thinking about giving will a titjob for the first time
authors note: do people prefer au’s or drabbles/oneshots? leave your answers in my inbox x
warnings: titjob, sub!will.
you toss your bra onto the bed and reach for the bottle of lubricant, spreading the lube along his dick before taking one breast in each hand and nestling will’s cock in between your chest.
will nearly melts from the warmth that your boobs bring, then you start moving them up and down his length and it feels like heaven.
like the first encounter with you did. a pretty girl with her tits wrapped around his cock. damn.
not to mention the occasional moments when your tongue comes out and flicks over the opening. he can't help but feel truly blessed
you can’t miss the way will’s face twists in pleasure each drag of your breasts up and down his length even if you wanted to.
the soft pants and groans that leave his parted lips caused a sticky mess between your legs, making your panties latch onto your wet cunt.
it’s not a suprise to you that will busts quick, someone like him obviously would.
his face is a dead giveaway, and so are his mannerisms and how his knuckles are white from gripping his mattress.
he came fast the last time and in a way you find it oddly charming how quickly he cums.
what does surprise you though is when he opens his mouth and starts to beg.
"please…please can i t-touch them?”, he whimpers, the desperation in his voice clear. “i-i won’t ask for anything else…just please.”
he looks down through his heavy eyelids, silently pleading with you, and you’ve got to admit, it’s making you even more soaked. you bite your lip and make a small noise of approval, stopping what you’re doing and reaching for his hands to put them on your breasts.
his large hands squeeze the soft flesh, really feeling and savouring what its like to have a nice pair of tits beneath his palms before his hips jerk as he holds your boobs, fucking your chest.
“ohhh”, will whines, “can i please cum? need to”, he mumbles, still fucking up into you.
you sigh softly and stroke his hair in a teasing way, the sight was making your clit throb. will looks up at you, his eyes teary and his lip swollen from biting it, “please”, he begs.
“fine”.
his seed spills all over your tits creating a mess. will immediately notices your reaction and whimpers, “i’m sorry”. and the cycle continues.
You knew that look. That dejected, ruined expression on Will’s face as he came through the door. His shoulders were hunched, his backpack slung over his shoulder, slipping to the ground in a heap. His curls were unruly, jutting up from his scalp due to running his fingers through them over and over again. Something he only did at the height of frustration. There was anguish glistening in those dark eyes of his, a need so palpable you could taste it in the air. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t.
It was rare that you took control. Will was always the dominant one. He revelled in bestowing pleasure upon you, making you writhe, keen, and beg as he drew out your climax for hours with filthy words and a deviant tongue. However, on nights like this, the only way to get Will out of his own head was to relinquish it.
It started with tenderness. His eyes on your face as you undid the buttons of his shirt, your fingertips gracing the fine dusting of hair upon his chest. He exhaled at the sensation, a long-drawn-out breath as you pushed his jacket and shirt from his shoulders leaving them in a pile on the floor. He toed off his shoes at the door, his socked feet padding across the floor as you took his hand and guided him to the bedroom. You dropped to your knees in front of him, your palms running over the arch of his calves through the fabric of his trousers. Your fingers skated over the back of his knee before your fingertips swirled a pattern along the back of his thighs. His hips tilted just slightly, a brief intake of breath in your ears.
“I’m going to take care of you tonight.” You told him, rubbing your cheek against his hardening cock. The fingers on his right hand twitched, a sign that he wanted to touch you but wouldn’t allow himself to. “Are you going to be a good boy?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded once. You unthreaded the belt from its buckle, undoing the clasp on his trousers leaving them to pool around his hips before guiding them down his legs. He was wearing black today, boxer briefs that hugged his lower body, the outline of his erection prominent and visible.
“You look so good in black.” You whispered, your lips brushing over his clothed cock. He shivered as your nails scrapped up along the back of his thighs, palms sliding under the material and gripped his ass, guiding him towards your mouth. He cried out, a sweet, hoarse noise as your lips fastened around the tip, sucking it through the fabric.
“Oh Baby, I can tell how badly you need this.” You murmured as you drew down his underwear. “How good you’ve been all day, doing your best for everyone else.”
His lips pursed together, his head tilting back so that his gaze was on the ceiling. He could never vocalise his needs, they were complicated, twisted up in years of self-flagellation. He could never ask but he could want. You knew how strip away that agony, to bring him back to himself. Every ounce of pleasure had to be given, you had to show him how much he meant to you because sometimes Will didn’t believe he was worthy of love and affection, despite how much he craved it.
