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bitchlessdino · 1 year

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Thank You, Secretary Lee

Pairing: chan x f!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 3.6k

Tags: business au, secretary!chan, CEO!reader, mentions of alcohol, power dynamic, kitchen sex, oral (receiving), unprotected sex

summary: Being a secretary was more than a job to Chan. It was being a right-hand man, a partner, and a dog. To lee Chan, being your secretary is a way of life.

author note: personally requested by and header by @chogiwapadada I love the header and l love the request. And thank you @wonwussy for beta reading and helping make this look complete. It’s been a little bit since i wrote full Chan fic and just to remind you guys the Chanrot never stops!!! This was a little business proposal inspired obviously, title inspired by what’s wrong with secretary Kim. Office tropes are honestly one of my favorites. Enjoy guys and a heads up. In a few weeks from now I’ll be out of the country for a little over two weeks so I’ll be in a semi hiatus. I won’t be as active posting comments but I will occasionally reblog and such. An announcement will be made closer to the date.

Everyone congratulated you as expected, while some wallowed in their obvious envy, assuming your achievement come out from sheer nepotism. That didn’t bother you in the slightest. You knew how you got where you there. You thrived knowing you’re the youngest female CEO in the company’s history, overpassing your brothers and sisters for the position, and dedicating a decade of your life to be where you are now. No one was going to take that feeling away from you.

In your well-tailored pantsuit, the clicking of your heels echoed in the empty halls before entering the familiar cubicle area of your subordinates smiling, fake or not, it didn't matter. You thank them in your own pristinely shaped smile, eyes on only one thing and one thing only: your new private office. Your wide-eyed spectacled secretary follows your every move rhythmically, walking a respectful distance behind you, greeting your subordinates just the same.

Just as you’re about to enter the peace and quiet, you’re surrounded, bombarded on whether you’d be celebrating along with the rest of the company.

You gave a CEO-friendly smile and declined, letting them know you have a business to take care of long after the work day. However, you insist that they can all eat on behalf of you on the Company’s Treat, sure that one of the Executives below you can stand in your place. They all cheered after the sound of free food and alcohol, saying you’d be missed, and graciously roused, shouting your name like an athlete shooting the winning basket.

You hold your hand up in thanks, reminding them it’s still working hours to return to their duties, and finally are able to seek refuge in your office, your secretary closing the door behind him. You sigh in contentment seeing your plaque. You approach your desk with a genuine smile, dragging your finger over its shiny surface before walking behind the desk and taking a seat in your chair.

Secretary Lee stands to the side from a distance, hands joined politely at your back quietly observing you. “I take it’s to your liking.”

You nod, caressing the leather exterior of your swivel chair. “It’s perfect.”

“Is there anything you need before I return to my desk?”

You grin at him, “That’ll be all.”

The rest of the work day goes by without a hitch and most of the employees leave to get that free dinner, with a select few heading homes instead, you being one of them. You pack up your things and shut down the desktop. You trod out the door, stuffing documents in your briefcase, and notice that your Secretary is still on standby at his desk while most people are long gone.

“You’re not going to the dinner, Lee?”

He turns to the sound of your voice, an emotionless ‘ah’ leaves his lips in realization, as if he just remembered that was happening, “I was going home today. Wasn’t sure if I wanted to be around a bunch of drunk middle-aged men tonight right before the weekend.”

“Fair,” you chuckle at his honest answer, “We can share a car then. We’re heading to the same building.”

“We both bought a car,” he points out, putting away his important belongings.

“I can leave mine behind, it’s safe here.”

You follow him out to his car, taking the passenger seat naturally, and take on the road quietly. You sit comfortably near each other, your attention on your phone sending emails, and Secretary Lee laser-focused on the road and not a peep from him heard. It stays this way until the end of the car ride, soon reaching the parking lot of your mutual apartment building. You walk out of the car and head to the elevators together to take the lift up to the mutual floor before you separate to go to your respective residences.

“Have a good night,” you tell him, hand on the door handle.

He stands in front of his door, only several feet away from your door, and smiles back at you politely, “You have a good night too.”

You disappear from each other simultaneously, matching even the shutting of the door. You store away your blazer in the hallway closet, loosening up the articles of clothing for a more comfortable and less stuffy fit. Even if it was a successful day at work, it was a day at work.

Your subordinates may have loved the idea of food and drinks all paid for but what did you have to benefit from such an event? You already kissed all the ass you could. You were done impressing, you were riding now your highest high.

You smile to yourself washing off the lather of the grime you built up over the day. The steam of water flushes your skin, having you sigh from its warmth. When you got out of the shower, relief follows as well as a doorbell. You quickly throw a robe over your wet body, hastily tying the knot around your waist, and you beeline to answer the ring.

On the camera intercom, you see a familiar face, both friendly and bearing gifts. You greet them at the door at once, knowing all too well his gaze couldn’t help but linger. Whether it was on the sliver of cleavage peeking out of your robe, the droplets falling to your soft, wet skin, or even how that robe hugs your body to show off your silhouette.

“Wine, Mr. Lee? How thoughtful.”

The visitor chuckles, pushing up his glasses to the highest point of his nose, “We’re out of the office now. Please, call me Chan.”

“Come in…Chan.”

You leave room for him to enter, not without his eyes briefly scanning your body until he hears the shut of your door. “Let me get dressed. You can drop the wine off in the kitchen. I’ll be right there.”

“As you wish.”

You get ready in a timely manner, drying most of your hair and covering what was important and leaving out what wasn’t, before taking a calm stride to the kitchen to see Chan’s back towards you pouring glasses of wine enough for just the two of you. He hears your footsteps, holding one glass out to you. “Cheers to your new position, Ms. CEO.”

“Now you’re the one formal with me,” You smile, accepting the glass graciously, clinking it with his, and letting its bittersweet taste hit your tongue as Chan did the same.

“I like the sound of it. Ms. L/n. It’s…sexy.”

He swirls his wine by the stem, flitting his gaze in at your body in a thin, little camisole and shorts, a single silk robe covering your arms and shoulders that tied loosely from your body, coordinated in red; the most powerful of colors. He feels tension in his trousers, shifting the space inside so it's just a little less noticeable. “Women in power are truly amazing.”

