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omichiz · 2 days ago

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MISSION FILE [SYNC_001]ㅤA GENTLEMAN NEVER BEGS!

pilot link designation: morinozuka takashi x male reader

memory fragment: you both know the restraints are cosmetic—he could break protocol at any time. but he let you fasten them anyway. and now, with full system control in your hands, you're going to savor every second of his surrender.

lcl-embedded data: reader is in control until he isn’t, established relationship, handcuffing, power play, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, copious amount of precum, overstimulation, implied marathon sex, belly bulge, creampie, anal penetration (reader receiving), handjob, anal masturbation, size kink, light degradation, praise, 4.6k words. character has been aged up!

pilot data no. 00: yo this was supposed to be for my neyveez account but it literally got BANNED. i cried for like an hour HELP ME. to whoever sent a request to that account for this fic, here it is. anyways all hail my glorious king mori

you weren’t doing anything. not even a little bit sexy. just laying on the couch with your legs in his lap, scrolling your phone like your brain was halfway offline.

his hand was wrapped around your ankle, lazy and warm, thumb moving slow and absent like it was muscle memory—like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. the tv was on but quiet, nothing interesting. neither of you were talking. nothing was happening.

but something had been building.

you’d been watching the way he sat there—legs spread wide, shirt a little damp from the post-gym shower, one hand slung over the back of the couch, the other wrapped around you like you were nothing more than an afterthought. big. calm. still. and your brain, nasty thing that it was, said it before you could stop it.

“bet you’d look good cuffed to the bed.”

you didn’t even look up when you said it. just let it sit there, stupid and accidental, heart already skipping in your chest because fuck, why would you say that out loud—

“okay.”

his voice was steady. quiet. not even a second of hesitation.

your phone slipped in your hand. you looked up at him, blinked once, hard, like maybe you hadn’t heard him right.

“huh?”

he met your eyes, no smirk, no blush, no mockery—just calm, still, willing.

“if you want to,” he said. “then it’s okay.”

and just like that, your stomach dropped. cock heavy. throat dry. your entire day rearranged around the fact that he meant it.

not because he couldn’t fight you. not because he had some secret subby streak waiting to be exposed. because he wanted to give it to you. wanted you to take control, to tell him what to do, to let you be the one who made him fall apart.

now he was laid out underneath you, wrists cuffed high above his head, stretched tight across the headboard—arms flexed, shoulders taut, whole body pinned wide and willing under your thighs like something sacred and breakable.

the cuffs clicked shut like a tease. snug, flush to his skin, secured to the bars—but you both knew it didn’t mean shit. he could break out if he wanted. easily. one flex of his wrists and they’d snap like cheap plastic. he could sit up, throw you off, flip you down against the mattress and fuck you until you cried.

but he didn’t.

he chose to stay down, body trembling under you, every inch of him held in place by nothing but his own desire to give you the reins. and it made your head swim.

you were straddling his thighs, both of you naked, heat slick between you. your cock ached against your stomach, flushed and leaking, twitching every time he gasped. but you hadn’t touched it once—not since you climbed on top of him, not since you first wrapped your fingers around the thick base of his cock and watched him jump like it shocked him.

you’d been edging him for almost two fucking hours. and it showed.

his body was drenched. sweat clung to his chest in glistening beads, dripping down the cut lines of his abs, catching at the crests of his hips where your thighs pressed tight around him. his throat was flushed, his face—fuck—his face was ruined, red and raw, lips parted in a soft, helpless pant. eyes barely open, lashes damp.

but his cock was worse.

it looked obscene. flushed a brutal red, thick and swollen, veins bulging under your palm. soaked. twitching constantly, like it couldn’t handle another second untouched. the head gleamed wet, leaking so much precum it ran down in fat trails, coating your fist, slicking your strokes until it sounded filthy—wet and fast and messy as hell.

and he was moaning.

not loud. not dramatic. just soft, ragged sounds torn out of him every time you worked the right rhythm—low in his throat, a little sharp at the end when you twisted your wrist on the upstroke, made your grip tighter at the tip and dragged your thumb right across the slit.