You licked up along the length of his cock, slow and deliberate. Your tongue swept over the head, the salty taste of pre-cum in your mouth before you enveloped him. The noise that tore from his throat was choked, an involuntary sound that emitted from his chest. His fingers twitched again, pressing into the soft flesh of his thigh, and leaving indentations as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock.
It didn’t matter how much he wanted it, he wouldn’t allow himself to reach out and touch you. Your tongue swirled around the tip, teasing, tracing, tasting. You savoured him, worshipping his dick with your mouth, finding a sensuous rhythm, that left each one of his breathes punctuated with a whimper. His legs trembled as you withdrew, pink creeping across the freckles as you placed a palm on his chest and pushed. He tumbled into a sitting position at the edge of the bed, his arms propping up his shoulders, his back arched. He watched with glistening eyes as you stripped away your jeans and panties leaving you clad in that long tunic t-shirt that you wore.
“Do want to taste me baby?” You asked him. “See how wet you make me?”
He groaned, a hearty sound that reverberated through this chest as your fingers delved into your moist core. You straddled his lap, pushing your fingers into his mouth. He lapped at them like a man starving, sucking them deeper as he licked them clean.
“Good boy.” You murmured; your fingers tangled in his curls. “Are you ready for more?”
He let out a needy whine as you tugged his hair, drawing back his head to expose his throat. Your wetness pressed against the tip of his cock, rubbing across the head. His hands bunched in the sheets, gripping them in his fists as he struggled to keep his hips still. It was a war, you watched it wage inside of him before you took control, sinking down slowly onto his cock taking it inch by inch. He gasped loudly, his head flinging back in rapture.
It was stunning, the sight of him starting to unravel underneath you. You rode him gradually, until his eyes grew feverish, and that pink flush crept up along his neck and across his cheeks. You knew he was coming apart when he grasped desperately at your wrist, cinching it in his grip before guiding it to his throat.
He couldn’t say what he wanted, couldn’t bring himself to admit he needed to concede completely. You stared into those dark eyes of his, so beautiful, reckless and wild, as you squeezed tightly. His hips jerked, thrusting up into you as he let out a feral sob, spilling himself inside of you. Your hands entangled in his hair guiding his face into the hollow of your throat. You felt the dampness on your shirt as he held onto you, clinging to you like a lifeline.
“You were such a good boy.” You whispered, your breath ghosting over his ear. “So perfect for me.”
His breathing was ragged when he drew away from you, the back of his hand wiping across his tearstained eyes.
“Thank you darling.” He murmured; his voice still raw as he cupped your cheek. “You always know just what I need.”
Cherry Wine Series Part 2- I have this some of the time
Main Masterlist | Triple Frontier Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Pairing: William Ironhead Miller x Francisco Catfish Morales
Rating: Explicit. All my blogs and works are 18+ regardless of rating. Minors do not interact. I will not interact with any blog that does not have an age or age range in their bio.
Summary: IronFish whumpy smut lead in.
Words: 1.4k
Warnings: Whump, angst, mentions of violence, PTSD, shame, pain kink, pain play, swearing, injuries, eventual smut, whumpy smut, sub!Will, dom!Frankie, dom/ sub dynamics
A/N: Please do not read if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable. You are responsible for your own content consumption.
Part Two: The Present- I have this some of the time
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Frankie figures it out fast.
When he was assigned to Will’s unit as their pilot he did his due diligence and sussed them all out before effectively trapping himself in a metal death cage in the sky with all of them.
He knew Will had a history. That their superiors kept a close eye on him for indications of PTSD and anything else that could crop up and make his position as Captain unfavorable. And while Frankie never figured out exactly what Will’s history involved- he figured out the pain kink almost instantly.
It didn’t help that Will was a creature of habit and routine even amidst the chaos and disruption of war. Every night like clock work, during their off time he’d go to the base gym just before lights out. Put his fists to the heavy bag for as long as he could- until the sweat streamed down his back and his knuckles were bruised.
Frankie always knew when Will was the most stressed and seeking reprieve- because on those mornings the fist that held his coffee mug would have the knuckles split. Red and weeping and shiny and although Will made an effort to wince anytime they opened- Frankie caught him flexing his hands beneath the table. The subtle lift of his lips as the pain sunk into his awareness, as the red drops darkened the dirt beneath his boots. The far away look on Will’s face- like he’s dropped into a pleasant dream.