He finishes his wine to the last drop and is quick to pour himself another glass and helpful in refilling yours. You reach out to grasp the hem of his dress shirt, although he had removed his blazer, he failed to free himself from the restraints of the buttons. One plastic piece at a time, you begin to reveal the toned, and smooth surface of his pectorals, practically bursting through the thin cotton fabric.

“So excited to see me, you couldn’t even change out of your work clothes? At least loosen up your shirt here.”

He takes a step closer to make it easier for you, staring through his lenses at the eyes fixated on his clothes before they quickly lock with his, ruffling his shirt until it pleased you. A hint of a smile on his face, gregariously accepting your attention. “That’s better.”

“Don’t think it'd be better off? Like how things were back then when you had all the time in the world for me?” He sly suggests.

You scoff, lightly shoving him off and taking a sip from your wine, that cocky smile on Chan’s face showing no sign of faltering. “You hoped I’d come over, didn’t you?”

Your secretary was proud to be reminding you of your past. Despite having broken up the more times that the number of fingers you have, he stuck in the history you have. From college students, to interns, to the executive positions you now hold, he’s found several ways to come back to you. He’s worked just as hard, if not more, just to keep you in his line of vision. You’ve watched him climb the ranks, surpassing you in every way until now with you topping him in the highest rank possible. He was a thorn in your side, and that made him the most diligent and loyal person you knew. Lee Chan is the perfect secretary.

“Have you not eaten,” you decidedly change the subject, “we hadn’t gotten home that long ago.”

“I like working up an appetite before I eat,” he answers, his hands settling on your hips, “I know you’d agree.”

Your breathing makes an uneven shift, letting yourself drag your feet closer to him, “You like it.”

There's evident pride on his face, “‘It’ as in what’s happening? Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I mean the roleplay, being a good, helpful, efficient little righthand man to me,” You find purchase back on his shirt, thumbing over its cool material, “So you come back to me and treat me however you want after a hard day’s work?”

“It’s part of the fun, but, I like being by your side.”

He directs you to the presence of a kitchen counter, digging your backside into the edge of the counter, and instead of drinking the rest of his wine, he drinks your lips. Languidly, he kisses you with vigor, his teeth occasionally catching your bottom lip. Your arms rest on the structure of his shoulders, eyes shutting as you clench the arousal between your legs. He parts only briefly, the transparent lenses fogging up and the metal frame grazing the tip of your nose. “But that’s second to having to do whatever I want with you.”

He seamlessly reconnects, hiking up your bare legs to his hip, and the stiffness of his bulge pokes your stomach. A hand runs up his hair, tongue tasting the fermented grapes, admittedly sweeter on your secretary. He pulls you up from the ground to place you on the kitchen counter, your thighs bracing its cool marble surface. His pretty hands fingering along your inner thigh, his index and middle digits pressing on the wet spot of your shorts.

“How ‘bout it?” His shallow breaths against your lips, “Should I stuff you until you’re crying my name? Or should I let the wet, glossy cunt answer for you?”

A grin spreads wide across your face and you shake your head no. Instead, you grip the back of his head, tugging him inches away from you, a soft whine leaves his lips. You push him down by his shoulder and he falls limply to his knee. Both your hands play with the tips of his hair, angling you at your clothed cunt, butterflies zooming in his stomach. He watches you with wide eyes like a helpless puppy.

You stare back domineering, “You almost forgot that it’s my day, hmm? I’m in charge now, Lee, and I say you get to eat.”

You tug him at the center of your core, watching him lick his lips. He pulls up his sleeves, pushes up his glasses, and parts your legs wide enough just for his head. He fingers at the hem of your shorts, snapping his elastic.

“Hey!” You exclaimed.

“I should at least get to play with my food, right?” His head dives to the center of your stomach, pulling apart the robe strap from his mouth, pulling at its end, and watching it fall loose around your sides. He does the same with your shorts. His breathing tickles the patch of your abdomen, and he catches the top hem expertly between his teeth, dragging over your thighs and past your calves agonizingly slow. If there was a time to kick him, it’d be now.

He makes up for his teasing by pinning your thighs on the marble, planting his tongue flat against your panties, and running a thick stripe against the fabric. He lets out a deep chuckle when you whimper, smiling up at you knowingly because although you tower over him, he had the manual to pushing your buttons.

He kisses your wet spot, lips pressed against you, groaning between your thighs. He engorges on you like there isn't a silk wall in between, digging his face deeper, breathing hot breaths until he could feel squirm.

“Chan,” you call out achingly, “eat me out, jerk.”

“But I am,” he retorts in a sinister tone.

Your hands go on to grip the counter in frustration, “You know what I mean…I want your mouth on my pussy…please.”

He obliges, not without rewarding himself that is, slipping your panties down normally before stuffing them in his trousers, “I’ll consider this your white flag.”

He thumbs over your folds, your arousal glistening and seeping out of your cunt so scrumptious. “This pretty pussy looks good enough to eat.”

He takes a sample, licking inside your walls like it’s what's left of a yogurt cup. You were thick as honey. His tongue flicks up your clit, his spit streaming down your slit before his mouth devours with all he has in him. “So sweet…”

Laughing maniacally, you feel the hot pressure of his latched in mouth clash with the cool metal of his frames pushing against your clit. You hold him there by his hair, once molded by wax in perfection to be ruined by your ungraceful control, rutting yourself with his face.

Your eyes flutter open and shut, the tension in your stomach builds up with every lick, and you feel yourself slouch down the cabinet behind you to hug him closer. Your whines never-ending, you grip his strands harsher, his high-pitched gasps slip through and tickle your entrance.

“Mmh, like that. Doing…so…good.”

Chan could feel his frames smush up against your warmth, losing oxygen but relentless to feel the gush of your nectar coat the inside of his mouth and swallow what couldn’t fit down his throat.

