eventually finding your G-spot, and your clit is throbbing again.
He gently hushes you, mouth against your ear and voice lulling you back to your dreams. “Shh, baby, you’re supposed to be sleeping.” He places another open mouth kiss on the shell, his tongue flickering out to lick and prod it, and dick twitches inside of you. “You’re sleeping.” He tells you again, lost in his own world, racing against his impending orgasm, trying to hold it off so he can keep going for as long as he’d like.
You don’t say anything else, head gradually rolling back to the side, tits bouncing up and down with each ripple surging through your body as he pushes forward, more tiny sounds flowing out of your slightly open mouth, deciding to listen to him and drift back off to sleep. “Y-Yeah, you’re sleeping. Letting me take advantage of you while you do.” He whispers, chest leaning forward to fold you more in half, angling your hips up more, and pounding into your worn-out pussy, his balls tightening against his pleas not to.
He keeps his face buried away, gripping the sheets in one hand, your body in the other, and his cock is jumping and twitching within your insides, soft whimpers coming from him as your walls begin clenching around him tight, stomach muscles tightening again, and he feels it pulse over and over again on his shaft, letting him know you are having another silent orgasm, a bit of relief washing over him that he isn’t breaking his promise to give you more than one. He isn’t sure he can last long enough for a third. “That’s my girl, c-come all over me.” His hips land a few more thrusts, harsh and attempting to force the head into your cervix, before stilling as his load shoots out, filling you completely, getting everywhere on your walls and around his cock, and he stays in that position for a minute. His body shakes, yours trembling underneath, and he suddenly wants nothing more than to sleep.
Carefully, Dazai slips his softening dick out of you, cautiously lowering your body back to the mattress, then turns his head to place kisses on your cheek, your nose, then on your mouth. He sits up on his wobbling knees, politely pulling your nightgown back down, fingers readjusting the top to keep you covered, then presses another sweet kiss to your forehead before climbing off of you, bringing the blanket back over your shivering body, tucking you in tight, and his fingers gently rake through your hair. “I love you so much, I’d quite literally die without you.” He whispers, a secret he’d never say aloud, overcome with an outpour of love, adoration, and admiration for you, taking advantage of your sleeping state to tell you. “Sleep well, my darling.” He sinks down under the blanket, nuzzling his nose into your neck, and he’s so content and worn out that he actually experiences an instant dozing, drifting off to meet you in the other realm, arms wrapping around your body to hold you tight, secure. Never daring to let you go.
You hum, riddled with sleep, and your head lulls over to rest your cheek on the crown of his. Without thinking, without realizing, your tired self utters a quiet: “Happy birthday, Osamu.”
masterlist | requests: closed
dividers from chrisssiren here on tumblr
tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch
‧˚꒰🩹꒱༘‧— nsfw ⊹ ࣪ ˖ oddly specific sex things—dazai x fem!reader — chuuya ver here
making you gush after your orgasm. after your orgasm rips through you, leaving your pussy clenching and fluttering in hypersensitive spasms, he doesn't stop right away—instead, he keeps you spread wide and ruined, softly kissing you at as he starts tapping his fingers lightly against your swollen clit and soaked folds, each little smack sending jolts of overwhelming pleasure through your overstimulated nerves—forcing fresh, uncontrollable gushes of your slick to squirt out in messy sprays that soak his hand and the sheets beneath you. he loves the way your hips jerk and your thighs tremble uncontrollably—it's either his fingers, or him rubbing his sensitive, leaking tip up and down your puffy slit, smearing your cum and his all over your abused hole before slapping it firmly against your clit a few times, the wet, filthy sounds echoing as it makes you gush even harder, your pussy lips parting obscenely with every sensitive twitch and spurt as he circles his cockhead right over your hole without pushing in, teasing the raw nerves until you're sobbing and flooding again.
kissing you through your orgasms. the moment your body shudders, he pins his hips flush to yours, and instantly his mouth is on yours with a hard, wanton moan. you come up for air? he drags you right back down. your lips get swollen, slick, red. your tongue slides against his with sloppy, wet sounds as his hips stutter against your soaked thighs. his teeth catches your lip lightly, pulling a bit before letting it go with a gentle smack. and as the peak drags out and your body starts to melt, his kisses slow—turning languid and indulgent, soft plush lips sucking gently at yours, still buried to the hilt inside your pulsing heat while he savors every aftershock. he might not admit it but he needs it. he needs your mouth on his.