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Frankie let’s Will keep his secret for a while.
Until Will stops getting his injuries treated.
And while the rest of the team accepted it- Will had never given them a reason not to trust him when he said the wounds weren’t that bad or that he’d get someone to look at it later- after someone more urgent was seen first- Fish couldn’t.
He’d seen the deep, dark bruise adorning Will’s thigh earlier that day when he’d dressed in the dark of the barracks. Purple so deep Frankie wasn’t sure how Will hadn’t thrown a clot and carked it already. So when Will hauls himself into the back of the transport truck- only a little less graceful than usual when his thigh meets the tailgate- Frankie shoves himself down the bench to create a spot for their Captain beside him.
Will settles in with less ease than usual, hand rubbing at his leg in a way that could be construed as soothing to anyone else. But Frankie knows better.
Most of the way back to base, Frankie watches as most of the team settles into dissociation or sleep before he makes his move.
Will is awake of course- running the op through his head over and over- picking at the bed of his nails already destroyed from stress. Sensing the waves of un-amusement wafting from his side, Will’s gaze lifts to Frankie’s.
“Pissed you’re not in the driver’s seat?” Will asks with a teasing smile and Frankie huffs.
“The last run you were too damn reckless- and I had to let the new guy have a go-” Will attempts to explain but Frankie claps a hand down on Will’s thigh- hard.
Will jumps at the contact- bites back the moan that builds when Frankie’s fingers dig into the hard muscle of his thigh- swollen and firm from the bruise. Frankie spits out a curse when he feels the lack of give beneath his grasp- the heat that pours off Will’s leg and into his palm- the bruise taken hold.
“M’not the only one that’s damn reckless,” Frankie spits.
“You ever heard of compartment syndrome? Because you’re about to fucking find out,” Frankie growls while Will squirms under his grip. The tick of Will’s jaw is like his pulse- teeth grinding the groan building in his throat to something strangled- something he can huff through his nose and pretend it doesn’t exist. The gathering of pleasure behind his teeth- in between his legs and he can almost convince himself he doesn’t like this- the way Fish leans into his space. The way his nerves scream to react- to shove to create space but if Will’s honest he wants less.
He wants to drop into the pain that Fish pulls through the cords of his thigh. Strumming Will into a placid state- his mind gone fuzzy and far away- his body hauled onto pleasure alongside the pain and he wants more.
“And for fucking what?” Frankie asks and Will freezes- gaze locked with Frankie’s. Fear and shame alight in his eyes- the first spark of anything that Fish has seen in weeks that wasn’t cold, distant calculations and decisions. Will flusters- gaze ripping away from Frankie’s to discern if anyone around them is paying attention but Fish has kept his voice low- just barely above the roar of the engine and the gravel that spits up into the floor beneath their boots. The rest of the team rests in their muted displacements, unaware of the conflict between the men.
“Because you like this?” Fish asks, digs in his fingers just that much harder so the moan that Will’s buried behind his teeth is ripped from him.
It’s wrecked.
It goes straight to Frankie’s cock- where he was half hard before, now his tactical pants are too tight and fuck if that sound won’t haunt him in his bunk tonight and for the rest of fucking time.
And now he’s even more pissed.
He’s trying to make a point.
And it’s just like his golden haired idiot Captain to distract him.
“Fucking stop-” Will manages to plead, but there’s no conviction behind it- none behind the way his hand has grabbed Frankie’s- has made no move to remove his hold. There’s added pressure in fact- Will’s hand is warm and insistent with need, locked onto Frankie’s.
When Will adds a Please they’re both unsure for what exactly he begs until his hand presses against Frankie’s- hard.
Frankie’s lust breaks on reason when Will hisses- the hint of a smile lifting his lips over his bared teeth for a flash and Frankie clocks it like he’s watching Will through a sniper’s scope. Every inch of Will revealed to him- every minute action and inaction laid out in front of him for his consideration and Frankie takes aim with ruthlessness.
“Stop fucking around with your health,” Fish retorts and Will blinks once- twice- before he snarls. Rage and shame colliding, snapping through his frame in an instant.
Before he can snark out a response, Frankie cuts him off.
“What?” Frankie implores, almost smug as he leans into Will’s space, “You gonna pull fucking rank with me?” Fish asks, tone dropped low and a ripple of tease alongside a strong current of authority moving through his voice so that Will shivers into complicity.