“fuck—hah—”

his hips jerked, stomach clenching.

you grinned. leaned in closer, letting your chest brush his, just enough for him to feel your cock pulse against his skin.

“still with me, babe?” you whispered, fingers gliding down the underside of his shaft, slow and slick and practiced. “feels like you’re starting to lose it.”

he nodded—small, shaky. voice hoarse. “y… yeah.”

you squeezed at the base and gave him a slow stroke, twisting on the way up, just to hear him gasp.

“been so good for me,” you murmured, kissing the sweat off his collarbone. his arms tensed against the cuffs. biceps flexing under the strain. his hands curled into fists, knuckles white. but he still didn’t pull.

“you could, y’know,” you said, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “snap these. flip me over. take what you want.”

his breath stuttered. you could feel it in your grip.

“…i won’t.”

“why not?”

his voice was wrecked. low. trembling. “i want… you to.”

well, fuck. your cock throbbed where it pressed to his hip. your whole body burned.

you spat in your hand, let it mix with the mess already coating him, and stroked him again—harder, tighter, faster now. your fingers worked his cock like you were built for it. one hand pumping smooth and slick from base to tip, the other sliding down to cup his balls, rolling them slow while your thumb circled the head.

he groaned.

“f-fuck—nghh—”

his thighs twitched. his chest jerked. his voice cracked into something broken and wet and desperate when you dragged your thumb right under the tip and gave the base a squeeze that made his cock spasm in your hand.

you pulled back. stopped.

he whined. full-body shudder, hips twitching like they wanted to thrust into nothing. precum dripped steady from the head of his cock, painting his stomach in wet streaks, dripping into his navel.

you kissed his cheek. licked the sweat from his temple.

“not yet,” you whispered.

he groaned through his teeth. his head dropped back against the pillow, neck arched, jaw so tight it looked like it hurt.

“p-please…”

his voice was so quiet. you looked down at him—this massive, silent, dangerous man—and watched him tremble under you.

his cock twitched again. hard. helpless. leaking like it was crying for you.

“…want to be inside you.”

you froze.

his chest was heaving, sweat slick and shining in the low light, wrists still tight against the cuffs like it was the only thing holding him together. his throat worked around a swallow. breath stuttered again. eyes half-lidded and wet, lips red from biting them open.

your hand was still wrapped around his cock, not moving, flushed head twitching against your palm like it missed the rhythm already.

you raised an eyebrow. tilted your head.

“oh?” you said, slow and breathless. “is my hand not good enough for you?”

his brows pulled in. his abs twitched. his hips gave the smallest buck before he caught himself.

“it is,” he rasped. “just—fuck—i need…”

you squeezed the base just enough to make him groan. he was so fucking hot like this. trembling under you, not from fear or restraint but pure, restrained need. cock flushed, pulsing, leaking mess across his stomach, jaw tight with the weight of it.

“you need what?” you asked, starting to stroke again, slower this time, deliberate. you kept the pace light—nothing enough to push him close. just enough to tease. to draw every soft little breath from him.

his head dropped back against the pillows, arms flexing with tension he wouldn’t use.

“need to fuck you.”

his voice was hoarse. lower than normal. broken up from moaning too long without relief.

“need to feel you. i—”

he shuddered.

“i want to cum,” he said, honest, strained, every word dragged out like it hurt. “but not like this.”

you stilled. grinned down at him, cock aching untouched against your stomach.

he was unraveling. his thighs had started trembling again. his cock twitched in your grip like it knew what you were thinking.

and then you let go. his whole body jerked—hips jolting, breath catching, eyes wide and raw as your hand left him, fingers glistening with the mix of spit and slick that soaked your palm.

you leaned back on your thighs. his eyes followed you. heavy-lidded. desperate.

and then he saw where your hand was going.

he watched—silent—as you reached behind yourself, your hand still soaked from stroking him, slick with spit and the obscene amount of precum he’d been drooling all over your fingers. but there was more than just his mess on your skin—your own cock had been leaking the whole time, untouched, desperate, weeping over his stomach with every grind of your hips. and you hadn’t let yourself feel it. not really.

not until now.

you brought that wet hand to your rim, smeared it in slow, dirty circles, fingers slipping easy from how fucking messy you both were—and the second your middle finger dipped in, your whole body seized.