fucked out under your touch. he's fucked silly, fucked you silly, and god does he get so pretty during and after—his eyes get glassy, kiss-bruised lips parted as he pants prettily above (or under) you, body twitching with aftershocks. his hair is damp with sweat, his bangs are out of his face, strands clinging to his temples—and he just looks so beautiful. it's so obvious how pussy-drunk he is—his pupils are blown, his face flushed a dewy red, and his eyes gleam with lust and something more. you stare up at him dreamily, taking him in. his long lashes flutter as he tries to compose himself under your loving gaze, heat creeps up his neck as if it's too much for him—he tries not to fuck your snug walls again because you're still sensitive, but his hips always betray him—he'll end up grinding his cum deeper into you until it's dripping out around his cock.
hands on the mattress. you have a thing for his slender, pretty hands (don't we all.)—the way they look so elegantly long and graceful, yet hold surprising strength, veins subtly tracing beneath his skin, hands that make your pulse race every time they brush your body. he knows, you know he knows. so he uses them. during sex, his finger teasingly sneak up your palm before lacing them together in that possessive, intimate grip. he grinds your joined hands slowwwly into the mattress with every snap of his hips—his bony digits squeezing yours while your walls clench around his cock. if he's taking you from behind, he drapes himself over you as his fingers trail along the back of your hand, before they wove though yours as his lips seal over your neck. he lives for the sensation—the way your hand tightens in his as each wave of pleasure blooms through you, nails digging into the back of his, or the way your grip loosens afterwards when you feel relaxed, thumb rubbing little circles over his skin—all makes his chest tighten.
not pulling away from your pussy. there's this thing dazai does when he's desperate and eating you out. he doesn't pull back. like, at all. his moans vibrate straight into your throbbing clit, low and filthy that make your hips buck against his mouth, the wet, obscene sounds of him sucking and slurping mixing with your desperate cries. even when he gets too carried away, his breaths coming in desperate, high, overwhelmed puffs, lungs burning for air, he doesn’t pull away an inch—he presses his nose harder against your mound while his hot exhales fan over your dripping cunt. the relentless vibrations from his groans send shockwaves through your core, pushing you closer to the edge as he devours you messily, tongue fucking into your tight hole and lips sealed tight around your swollen clit, refusing to stop until you’re shaking and gushing all over his chin.
"shutting" you up when you get too loud. not because he doesn't want to hear you—it's simply to feel your moans, to make you lose it—he crashes his mouth over yours in a filthy, desperate kiss—wet, sloppy, and deep—tongue fucking into your mouth while his cock drives into you harder. spit slicks down your chin as he swallows every whimper and cry like he’s starving for them. or he slides two fingers past your lips, forcing them deep onto your tongue while he rails you. you suck, moaning loudly around his digits, drooling on his knuckles, eyes rolling back as your cunt clenches around his cock so hard it makes his pace falter—his fingers thrust in time with his cock like he’s claiming both your holes at once—it never works though. every attempt just gets you louder, wetter, filthier. and maybe.. that's the whole reason he does it.
breathless laughs. there's this point when you're having sex, and he's seeing stars. especially if you're riding him like you're trying to suck his soul outta his cock. your hips lift and slam down into him, taking his cock over and over before he can even register the thursts, soft thighs tight around his waist—moaning and babbling his name repeatedly like he's something holy. and oh, he's memorized. so much that eventually he just gives up on trying to slow you down or worse, hold himself back and keep up his mask. he throws his head back onto the pillow, running his hand through his messy locks, letting out this breathless, delirious chuckle—like he's in heaven and is getting his blessings, "fuuuck 'bella, you're so good, so fucking good-", it doesn't take long before he follows it up with another chocked, drawn-out moan that makes heat pool deliciously in your tummy. you swear you could cum from his voice alone.