Moaning out when he flicks his tongue at three times its previous speed, you clutch him against you, ankles crossed behind his head, hips thrusting in his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Ivory honey fills the insides of his cheeks as your thighs hug their outside perimeter. In a few moments, you have none left in you to cum and you loosen your grip. Chan detaches himself from you, gasping for air, breathing against your heat, but not for long as he reconnects with another pair of lips. His wet cheeks are covered in a mess of his salvia and your climax as he stamps against your face, meanwhile, his tongue lets that same concoction fall in your mouth, generous with sharing.

He parts from you and thick translucent ribbons stretch from both your faces, Chan is proud to see the vicious liquid dribble down your chin as it does his. “Well, aren't you a good little mess?”

You snicker, “Speak for yourself. How do you even see with those on?”

You refer to the glasses kept on the entire time, stained with tonight's recent events: fog, cum, and all. No wet cloth could wipe away that. He lets out an amused laugh, quick to toss it away in the sink, finally revealing those pretty brown eyes. “Happy?”

“As much as I like seeing covered in my cum, you need to be cleaned up a little bit more.”

You tear away a paper towel from the wall, dampening it from the sink, and use it to wipe up the rest of his face. He smiles through your gesture, keeping a piece of your robe between the pads of his fingers. “Not too thorough, I’m not done with you.”

He has you tossing the wet napkin away, distracting you with a kiss, taking your hands, and guiding them to the opening of his shirt. “Take it off for me.”

You follow through, dropping it to the floor with ease. You gingerly trail your hands over his tight body, flushed in anticipation and lust. You admire his build without looking, involuntarily drooling as your lips ghost over his. Your legs hook around this torso, pulling him against you before whispering, “Your turn.”

“Gladly.”

One arm at a time, he drops your robe down the counter. He feels up the skin under your camisole before he slides it above your head and it hits the floor with his dress shirt. He lets himself get lost in the surface of your skin, smoothing down your curves and edges. Hands falling to your breasts, reminiscing in their weight, bounce, sensation. He bends his head to kiss a bud while thumbing over another, eyes turned up at your gaze. “You look nice in pants suits, but I think seeing you naked comes a close second.”

His tongue drags around your textured skin, perking up your nipples, and feeling the tension in your eyes that stares back at him in anticipation. “When will you be naked then?”

A corner of his lips raise, dropping from reaching down to his belt buckle, slipping them out of the loops, playfully wrapping around your torso for a quick tug so your chest could make contact with his. A giggle emits from you, kisses peppering over your cheeks, admiring you up close from his poor vision. “I missed you.”

Your arms rest over his shoulders, your chuckles raising hairs on his back. “We live next door to each other, we work together. You’re gonna be seeing me every day.”

“As your secretary,” He answers promptly, dropping his belt before cupping your cheek and holding on to the small of your back, “or your creepy neighbor.”

“I wouldn’t be doing all this if you were only those things to me…I want you, Chan. Every side of you.”

“I want you too. I’ll be sure to be the loyal dog you want me to be.” He jokes with genuine intentions.

You thumb over his cheek, a chaste kiss on the top of his nose, “then take me on the floor.”

Your legs stiffen around him, giving him the strength to lift you from the counter and gently let your body reach the ground. The cool tiles startle you initially, but the warmth of Chan's presence overwhelms you to the point you forget the cold. He quickly tears away his bottoms, his cock revealed hard in his hands. He kisses your lips, gazing at you with a familiar glint of love in his eyes. “Protection?”

You run your fingers through his hair and allow him to part your legs away from each other. “I said I want all sides of you, didn’t I?”

“Yes ma’am.” His lip quivers.

You feel the raw tip of his cock, tease along your ready slit. Like they never left, your lips together follow a familiar pace and his cock eases into you like a missing puzzle piece. Your arousal welcomes him, coating his length deliciously as he takes your legs and presses them against his sides. Your faces as close as they possibly could be, he grinds into you, letting your walls hug his girth. Your erecting nipples roll between his fingers, teasing you at the perfect pressure.

His tongue fights back yours with gumption, rutting in you to the sounds of his own grunts, your moans following shortly.

“Your pussy feels so good…taking my cock…so good…”

“Mmh…Lee…fuck me like that,” he sees you bite your lips before you lightly knock your head back on the time, back slightly arched.

“Yeah, you like that?” He eggs, “my cock fucking nice and full.”

“Yes, Lee…god…more…more…”

“More…all for you.”

The back of your thighs clashes against his hips repeatedly like cymbals, sporadically twitching at the sensation of him fucking you in and out. Your forearms stay grounded on the tile, head banging in the air and you clench possessively, confident with every praise leaving your secretary swollen pink lips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. Come here.”

He pulls you up from the cold ground and presses you against him, his legs folded at the knees, which touch the ground, and his arms hold you up. He proves himself reliable as always, pushing his hips up in you as your legs latched on him like a leech. You swallow down your drool, you feel one of his hands squeezing your ass as the other handle your waist.

“I’d…fuck you…all night if I…could…Perfect for…me…”

You lose your sense of reality limply following Chan’s lead. You push your hips deeper in anguish, the heat of your breath meshing to become one and he feels you shake uncontrollably, obviously holding back another climax. “Chan…Lee…Please…”

“Wanna cum…Again…” A hint of pretension was fresh on his tongue.

“I want…please…cock so…mmp–Good…” Tears swelled up in your eyes, overstimulated but unsatisfied. “Cum in me…fill me…I’m–”

“I promise to you, I will.”

He muffles your cries, hand in your hair, pumping his load deep and full inside you until you’re practically dripping down his thighs. Inside you is warm; it's perfection. With a final fully extorted thrust, he stays inside you, wiping away your tears and stroking your back. “So good for me…Do you want me to draw you a bath?”

You weakly nod, “Please, and maybe help me clean in here?”

He softly smiles. “I’ll make sure to do so. Anything else?”

You shake your head.

“Ms. L/n,” He speaks with clear anticipation, “You know I respond well to positive feedback.”

You roll your eyes before scoffing, combing through his rat nest of hair.

“Thank you, Secretary Lee.”