“fuck—”

your voice cracked.

your cock throbbed hard against his skin, twitching so violently it slapped your lower stomach. you’d been edging yourself without even realizing—so focused on him, on keeping your rhythm perfect, denying him over and over, that your own orgasm had been coiling just as tight in the background.

and now it was boiling up, white-hot, the second you gave yourself any kind of touch.

your breath stuttered. your thighs trembled.

mori was locked in place, cock twitching with every noise you made as you fucked yourself open with your slick fingers, chasing the stretch he hadn’t given you yet.

your moan slipped out quiet, head tilting back slightly, lips parting as you rocked into your own hand, the pressure low and deep as your middle finger sank in all the way to the second knuckle.

“f-fuck—”

mori’s voice was low. choked. his arms pulled once—just once—shoulders flexing under the strain of the cuffs, like his body forgot he wasn’t allowed to touch you. like he could already feel you around him.

your other hand braced against his chest, sweaty and firm, fingers splayed across his collarbone like you were keeping him down. even though he wasn’t going anywhere.

you added your ring finger—slow, wet, curling against that spot you knew wouldn’t hit right until—

“nnghh—ahh—shit—”

you gasped, back arching. stars blotting out your vision. your fingers weren’t long enough. couldn’t get deep the way he did. couldn’t stretch you just the way his cock always did when he bottomed out in one slow, thick thrust.

you whimpered. eyes fluttering shut. cock twitching against his skin as your fingers fucked yourself open, desperate, needy little strokes chasing that spot, that perfect drag, that ache he’d been denying you all night.

“mori—” you whispered, cracking a little, opening your eyes—

—and he was watching.

eyes glassy, lips parted, a quiet, almost broken noise spilling out as you rocked down on your fingers, slick squelching loud in the space between you. you looked right at him. smiled. breathless and wrecked.

“you’d be deeper.”

mori clenched his jaw, his chest stilled for just a second like he was trying not to breathe. then came the sound—small, wrecked, desperate as it slipped from between his teeth. his eyes slammed shut, head pressing back into the pillows like if he couldn’t see it, maybe he could survive it. like the wet, filthy sound of your fingers pumping into your own hole wasn’t driving him out of his fucking mind.

and when you pushed in a third—slick and aching to stretch more—your breath hitched high in your throat, a loud, involuntary whine bursting free as your hips jerked down onto your own hand.

he bit his lip so hard you almost swore he’d draw blood.

“f-fuck,” you gasped. your fingers weren’t big enough. they weren’t long enough. you were fucking yourself open slow, wrist flexing just to hit a little deeper, but it wasn’t the same. it wasn’t him.

he looked again. he couldn’t help it.

eyes dragged open, and he had the best goddamn view in the world. your back arched just right, body bent low over his thighs, fingers working in and out with slick, obscene pressure. his cock twitched hard against his stomach when your moan ghosted over the flushed head, so close he could feel your breath brushing the tip.

his thigh jerked under you, twitching at the stimulation, the frustration, the fucking hunger—and still he didn’t move. didn’t break free. he just watched, jaw clenched, skin burning, throat working around the moan he wouldn’t let out.

you whimpered again—softer this time, more desperate.

your fingers were moving faster now, fucking into you deep and wet, the drag of them making your thighs tremble where they pressed to his.