‧˚꒰🍷꒱༘‧— nsfw ⊹ ࣪ ˖ oddly specific sex headcanons—chuuya x fem!reader — dazai ver here
the stamina. this man is built for round-after-round type of sex. he won't stop unless you want to. (there are nights where he edges himself for ages just to drag it out) doesn't matter if it's making love to you all night, clingy and needy—or fucking you into the sheets because he's pent up—he's got the energy. and more important than that, he has the patience. every time you think that it's over, he's kissing down your neck, whispering filthy promises as he slides back in. (if he even pulled out in the first place.)
holding you down with his weight. not in an uncomfortable way or putting his whole weight on you, no. it's just his default, he doesn't want an inch of space between your bodies, he wants to feel everything—especially if either one of you is in a needy mood, or feeling down. that heavy, comforting heat pinning you down into the mattress, his broad chest crushing your tits, sweat-slicked skin sliding against yours as he grinds his cock even further into your dripping cunt. you're trapped beneath his hot, solid, grounding body, helpless to do anything but take every inch of him while he fucks you slow, the delicious pressure making you feel small, safe, and utterly owned as his low moans against your ear make your pussy clench greedily around him.
marking up your neck when he cums. sometimes the pleasure is.. too good, too intense for chuuya, actually. your pussy is so tight and hot and slick around him, you're looking way too pretty for him to not just bust right there, and your legs are wrapped tight around his waist, pushing him deeper as you grind your hips against him- and it's not fair at all :‹ — when his orgasm finally crashes over him, he buried his face into your neck, bites down or kisses it hot and open-mouthed, before he let's out a moan that sounds like it's coming from his soul. his eyes flutter shut and you feel his breath—hot and coming out in little puffs against your skin as he rides it out, eventually pulling back just enough to kiss and sooth your skin.
unconsciously folding you up when he wants you deeper. the moment he craves more, he unconsciously folds you up without warning—warm hands gripping the backs of your thighs and pressing your knees toward your shoulders in a tight mating press, bending you in half so your soaked pussy is completely open for him. the new angle lets his fat cock slam even deeper, the swollen head kissing your cervix with every brutal thrust while your tits bounce between your bodies. he doesn't realize exactly how much it ruins you, he just.. wants his girl closer.
spreading you on his cock. chuuya knows how to spread and it's unholy. especially if you're riding him. he'll grip your ass hard, fingers digging into your soft flesh, spreading your cheeks as he thrusts up to meet your rhythm—watching you lose yourself, the way your eyes roll back, how you clings to him, your juices dripping down his balls as he fucks up into you until you’re shaking and creaming all over him. he'll also do it when he's wrecking you from behind, too—hands gripping your cheeks and pulling them apart until your tight holes are completely exposed. he'll groans deep in his throat at the sight of your puckered little asshole winking above your soaked, stretched cunt as he slams into you balls-deep, the wet squelching sounds louder with every brutal thrust. he loves watching your pussy swallow every inch of his glistening shaft while your ass bounces back into his pelvis.
bouncing you on his cock when you get tired. the second your pace falters and you whimper "’m getting tired chuu…”, he doesn’t let you stop. just a kiss to your jaw and a "I've got you baby", before he starts bouncing you on his dick like you weigh nothing. every thrust upward drives his cock deep, slamming into that perfect, swollen spot inside you that makes your eyes flutter and your mouth fall open in a satisfied, silent gasp while his fingers tenderly stroke your back and thighs. the wet, filthy sound of skin slapping skin fills the room as he lifts and drops you onto his length again and again.
extra: the outline of your tits on the fogged glass being the last thing you see as you're getting carried into your bedroom—after he fucked your brains out while you were supposed to "shower" together. you did both though. it's a win-win.
dating Will Graham and curling up close on his couch, by a warm — crackling fireplace and the sound of his slow breathing by your ear.
“How ‘bout this one?” you whisper, fingers sliding down to his stomach — touch ghosting over the raised scar marking his belly.
“Knife.” he whispers back, voice even, cracking slightly at the edges like he had to force the words out.
“Hurt?” you rasped curiously, to which he bites out a laugh and nods. “Like a bitch.”
⟡. ────୨ৎ────
You nod solemnly and continue exploring his chest, noting of which areas makes his heartbeat race, and which makes him flinch.