757 notes · View notes

iamasaddie · 11 months

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I’d suffer hell if you tell me what you'd do to me tonight

A/N: I am freakishly excited to be a part of a very special Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2023™ alongside with my amazing friends and creators! Be on the lookout for their posts in the coming week! Kisses and hugs to @atinylittlepain for this amazing header and to my favorite @wannab-urs for being an amazing and supportive beta!

Check out other creators’ works done specially for the PMAMC: Joel and Dio by @atinylittlepain ; Mando by @beskarandblasters ; Oberyn by @jksprincess10 ; Frankie and Max Phillips by @wannab-urs and Professor Ben by @cutesyscreenname !

Summary: You knew you could trust Joel with your life, knew he would never judge or betray you. But what if it came to a very particular want of yours? Would he be up for a night of new kind of fun?

Word count: 2,5k

Warnings: pegging, ball worship, oral (m receiving), brief mentions of alcohol

MY MASTERLIST

"Sweetheart, I don't think I can…"

"Please, just let me show you how good I can make you feel."

"Baby, that's the only thing you do. You show it to me with your whole being. I love being inside you, your pussy around my cock is my favorite place on Earth."

"I know, Joel," you kissed his soft belly and it twitched under your lips, Joel was still on the fence with your suggestion. "But I promise I'll make you feel even better."

If someone had told you three months ago that you'd be laying in bed with Joel Miller and asking him to let you show him all the pleasures his male anatomy could bring, you'd think the person'd gone mad. Yet here you were, sprawled on top of the body of the man you loved, covered in sweat, your thighs still glistening from the orgasms he gave you no less than fifteen minutes ago. You had always known he had a nice ass and a wild desire burned in you to explore this part of him, but you never knew how to ask about it. Today, after a couple of glasses of wine had led into messy kisses and you found your favorite seat on his face, you felt courage flowing through your veins and finally told him about your particular wish.

When he just stared at you, mouth wide open, you already counted it as a win. At least he didn't call you a fucking pervert and leave you to wallow in self deprecation.

"Nothing is better than your pussy, darlin'." You knew that his words were genuine. The man was obsessed with your pussy, sometimes forgetting his own painfully erect cock just to play and lick you for another hour. But you felt his walls cracking, so you continued to push, sealing your words with licks and kisses.

"Don't you trust me?"

You lowered enough so that his clearly interested cock was level with your greedy mouth and licked a long wet stripe from his heavy balls to the leaking tip of his shaft. Joel groaned and threw his head back, the graying curls at his temples already darkened from sweat.

"You’re playing dirty." He thought about putting his hand on your head, but opted for squeezing the sheets when you dove lower and alternated licking and kissing his balls. You loved the musky smell that completely engulfed you and the slightly salty taste on your tongue. You turned your head and bit his left thigh gently, his skin radiated hotness and you felt it seep into you.

"You know that's the only way I play."

His eyes were covered with a veil of desire, black pupils almost swallowed up the entire iris behind half-closed eyelids. You were familiar enough with his body to know which buttons to push, which levers to pull. You wanted him to feel all the love you felt for him in the form of simple primal pleasure. Without thinking twice, you returned to caressing his leaking cock.

As soon as the heat of your mouth swallowed his swollen head, something like a growl escaped from Joel's throat. You knew how long he could last and in order for everything to happen perfectly, you had to bring him to the absolute edge. Your caresses were painfully slow, your movements thoughtful and unhurried. Inch by inch, you swallowed his cock, gently stroking what did not fit in your mouth, watching his every movement, listening to every downed sigh.

Your hand gradually descended to his drawn tight balls, they were large and barely fit in your palm. Without stopping the rhythmic movements of your head, you began to roll Joel's balls in your hands, occasionally pulling slightly and ripping prayer-like moans from him.

His precum almost flooded your mouth, the tangy taste a delicious delicacy on your tongue. You wanted to push him to the end, wanted to feel his hot cum running down your throat, but that would put an end to what you’d wanted for too long.

With a final dip of your tongue in the slit of his cock you let the shaft out of your mouth with a wet pop, making the man in front of you whine as the air of the room hit his heated flesh.

He didn't look at you, his eyes shut tight, face almost pain stained. But you knew that wasn't pain, that was desperate desire.

You traced a path of wet kisses from the tip to the base of his cock, paying all your attention to his heavy balls, enjoying the feeling of hot and soft skin under your lips and reveling in every sound coming from Joel. When that note - the subtle sound informing you he was about to tip over the edge - reached your ears, you finally pulled away, enjoying the symphony of his broken breathing while you reached for the lubricant hidden in the bedside cabinet and hastily warmed it up in your sweaty palms.

You kissed Joel's trembling belly for the last time and brought your slippery fingers to his tight hole, teasing the skin there with light movements. His eyes were still squeezed shut, you could see beads of sweat rolling down his temples.

"So, do you trust me, Joel?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, baby. I trust you." He nodded without opening his eyes and without taking his head off the pillow.

With a careful movement, you entered his tight hole with your finger, feeling his muscles contract. You knew that in order for everything to go well, Joel needed to relax.

"How is it? Are you okay?"

You heard a soft moan from his side, but the man himself did not utter a word. You stopped the light movements of your finger, staying deep in the heat of your lover. "Love, I need you to talk to me. We can stop if it makes you uncomfortable." You tried to make your voice sound as soothing as you could, trying not to give off the intense arousal that's been burning in your blood since the moment you put your dainty finger inside his tight entrance. You wanted this more than anything, but you would stop in a blink of an eye and never bring it up again if that made Joel feel bad.

"No," he whispered, "it's… new, but it's not bad. I think we can do more than that."

"More? Do you mean - -" You've curled your finger a little to the side and your question was interrupted by an almost deafening moan as Joel snapped his eyes open.

"What the - -" his breathing was labored as he tried to compose himself. "What was that? What did you.."

There it was, you smiled to yourself. That magic button that promised the most delicious pleasure your man could feel.

"Does it feel good?" You curled your finger once again and started pushing on that spot inside of him, as Joel continued to whine.