“nnghh… i can’t—” your voice shook, eyes fluttering shut. “mori, fuck—i want it so bad—”

you couldn’t stop grinding down on your hand. it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t him. but you were soaking your fingers, body clenching with every curl that just barely kissed your prostate, chasing that stretch he always gave you in one perfect, thick thrust.

mori’s fists clenched in the cuffs. his abs jumped, muscles pulling taut as he bit back another sound, and his cock leaked another thick rope of precum over his stomach.

you chuckled, breathless and raw, and let your fingers slide out of your hole with a wet, reluctant schlick. your rim clenched instinctively around nothing, twitching open and fluttering with need. you definitely needed more stretching—god, with how big mori was, you were barely prepped. but fuck it. that was half the point.

you liked the stretch. you liked the burn. you liked the soreness that came after, the ache that made your thighs shake and your hole flutter just remembering how deep he got. you’d take every inch of it raw and aching if it meant he’d look at you the way he was now—like he was starving.

you leaned forward, bent low again, and let your mouth ghost over the mess he’d made. his cock twitched where it lay against his stomach, flushed red, still leaking thick and steady. you ran your tongue right along the underside of the head, lapping up the fresh bead of precum that had gathered there, and moaned softly at the taste—salt, sweat, mori. pure desperation.

his breath caught.

“—hhnnggh—”

it was barely a sound, almost swallowed, but you felt it vibrate through his chest when you sat up. your ass settled against his thighs again, sticky with sweat and slick. you straddled him slow, deliberate, until the flushed rim of your hole hovered just inches above his cock.

he stared.

completely still. completely wrecked. his hands clenched tight in the cuffs, body trembling beneath you like he could barely take the sight of it. your hole—wet, fluttering, stretched red and still gaping slightly from your own fingers—right there above him, so close he could feel the heat.

you held his cock at the base, fingers slick and practiced, and gave it one slow slap against your rim.

“hnn—ahh—!”

his body jerked—thighs twitching under you, stomach spasming as the slap echoed wet and obscene in the quiet space between your skin. you did it again. tilted your hips forward slightly so the head of his cock kissed your rim and slapped it, dragged it, teased it in tiny circles that had your thighs trembling from sheer anticipation.

“nghh—fuck—”

mori groaned through gritted teeth, chest heaving. his eyes were blown wide now, locked where your bodies met. his arms strained against the cuffs—just barely, a twitch of muscle that meant he was one second from losing it.

and then—

you aligned him with your hole.

“ready?” you whispered, barely a sound, even though you were shaking.

his throat worked around a swallow. he nodded once.

you were just about to drop your weight—slow, careful, already bracing for the stretch—when suddenly, everything changed.

his feet planted against the mattress.

and he thrust.

“AH—shit—!”

he drove into you in one brutal, perfect motion—your hole forced wide around his cock, the stretch instant and burning and so deep you could feel it in your stomach. your knees buckled. your whole body collapsed forward with a strangled cry, chest crashing down against his, palms bracing flat on his shoulders.

“ah—ahhh—mori—”

he was buried to the hilt. his cock shoved in deep, the head pressing right against your prostate with no warning, no mercy, just the full weight of his need finally uncoiled after hours of denial. your thighs shook. your spine arched. your mouth opened on a moan you couldn’t even stop as your body clamped around him, milking him immediately.

and he broke.

“nnngh—hah—ahhh—!”

the sound tore out of him raw, desperate, a voice he never used. he was gasping, panting against your throat, head tipped back into the pillows, arms flexed tight in the restraints like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. his hips bucked again—tiny, involuntary—and then you felt it.

“ahh—f-fuck—!”

warmth.

thick, heavy pulses of cum spilling deep into you—heat rushing into your guts in sticky waves, cock twitching harshly with every clench of your walls. he moaned, broken this time, breath stuttering as his orgasm tore through him in a white-hot rush. his body trembled under yours, skin hot and slick with sweat, every muscle pulled taut as the relief finally hit.