When your fingers slide up to his neck, all four on his neck and your thumb tilting his jaw to you — you can feel the nerves radiating from him.
“You survived all that?”
you smile gently, coaxing him to speak to you, your thumb tracing circles on his jaw.
“It led me to you.”
he breathes out slowly, a minute or two after you asked. Big blue eyes tracing your face, smitten and wholy yours.
“This one sucked the most.” he points to his shoulder, voice even and gruff — your eyes follow, filling with empathy as you see the rough, sharp and jagged edges of the scar.
To which you pepper kisses all over it, forcing him to laugh under his breath from how unexpected.
“I love you, just as broken as you are — Will.”
slow intimacy ending with a kiss to his perfect nose.
1x8 of hannibal is actually crazy cause the team was like “oh yeah that’s will being will! saying some weird shit in the corner again!” and then moved on???? like my brother in christ he’s popped 12 ibuprophin in an hour i think there’s some cause for concern.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 thinking about will graham who takes his inexperienced student's virginity ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
he'd be so gentle with it, murmuring soft reassurances as he slides his cock into them so so slow. his hot breathes cooling down on the temple as he presses kisses onto their hairline. their nails digging into his back, as they try to get used to the sensation of his cock inside of them.
"that's it sweetheart...so good f'me.." he'd say, as their breathing evens out slowly.
headcanon
pairing: Hannibal Lecter x gn!reader
genre: angst comfort • coping
notes: based on this ask!
I wanna request Hannibal putting the reader in subspace during a therapy session?? Like manipulative gentle dom vibes,,,,,, FROTHING AT THE MOUTH
MINORS DNI!!
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─── ꒰ 🩹 ꒱ ───
headcanon
Therapy with Hannibal is never entirely therapy.
Not in the traditional sense.
It feels more like being slowly untangled by someone who already knows exactly where all the knots are.
He very clearly notes the exhaustion in you long before you even considered it anything outside of the norm.
The way your posture sinks deeper into the couch. The delayed responses. The slight dissociation in your eyes when conversations become too emotionally sharp.
His office becomes dangerously safe to you.
Especially since you rarely felt safe anywhere. But here you didn't have to be at the edge of your seat at all times.
"Look at me," he says sometimes.
And without thinking, you do.
He's frighteningly good at guiding your attention.
A hand gesture. A shift in tone.
At first, you don't realise what he's doing.
You just notice how easy it becomes to stop thinking when he speaks.
Your thoughts soften around the edges.
The constant noise in your head quieting under the weight of his attention.
Your breathing slowing.
Your pupils widening slightly.
The way your hands unclench in your lap after being tense for nearly the entire session.
And he rewards it immediately.
"There you are," he hums once, watching you melt further into the couch cushions. "Much better."
Praise from Hannibal feels dangerous.
It's rare. Carefully chosen.
"You don't need to hold yourself together so tightly here."
"Let me carry the conversation."
"Good."
"That's it."
He notices you fidgeting with your sleeves one session, fingers twisting anxiously into the fabric hard enough to hurt.
Hannibal quietly reaches forward, his hand resting over yours.
"Leave your hands with me," he says softly.
And somehow you do.
The frightening part is how natural it feels.
How quickly your body learns his voice means safety. Guidance. Rest.
Hannibal becomes fascinated by the exact moment you slip.
That subtle point where your responses grow quieter and your eyes lose some of their guarded sharpness.
"You trust me, Y/N" he observes one evening.
In that softened state, honesty feels easier.
So you nod before you can think better of it.
The smile he gives you afterward is a reward you didn't know you craved.
There are sessions where you leave his office barely remembering parts of the conversation.
But some sensations always linger after.
His hand briefly smoothing over your hair.
His voice telling you to breathe slower.
The low quiet "Good" he gives when you follow his instructions.
One evening, you apologise afterward.
You were almost embarrassed by how compliant you became under his attention.
Hannibal only tilts his head slightly.
"Why?" he asks.
You struggle to explain it. The vulnerability. The strange warmth. The way your thoughts had stopped feeling entirely like your own.
He watches you carefully before speaking.
"Surely being cared for should not feel shameful." he says softly.
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