"Fuck... Fuck baby, that's so…"

"I know, love. Do you think you could take another?" Your finger was easily sliding in and out of Joel and you knew he was too distracted with pleasure, but you still wanted to talk him through it. He nodded, and you slipped another finger, stretching him wider and aiming to his pleasure spot again and again.

Joel looked absolutely sinful, and you hurried to tell him that, placing wet kisses on his sweaty skin as far as you could reach without stopping your ministrations.

"You look so beautiful, Joel."

And he did. His skin was glistening with sweat, large droplets covering his chest and forehead. He looked ethereal in the low light of your bedroom. His soaked hair stuck to his face, eyes glazed with pure desire and want. That was the first time you saw him biting his lips, making them puffy and red and you wanted to soothe the little tears left by his teeth with your tongue. You could do that later.

You scissored your fingers, his ring of muscles giving more easily, and wet your lips. "I think you're ready."

He lifted his head off the pillow as you slid your sleek fingers out of him. "I am?" There was doubt in his voice, but not a trace of fear.

"Are you?" You raised your eyebrows and put a warm palm on his lower belly, grounding him, giving him comfort.

"I am." He nodded dumbly, and threw his head back. "I am."

Again you reached into the bedside cabinet, this time taking out the least intimidating-looking harness and a strap that was the most natural-looking. It wasn't the biggest one in your arsenal, but you weren't going to traumatize Joel either mentally or physically, and this one was perfect for a start. Maybe someday he would want to try something bigger, but for now you enjoyed what he gave you.

Joel watched your movements with alertness while you fastened the right straps and put everything in the right places. The question was in his eyes and he finally plucked up the courage to voice it.

"Can I ask you why you have it?"

You smirked, of course he wanted to know. Why does a girl who rides his dick every day have a need for her own. "You can, but it's a story for another time, I don't want you to get distracted."

As soon as the last fastener was tightened, you returned to Joel, slowly moving on your knees and stroking his calves covered with soft hairs.

"Can you turn around for me, baby?" You've never called him that before, it was either 'love' or 'Joel'. 'Daddy' or 'Sir' when you were in the heat of the moment. Joel's eyes crinkled at the endearment and you decided to push a little bit further, "I can't wait to fully appreciate you. You know, you have the most gorgeous ass I've ever seen." The man's cheeks flushed from praise and he slowly turned around in the position.

Your mouth salivated at the sight of your man - broad shoulders and tensed back - in such a vulnerable position in front of you. His thighs were thick, little black hair disappearing as your eyes trailed their way up to the perfect softness of his butt. You wanted to slap it, but you stopped yourself knowing that he was not ready for any of that. Instead, you leaned in gently caressing his cheeks that were paler than the rest of his body. Joel tensed under you and you let yourself place a kiss on his lower back, whispering loving nonsense.

"I love you, baby. You're so beautiful." Joel seemed to relax under your hands massaging his asscheeks. You loved the feeling of them in your hand, too big for you to grasp all of them at once, meaty and delicious. "You're ready for me?" You traced the tip of the dildo through his crease and stopped in the middle.

"Ye- - Yeah... Just," the man turned his head a little, but didn't find the courage to face you. "Just go slow, please."

"Of course, baby. We'll take it real slow, just relax for me, okay?"

"Okay."

With a soft movement you entered Joel, unable to tear your eyes from his hole stretching over the fake cock. It was one of the most sexual things you've ever seen, both the sight of him on your cock and the trust he put into you making you drip with arousal. You stilled, watching the muscles of his back tense along with his asscheeks. You circled his waist and traced your hands lower, finding his cock and caressing it with loving movements.

Joel seemed to relax more, distracted by your thumb circling the wet tip of his dick and the perfect pressure you gave to his still hard shaft.

"Are you okay, baby?" Once you started calling him 'baby' you couldn't seem to stop, the simple endearment dripping from your tongue like arousal dripped from your pussy.

"Yes," he grunted, "you can move."

"Thank you, love. You're doing so good." You leaned in, the movement making the dildo slip even further, punching the pleasure out of Joel, and placed a kiss on his sweaty back.

One of your hands continued stroking his cock as your hips continued to gently slap against his perfect ass. You put your other hand on his asscheek and squeezed the plush thing with your greedy fingers. You could never get enough of him, but now you knew you were addicted like the worst, most desperate junkie.

He looked like the most desirable vice under you, your every movement giving him more and more pleasure, completely erasing all the tension.

You thought you'd both cry and cum when you saw the moment he let go. With a particularly hard thrust accompanied by a tight squeeze of your fist he threw his head back, a guttural moan on the verge of screaming leaving his chest. Joel blessed your ears with moans and as you whispered filthy praise in the sweat-stained air of your bedroom, he started pushing his ass back to meet your hips.

"I'm - -" His voice was hoarse and dry, but you didn't need to hear the end of the sentence to know what he was about to say.

You felt a different kind of tension binding his body, his breathing erratic, his moans obscene in the most holy way.

"I know, baby. Let go. Cum for me."

You sped up your movements violently hitting the most sensitive spot inside Joel, the hand that was fisting his cock was completely covered in his precum and you knew that in a couple of moments it'd be covered in his hot release.

"I love you. I love you so much. Thank you, Joel." You continued your love mantra, showering him with all the love and affection your sex-clogged brain was capable of.

With one last push of your hips Joel cried out and you felt his sticky cum covering your fingers. You continued stroking his cock, but your hips stopped as you let him ride out one of the most intense orgasms of his life. His whimpers were your own siren's call and you wanted to engrave them in your brain forever. Soon his cries transformed into whispered whines and you took your hand away so as to not overstimulate his exhausted body. You slowly pulled out of him, his hiss was muffled when he fell face first on the pillow, his heavy breathing more than obvious with the rise and fall of his back.

You brought your cum stained hand to your face, making sure he heard your moans as you licked his release off. "You are delicious."

His whine was pathetic in the most attractive of ways. He turned his head and found your eyes as you were unstrapping. Joel nodded to the strap glistening with lube.

"So are you going to tell me why you have it now?"

#Joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #serenaxpedro writes #iamasaddie fic

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myidolstuffs · 2 years

Text

wallows messy headers ‹3

#wallows #wallows icons #icons wallows #wallows headers #headers wallows #wallows header #dylan minnette #dylan minnette icons #icons dylan minnette #headers dylan minnette #braeden lemasters #headers braeden lemasters #icons braeden lemasters #cole preston #cole preston icons #icons cole preston #cole preston headers

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irafuwas · 10 months

Text

The Enemy Summary: Lilia did not call the child "Silver" because of the lunar gleam of his hair or the starlight in his eyes. No, he chose the name out of spite. Content Warnings: Depictions of violence against a child, strangulation, blood, expletives, book 7 spoilers Pairings: None Length: 3.8k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

The princess’s death struck the nation like a meteor. The Knight of Dawn had killed her, contemptuously, brazenly, at what was meant to be a peace conference. Before the fae could even draw their swords, he and his troops had scattered like a bevy of doves into the golden light of daybreak. Most of the congregation rushed to gather around their sovereign’s limp body, but not Lilia. He stood at the window, staring at the backs of the retreating soldiers, transfixed by the reflection of the sun blazing in their iron armor, a yellow blot in a sea of white fire. It looked to him like an evil eye.

Dazed by the hot stupor of his great injury, Lilia hunted down the man and killed him. And then he killed the man’s wife, and then the chambermaids and the kitchen staff and the guardsmen and the stewards. He executed them impulsively; their bodies fell before him like heavy ragdolls slumping to the ground.

The glint of his blade was a bright smudge in the darkness of the castle that night. It moved through the air like an emerald wraith – at times languidly, at times striking faster than an adder. For those who’d sought refuge in the pitch-black shadows of the underground passageways, its viridity was the last thing – the only thing – they saw before it pierced them.

His path was methodical.

He stalked from room to room, listening for stifled breaths and choked back sobs, tearing apart every quivering shadow and wrenching open every closed door. He found the pageboys cowering together in one of the storerooms, their small faces shining white with a vicious fear. He told them to run, and they did. They fled crudely, tripping over the hardstone floor and entangling their wiry colt limbs into each other as they stumbled down the halls.

He waited until they left before moving on to the final room. He’d overlooked it earlier; the door was concealed within the tall bookcases that lined the knight’s bedchambers, and he’d only noticed it after one of the maids had left it ajar as she fled. He flung open the door apathetically and marched inside, scanning the room for any sign of life. A wooden object in the corner caught his eye, and a sharp unease pooled in his stomach once he realized it was a cradle.

When he peered inside it, a baby with eyes the color of the aurora peered back up at him. He had seen those eyes before, staring down at him triumphantly as a sword plunged through his sister’s chest, staring up at him from the pale face of a corpse lying in a pool of blood in the adjacent room. And now those same eyes blinked at him dully, as though he were the source of all the light in the world.

He didn’t know the Knight of Dawn had already sired an heir. No one did. He placed a weary hand on the cradle and rocked it absentmindedly as he thought. He easily could’ve walked away, could’ve turned around and left that rotting pit behind him and reemerged into the night’s black embrace, could’ve gone on to live the rest of his life wallowing in the murky waters of his deep grief. And he should have. But he knew, with a firm surety that scared even him, that his grieving peoples would soon come to claim the boy - long before the first light of dawn could reach down its shining hands and begin to soothe their wounded nation.

Lilia’s hesitation possessed him. His gaze flew between the cradle and the door and back to the cradle again. He reached down and gripped the baby’s throat. He stood there, dazed, unable to tell if he was fighting the urge to complete the act or the urge to let go. The muscles of his forearm bulged and tensed, writhing like pale snakes underneath his skin. When the child smiled at him, he ripped his arm away as though he’d been electrocuted.

After a final moment of trepidation, he plunged his arms back into the cradle. His hands had torn that castle asunder mere moments ago, and now they trembled quietly as they pressed the heavy head into the warmth of his chest.

The night held its breath as he left that place. The only witnesses to his transgression, the somber oak trees surrounding that land and the black-eyed creatures concealed in their lofty boughs, watched him silently. He tried to ignore their expectant gazes, but they dug into his skin like daggers as he raced back to camp with the child in his arms.

Later, when he stood with Baul in the heavy heat of their tent and confessed what he’d done - and what he had failed to do - the man nearly exploded.

His barrel chest swelled in contempt. His face flushed hot with a venomous rage. He loomed over Lilia as massive as a grizzly bear, his thin lips pulled back into a snarl, the whites of his eyes blazing like spotlights out of his ashen face.

“Are you fucking insane!?” he roared. “That… That thing is that bastard’s son! It’s the enemy!”

“Baul, I can’t kill a baby,” Lilia croaked.

Baul scoffed. “So you can slaughter a whole castle full of people, but a baby’s too much for the Great General Vanrouge, huh?”

Lilia looked away, and Baul continued, aggrieved, “Fine. If you won’t do it, then I will.” He tightened his grip around his halberd, and the wooden staff groaned in his hand. He dipped the axe head towards the baby sleeping in Lilia’s arms.

“No!” Lilia yelled, taking a step back. “Please, just… just give me some time… A decade. Give me a decade, and then I’ll do it, I’ll kill him.” He licked the cold sweat running down his lips, his eyes flicking between the glowering man and the axe hovering before him. The cold metal shimmered threateningly in the dim candlelight.

“Sure you will,” Baul spat, retracting his weapon. “Sure you fucking will.” He stormed out of the tent, muttering angrily as he threw back the tarp with a growl. The stifling air evaporated with his departure, and Lilia took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked down at the child and sighed.

When Lilia returned to the castle town, he discovered that Baul had revealed his great failure to the rest of the world. In the wake of their general’s betrayal, he and the other guardsmen had ransacked Lilia’s room in the barracks, carelessly strewing his meagre belongings before the castle as though they were garbage. Lilia found the blanket from his cot entangled in the branches of one of the courtyard trees, fluttering sadly in the gentle spring wind. He dislodged it and wrapped it around his body, using it as a makeshift sling for the child.

