#sub!will

authors note: do people prefer au’s or drabbles/oneshots? leave your answers in my inbox x

warnings: titjob, sub!will.

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Rated M for Mature. Sub!Will

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.”

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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.

Hannigram ABO D/s AU

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.

"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.

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.