“f-fuck… fuck, i—i c-can’t—ahhh—”

his voice cracked on the last syllable, rough and wrecked. he was gone. eyes fluttering shut, chest heaving under your weight, face flushed dark with exertion and the kind of relief that came from being pushed right to the edge and held there for hours.

you gasped as you felt it pour into you. hot. thick. so much.

your hole clenched down hard, trying to keep it in, and that only made him groan louder, hips giving another helpless thrust even as he came. the sheer volume of it made your head spin—you could feel it leaking already, oozing down your thighs where his cock plugged you full.

he was still cumming when he started thrusting again—messy, desperate, thick spurts flooding you deeper with every snap of his hips. he didn’t wait for you to adjust. didn’t ask. just shoved himself back in with a choked moan, the glide filthy from his own cum spilling out around the base, making it slick, wet, obscene.

you cried out—high and raw—as your body jolted from the sudden stretch, your hole fluttering around him like it didn’t know whether to clench or collapse. the pressure was too much. not enough. exactly what you needed. your fingers gripped the sheets on either side of his head, white-knuckled, as you pressed your chest to his, dizzy with the heat and the feel of him still moving inside you.

“h-hah—mori—nghh, oh god—”

your voice broke with each thrust, forced out of you by the rhythm of his hips punching up into your slick hole, dragging through the flood of warmth he’d just finished pumping into you. and he was still hard. harder, maybe. impossibly thick, pulsing with every tight squeeze of your body like it was coaxing another orgasm out of him already.

his face was buried in your throat, breath coming fast and wrecked. his lips brushed your skin, sticky and hot and open like he was trying to ground himself through you.

“too good,” he mumbled—voice wrecked, breathless, like he didn’t even realize he was saying it. “you feel—so good. fuck…”

your cock throbbed where it was crushed between your stomachs, aching and flushed, leaking constantly from how deep he was grinding into your prostate. but neither of you had touched it. it was raw friction and pressure alone, slick smeared between your bodies from how much you were leaking, and you couldn’t even find your rhythm anymore—his thrusts were too much, too fast, too deep, too everything.

he was oversensitive—you could feel it in the way he trembled, the low moans he couldn’t swallow back, the desperate flex of his thighs as he forced his cock to keep fucking into you even though he’d already emptied everything he had. but he didn’t.

he just kept moving. because your body was perfect. because you hadn’t come yet and he needed you to.

“want to feel you cum,” he breathed, voice a rasp of sound lost against your collarbone. his hips snapped up again—hard, deep, the slap of skin on skin wet and furious. “please—please, want to feel it…”

“mori—fuck—fuck, i’m—”

your legs were shaking. your thighs burned. every thrust knocked your cock harder against the mess between you, pressure building sharp and fast, tipping over into pain and pleasure in a single breathless second.

his hips slammed up into you again, thick cock dragging hard against your walls, the blunt head battering your prostate with such precision you almost couldn’t believe he wasn’t using his hands to line the thrust. his body moved under you like it was built for this—solid, braced, measured—and every upward drive was exact, like he could feel the exact moment his cock pressed against that swollen, overstimulated knot inside you and decided to grind into it.

“nnghh—mori, fuck, right—r-right there—ahhhn—!”

your voice broke, high and reedy, and your body shivered, hole twitching in rhythm with the constant, deep drag of his cock through your insides. the stretch never dulled. your rim was puffy, swollen, leaking around the base from how much he’d already spilled inside you—slick squelching with every slam of hips against ass, his thrusts only getting deeper, rougher.

you were barely holding on.

because even with his wrists strapped to the headboard, mori had seized the pace, the rhythm, the entire moment, and was fucking up into you like it was his decision now. like you had forgotten who was under you. like he was reminding you.

his body adjusted under you—shoulders lifting subtly off the mattress, back arched, thighs braced—and then every thrust started landing harder. deeper. your stomach jolted each time, and when you looked down between your bodies—oh, fuck—you could see the outline of him every time he bottomed out. bulging up under your skin just beneath your navel.

his cock was that thick, that hard, driving that deep through your hole and straight up into your guts.

you whimpered, breath catching in your throat as he pounded into you again and again, each thrust making your belly jump with the force of it.

his eyes caught it, too. he looked up at you—steady, unreadable, focused like you were the only thing he could see.

“you’re taking me all the way,” he said, voice low and even, chest heaving under you.

you shook. your arms trembled where they braced against his chest. your cock throbbed painfully between your stomachs, untouched and leaking, and still he hadn’t so much as glanced at it.

because this wasn’t about that.

this was about your hole, the way it swallowed him down again and again, the way your rim dragged along every inch like your body didn’t want to let him go. the way you clenched when he bulged your belly with one perfect thrust and held it, cock twitching deep inside you while you panted against his throat.