None of the guards, not even Baul, came out to speak with him. They didn’t need to – he already knew their judgement was final. He stooped over as he gathered the rest of his items, weighed down not by the tiny infant strapped to his back, but by the enormity of his decision, of his failure. Here was the home he’d spent the last three hundred years of his life defending, here was the honor and prestige he’d finally won for himself after centuries of flawless servitude and thankless atrocities, the only family and friends he had ever known – would ever know. He understood that he was a traitor, a fool, but his inanity was far overshadowed by his revulsion at what they demanded from him.

He looked up at the castle one last time, craning his head back, trying to memorize every jagged stone and turret and tower, trying to memorize the curve of the windows, the green of the flags flapping weakly in the breeze and the faded grey of the ancient masonry. He stood there until the strained muscles in his neck begged him to stop. And then he turned around and left.

His legs carried him unbidden to the edge of the forest surrounding the castle town, where he found a small house hidden in its verdant shadows. The walls were rotted, and the roof lay sunken under a tangled mass of vines and moss. He couldn’t tell whether humans or fae or wild beasts had last lived there; he only knew he was too tired and too apathetic to continue his search elsewhere.

The first night in that house, they slept on the floor. The child dozed soundly, but Lilia could not sleep. He stared at the stars peeking through the holes in the roof, counting each pin prick of light until his eyes burned. As the black-blue sky began to fade, he realized with a start that he didn’t know what the boy’s name was. He raked his exhausted brain for something – anything – he could call him over the next ten years. The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Silver. It wasn’t a name; it was an utterance. Two syllables that weighed heavy in his mouth like poison - air that passed between his lips and nothing more. It was a word he’d hiss on nights when the mist lay heavy over the forest and his mind would sink into the quicksand of old memories he wished desperately to forget, when he’d dream of his sister’s face, pale and drained of blood, her mouth frozen open in a scream that would never come out. The Silver Owl had tainted his heart the darkest black, and this was his chance to finally rid himself of their scourge forever.

From then on, Lilia kept the boy at a distance. He fed him and bathed him and clothed him mechanically, moving most days like a puppet on strings. He tolerated being called “Father”, but staunchly refused any concessions beyond that. His anger was a bulwark against the child’s affections.

Only during the winter would Lilia let the boy sleep next to him. The small body would shiver offensively at his side, interrupting his faded dreams, and he would groan and tuck the thin creature against himself before falling back into an uncomfortable sleep. He would push the child away as soon as he awoke the next morning, repulsed, as though the thing clinging to him were a disease.

It wasn’t just the boy’s neediness that vexed him. Lilia hated everything about him, hated his shy half-smile and his crescent-eyed laugh, hated how the walls around his heart he’d spent so many long years carefully constructing would groan under the terrible weight of the boy’s love. But what disturbed Lilia the most was his eyes. Many of the valley residents were dumbstruck by them – they’d murmur how, on the night of his birth, Nature surely must have plucked the northern lights from the sky and pressed their iridescent glow into his supple skin. But Lilia only saw evil in their lunar beauty. And he watched, incredulously, as the boy grew older, stronger, the infantile roundness of his face hardening around the angle of his jaw, watched the back straighten, the eyes narrow, the smile broaden, watched the child melt away and the visage of his sister’s murderer slowly and steadily emerge in its place. Some days he felt suffocated, like every inch of that small cottage was tyrannized by the boy’s meagre presence. The only thing that stilled his hand was the child’s youth. He could not kill him yet.

The days were long, but the years whipped past him like a tempest. The hot coals of his anger gradually cooled to a tepid warmth, and Lilia at last conceded to the child’s innocence. He wore the clumsily made daisy crowns and ate the burnt and misshapen cookies, he no longer denied the pleas for one more race across the meadow and one more story, accepted the tiny hand that groped across the bed for his own on cold nights when their breath hung above them like fog.

A year before his tenth birthday, Lilia began taking the boy with him on his evening walks. As they padded through the darkness of the hushed forest, Lilia would teach him the names of all the wildflowers and the trees, of the prying creatures observing them from the black shadows, of every star and moon and planet that peered down at their upturned faces. One night, emboldened by his newfound knowledge, the child thrust a single, bony finger into the air and betrayed where the North Star had concealed itself in an ocean of shimmering lights. Lilia looked up. But his gaze did not follow the line of the boy’s indication, beyond to the heavenly body shining above. No, his eyes rested on that tiny, outstretched hand. In that moment, Lilia finally understood that he loved the child.

The realization that he had surrendered his heart to his oppressor, to his enemy – to the hand that’d been gripped around his throat for the past ten years and had torn his beating heart right out of his chest – paralyzed him. (Oh, but what is a decade of pure torment to eyes of liquid moonlight! What is a man – shriveled up and broken, stupefied by his hatred and rendered ignorant by his grief – in the face of pure love!)

He tried, in vain, to suppress his burgeoning feelings with the heavy mass of his anger, but his love would burst open the fortifications of his heart time and time again, threatening to drown him in its raging waters. He fought back against it the same way he had been the past decade - with his ignorance. But as the child’s tenth birthday rapidly approached, he found that for the first time, he no longer took solace in counting down the days.

Lilia awoke the child shortly after midnight. He tugged on the boy’s arms until he finally sat up, grumbling as he rubbed at his tired eyes, only dimly aware of the world around him. Lilia sighed. He dressed the boy impatiently, his fingers trembling as he fussed with the lacing on the small tunic. While he worked, his eyes darted between his sword hanging on a nearby wall and the child sitting slumped over in front of him. He decided against taking it.

He led the child outside into the balmy spring air. The heat prickled at his skin. He inhaled deeply, forcing out the tension gripping his body as he exhaled. Somewhere in the distance, an owl let out a plaintive call, and a nightingale began its serenade in reply. The moon was a shining pearl overhead. Lilia could not bring himself to look at her face, didn’t dare defile her perfect visage with his great shame. He turned and stepped down the dirt path leading away from their home, and the boy followed.

The forest watched disdainfully as the man and the young child walked deeper and deeper into its bowels. Once, the boy asked where they were going, but Lilia did not answer. He felt too shy to speak again, and they spent the rest of the journey weighed down by a pregnant silence.