“You hide behind Captain. Under that uniform all buttoned up. Not a hair out of place if you can help it. But I bet you fucking miss the days where you were taking the orders instead of giving them, don’t you Will?” Fish asks, the barest hint of a smile teasing his lips as he speaks. The emotions- lust, rage, embarrassment- flicker over Will’s face- unguarded in the wake of the firefight they were just in. Ironhead is gone if he ever was there in the first place- and it’s just Will sat beside him. Stressed and needy and gaze blown out like he’s taken a round to the head. Bottom lip bitten to absolute shit and fuck if Frankie doesn’t want to kiss him senseless. Add his own teeth to the mix of Will’s pleasure.
The truck pulls to an abrupt stop, Will’s nose grazing Frankie’s as the weight of him pushes against him. Frankie’s smile nearly kisses the tight line of Will’s mouth before Will rises, coiled frame glinting off Frankie’s for a moment like two blades in battle. Frankie doesn’t miss the way Will subtly adjusts himself before anyone else rouses from their sleep and exhaustion before he’s moving to the back of the truck.
Will drops off the tailgate like he’s got something to prove- withholds the cringe at the pain that shoots up his leg and straight to his groin. Casts one final glare at Fish before he heads straight to the medbay.
Fish’s smile burns at his back as he makes his way- unhurried as though his measured steps can undo everything about that interaction. The echo of Frankie’s words haunt Will alongside his answering moan and pleas- bouncing around his head louder than the firing of his rifle.
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When Hannibal feels the first sharp sting of it, he is, fortunately, alone.
In his study, the fire blazing bright despite the overly-warm weather outside, he shifts his weight, a tendril of warmth that has nothing to do with the fire running from the base of his neck to the small of his back. It dances down his spine, falls and curls like a rope artist in a circus, settles low in his belly. His fingers tremble, and clench around the stem of his wine glass, and he looks up from his book and sets his eyes on the fire.
"…Interesting," he murmurs.
He says it the same way a commander might order to drop a bomb on a city. He sets his glass down, carefully, and waits until the sensation goes away. He curls his fingers up tightly, rests his fists on his thighs, and forces his hands flat against the soft material of his suit pants. They slide down to his knees, then back up, and he breathes out as the feeling fades like a contraction.
The clock on the mantle reads that it's just past ten at night. He has several hours before his natural sleep patterns are due to rear their head, but he feels abruptly drained, and tired, as he has come to expect from his thorough research on the subject. It is, unfortunately, an unavoidable trick of biology, but one he had not expected for several more years.
He pushes himself to his feet, wine forgotten, and goes to his appointment book. He has several patients scheduled over the next few days, and on the next page noting the beginning of the new week, he circles the date and makes a note to keep that week clear.
He will be in no condition to tender and cater to his patients, if he even makes it that far.
He has prepared for this, of course. No self-respecting Omega of his stature and skill would deign to let themselves be taken by surprise. Although, again, he has not expected his final heat to approach for some time, it is one of those occurrences people prepare for like Doomsday. He has plans, and bags packed, and knows what he will need to do, to make sure he makes it through the ordeal with minimal discomfort.
The first step will be to hunt, to stock his fridge and his stores so he will not go hungry.
The second step will be to find a suitable companion.
5 or more sentences with sub will and "You blush so beautifully." Please?
"You blush so beautifully." You told Will, your thumb tracing the outline of his lips before it slipped inside his wanton mouth. He moaned around the digit, sucking it even deeper as the pink flush crept across his cheeks. Your hips straddled his thighs, keeping him pinned in place underneath you as you arched just slightly. You were soaking, your wetness leaking onto his throbbing cock, trapping it between his abdomen and your slick folds.
“Do you feel what you do to me Will?” You whispered, rubbing yourself along the length of his erection. “I could stay like this all night, just working you up until your begging me to cum. Would you like that?”
His whiskey-coloured eyes fixed on yours as he nodded, you could see the relief brimming in them, the raw want. He needed you to take care of him, to take control and bring him back to himself.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Hannigram | Explicit | One-Shot
It's been a long time since Hannibal took Will to the Dungeon. They haven't had time or the desire to properly indulge outside of their house, which Hannibal has never minded since he has more than enough space and tools to care for Will properly there. But the proud, peacocking part of his personality delights in taking Will somewhere semi-public occasionally. He likes seeing other people admire his lovely boy, knowing that they cannot have him.
He likes to learn the faces and names of the ones who try anyway, for meal plans later.