“look,” he murmured—voice lower now, a little more breathless, not because he was spent but because he was focused, intense in that quiet way only mori knew how to be.

his eyes dropped to your stomach. you followed. your skin was slick, flushed—and swollen. the shape of him was there. subtle, shifting under your skin each time his cock dragged forward and back.

you choked on a moan. your hands clutched at his chest, digging into his skin, needing something—anything—to anchor yourself as your hole spasmed and squeezed.

“you feel that?” he asked, almost gently.

then his hips snapped up again, harder than before.

your belly pushed out with the force of it, and your jaw dropped open on a soundless cry. your body locked down, chest heaving, cock slapping wet against his abs from the jolt.

you reached for him—maybe to kiss, maybe to stop him, maybe to beg, but he moved first.

he caught your mouth with his—silent, firm, deliberate. not wild. not messy. controlled. his tongue pressed past your lips slow and deep, swallowing the breath you didn’t have, and his hips never missed a beat. every push up sent another ripple through your core, another wet squelch echoing in your ears, another slick clap of your ass to his thighs.

you didn’t even feel it building anymore. you were past that. it was just there—every nerve stretched tight, body fluttering from the inside out, your cock throbbing like it had forgotten how to do anything but ache. mori was still fucking you like a metronome, perfect and steady and deep enough that your guts jumped every time he bottomed out, that sharp bulge dragging up your stomach with each grind.

you couldn’t think. couldn’t breathe.

his mouth was now on your throat, calm and warm, breath steady while your body unraveled above him. every thrust was hitting that spot inside you, your prostate swollen and worked over until even a twitch of your hole made your whole chest lock. your hands curled in the sheets beside his head. you were shaking—shoulders, arms, everything—and he just kept going.

not rushed. not frantic. just precise.

he watched your face, that usual unreadable stillness in his eyes, jaw tight, sweat rolling down his neck, and his hips snapped up one more time—sharp. unforgiving.

your vision whited out.

your body seized like it had shorted. mouth open in a silent, broken cry. your cock jerked once against his stomach—and then it burst.

“ah—ahhh—fuck—!”

you came so hard it hurt, every pulse shooting out of you in thick, white-hot ropes that hit your chest, his abs—one streak landing straight on his chin. it clung there, slick and hot, sliding down the line of his jaw while he looked up at you, cock still buried in your ass, his own hips stuttering under the sudden squeeze of your hole milking him.

you were still cumming. twitching. leaking. you couldn’t stop it—your cock kept jumping, helpless against his skin, cum smearing both your stomachs. your thighs shook, body collapsing against his as you buried your face in the side of his neck, moaning into the sweat-slick skin.

and then he groaned.

low. guttural. from the pit of his chest.

his hips punched up again—once, twice—your hole spasming, clinging so tight around his cock it felt like you were trying to suck him in.

“fuck—” his voice cracked, quiet and rough.

you felt him throb. hard. and then pulse.

his cock jerked inside you as he came again, balls tight, stomach clenching under yours. the second load hit deep, his cock twitching violently as he released, the heat of it pouring into your already stuffed hole, mixing with the first and spilling back out in hot waves with every slow grind.

he didn’t speak. didn’t growl. didn’t lose himself. just exhaled hard through his nose, jaw clenched, breathing heavy as your body locked around him, dragging out his orgasm in tight, painful pulses.

you felt him twitch again. and again.

he let out a noise—not loud, but strained. like he was holding back something he didn’t want to say. his hands still clenched in the cuffs, back arched, breath stuttering as his body jerked with the overstimulation.

“too much?” you whispered against his skin, voice shaking, still panting.

he didn’t answer right away. just shifted under you, hips lifting again with a slow, instinctive thrust—his cock still hard, still buried, still twitching inside your wrecked hole.

“…not yet,” he murmured. and thrust again.