When they came to a glade, Lilia finally stopped. He turned around slowly, like a cornered beast reluctant to face its hunter.

The boy’s eyes – the enemy’s eyes – reflected the moonlight. The evil shone dimly in their argent depths.

Lilia lunged at him like a panther.

“Fath-!”

They slammed into the ground with the force of a hurricane. The boy cried out as his back struck the earth, pain shooting up his body like shards of ice. He lay there stunned. He could not understand what had just hit him. It had looked like a black storm, impenetrable and overwhelming. His mind blankly refused to reveal its identity to him. But he knew it could not have been his father that struck him, and he knew it could not be his father now pressing those cold hands around his throat and staring down at him with eyes the color of blood.

Not once in his life had the boy ever known fear. He had always ignored it, looked past it, content with the knowledge that his father would always be there to protect him from its ploys. Anything that scared him, anything that invited unease into his stomach or agitation into his heart, was dispelled in the comfort of the man’s steady presence. But now his father was the thing itself. An animal panic gripped his body, his eyes blew wide open like a spooked horse.

They wrestled. He tried wrenching the arms away from his throat, but the bony limbs felt like rods of iron under his hands. He clawed and pounded at the man’s chest, his mind racing as tried to remember every movement, every self-defense technique his father had ever taught him. When the whirlpool of his thoughts stilled for a split second, he ripped from its calm waters the lone memory he’d been desperately searching for. The boy hooked one hand over his father’s wrist and gripped the other one higher up his arm, around his elbow. He kicked a leg free and swung his foot over his father’s ankle. The hands tightened around his throat. The world blackened before him; his lungs begged for oxygen. Using the last bit of his strength, he bucked his hips and rolled over, bringing Lilia underneath him. The hands at last released their grip; he was free.

He shot away from his father like a bullet. He scrambled to his feet and feverishly gulped in the warm spring air until his lungs burned. He took a trembling step forward, trying to flee, but Lilia was upon him in an instant. The man wrapped his arms around the heaving chest and threw the child back to the ground, crashing into him as they fell. The boy writhed frantically in the cage of his father’s arms, almost slipping free, but Lilia shoved him flat on his back with a snarl. He crawled atop the boy, straddling him once more.

The child fought back feebly. His hands pawed against Lilia’s arms, his face, anything solid his trembling fingers could grab onto. Lilia swatted away the flailing limbs, trapping the boy’s arms in one hand and seizing his throat with the other. The child’s screams contorted into a panicked screech as white stars exploded before his eyes. He kicked up his legs and thrust his knees into Lilia’s back, but the man was immovable, his arms and legs pinning him down as heavy as pythons.

Lilia’s hand tightened around the thin neck; the child’s heartbeat pounded against his palm like a thunderstorm. The boy’s flesh melted underneath his fingertips as soft as dough. He squeezed until the eyes began to burst from their sockets, until blood seeped into their auroral haze and foam spilled from his half-parted lips.

The seconds passed by in an eternity. At last, the child’s body stilled, his gasps terminating with a final, strangled sob. Lilia released the neck slowly, marveling at the purple-black splotches blooming across the skin, the imprint of his hand stark against the ivory flesh. He closed his eyes and panted, exhausted.

He sat there, waiting. For a decade he had envisioned this moment, had clung to it like a promise of salvation, had dreamed of the pure relief that would wash over his body and befree him from the prison of his immovable grief. He waited, but it did not come. The enemy was gone, yes. But with it fled the black shadow of Lilia’s anger that had obscured the child from him all his life. He looked down. His eyes flew open in shock. For the first time in a decade, the first time since he peered down into that cradle all those years ago, he finally saw the boy. He finally saw Silver.

“Silver!” he gasped, recoiling, as though the name burned him. He threw himself off the body and crawled away from it on his hands and knees. He pulled himself up against a tree and doubled over as he began to vomit. It felt like this was the pure poison of his rage leaving him - like a decade of repressed anger was erupting from his body all at once, pouring out of his throat and his nose in a scalding torrent of acrid bile, burning his eyes, his lips, his tongue. He stood there heaving until his knees gave way, collapsing into the ground with a mutilated groan. As he rubbed his raw throat, he suddenly remembered the boy.

He whipped his head around in a panic and found Silver lying motionless where he’d left him. Lilia staggered over to him. The few meters between them seemed to stretch on for miles, and he tripped and stumbled as he clawed his way across that great divide, falling to his knees once he finally reached him. He cradled the limp body in his trembling arms. He kissed the boy’s eyes, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips slipping weakly across the wet mess of tears and blood. He pressed his face into the silken hair, filthy with dirt and grime from the forest floor, breathed in his soft lavender scent, drowned in the milky white flesh, ice cold against his own feverous skin. He nuzzled his face into the crook of the boy’s neck, choking back a sob as he felt a faint pulse throbbing weakly under him.

Silver’s mind reentered the world conscious only of the sharp pain in his throat and his father’s white face hovering above him. He stared at his father, and for the first time in his short life, the man did not look away. The eyes that had long haunted Lilia, had aggrieved him and insulted him, finally revealed to him their beauty. They were bloodshot and swollen, the skin underneath enflamed with irritation, but they were more resplendent to him than any gemstone.

Silver swallowed weakly and opened his mouth to talk, but Lilia shushed him with a shake of his head. As he gazed at the boy, a faint memory flashed before his eyes – he remembered the heavy head pressed into his chest, the limp neck resting in his hand, the wet mouth opened in a gasp, the shining eyes boring into him silently. Lilia shivered violently. Yes, it was just like that night, all those years ago. The days-old babe he’d stolen from that cradle was in his arms once more, born anew before him.

As he embraced the child, he decided that he would try to do better, to be better. He would try, falteringly, with the desperation of a marked man begging for a pardon, to rectify the decade of his ignorance.

He would try until it no longer hurt him to speak his son’s name.

#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #sorry if this is cringE im not using to writing evil stuff dfkgjdfg #when i said i been brainrotting about ch 4 this is what i meant #also tried writing in past tense for this which i dont like to do cause its gross but i did it #obligatory no i do not condone or aim to glorify any of this

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