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paxaz535 · 12 days ago

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SLOW SIMMER - ONE

dallas!paige x privatechef!azzi

note: literally have been thinking of this idea for the longest time, finally decided to write it out

i promise i’m working on the one shots ! it’s just a lot so i like to pre write but i have like 12 drafts lolll

i’m gonna try and keep it a slow burn but idk… enjoy?

————

when azzi got the notification that paige bueckers’ manager had accepted her application for the private chef position, she froze.

she was in the middle of making dinner—steak marinated for hours, asparagus already sizzling in olive oil—when her phone lit up. she wiped her hands on a towel, glanced at the screen, and blinked once. then twice. and then she let out the softest, most shocked, “no fucking way.”

this was real.

she’d applied on a whim. not because she wasn’t serious, but because it felt out of reach. paige bueckers? that was someone who lived on a whole different planet. but now she was packing half her kitchen, wrapping knives in dish towels, sealing up spice jars, trying not to overthink the fact that she’d soon be living in dallas, texas, cooking daily meals for someone who had millions of eyes on her at all times.

azzi had been cooking since she was ten. it wasn’t optional. her mom—katie—ran the house with tight efficiency, and that meant everybody pulled their weight. azzi’s job started with breakfast duty. toast, eggs, bacon, sometimes pancakes on the weekends. by lunch, she was already experimenting. by dinner, she was her mom’s shadow.

when she turned sixteen, katie stepped back. said, “let’s see what you got.” azzi cooked dinner all by herself—chicken thighs with rosemary garlic potatoes and roasted broccoli with lemon zest. her dad and brothers, notoriously picky, cleared their plates.

katie didn’t cook for the rest of that week.

it was her dad who brought it up later. “you ever think about doing this for real?” he asked, sipping sweet tea. “culinary school. chef classes. the whole thing.”

she hadn’t—not seriously. but after that night, she did.

azzi threw herself into it. courses, internships, pop-ups, local gigs. and when she wasn’t in the kitchen, she was filming. posting online. plating food with perfect lighting. her videos blew up. her dms flooded. eventually, one of those messages came from emma. paige’s manager.

and now she was here. duffel bags on the floor. apartment keys in her hand.

—

paige didn’t think she needed a chef.

she could cook—she really could. she had a solid five meals under her belt and a decent sense of seasoning. but with her schedule, cooking just didn’t happen. everything was go-go-go. workouts in the morning, practice mid-day, meetings, press, photoshoots. by the time she got home, she was barely upright.

takeout became the routine. she’d order it on the drive, pick a show to zone out to, and eat on the couch until sleep dragged her under.

it was simple. easy. but it got old.

“i swear if i have to eat one more grain bowl,” she mumbled, tossing the plastic container into the trash.

emma, always two steps ahead, heard the complaint once and took it seriously.

“why don’t you just get someone to cook for you?”

paige frowned. “like… a maid?”

“no,” emma said, already typing. “a chef. a private one.”

paige made a face. “i don’t know. what if they’re weird about it? like—what if they’re just here to say they were in my kitchen?”

“you think too highly of yourself,” emma teased, then laughed. “kidding. kind of. listen, i’ll find someone who’s good. professional. won’t be all in your business. you’ll come home to good food and quiet.”

paige paused. “…okay. but—no men.”

“say less.”

and that was it. emma handled the rest. she sent over a few names, but azzi’s was the one that stood out. her portfolio was clean, impressive, a little artsy but grounded. her food looked good—comforting but elevated. she didn’t try too hard. she wasn’t trying to be a celebrity chef. she just loved cooking.

emma gave the green light. paige shrugged and said fine.

she didn’t know that decision would shift her whole routine.

azzi triple-checked the address to make sure she was at the right place. the last thing she needed was to knock on some stranger’s door with a suitcase in one hand and a heavy utensils bag slung over her shoulder.

once she confirmed it, she stepped out of her car and grabbed her things, pausing only to lock the door behind her. paige’s manager had told her to be there by 11:30 on the dot—no earlier, no later. azzi figured paige must’ve had something to do afterwards, and she didn’t want anyone messing with her schedule.

emma had insisted on a proper and quick introduction. just enough to make sure paige felt comfortable with the person who’d be living in her home for… who even knows how long.

azzi took a breath before heading up the short steps to the front door. she’d never done this before—being someone’s private chef. she’d worked events, done in-home dinners, but this was different. this was daily. personal. close.

she was nervous, yeah, but that made sense. and okay, maybe she was also a little intrigued. not in a full-blown crush way—but she wasn’t blind. paige bueckers was beautiful. and more than that, she was her. a champion. an all-american. number one pick. a household name.

basketball was a big deal in azzi’s house. her brothers were obsessed. her dad watched every march madness game like it was life or death. so yeah—she knew who paige was. she also knew she needed to be on her a-game.

when azzi reached the front door, she knocked three times. not too hard, not too soft. she waited, suitcase at her side, adjusting the strap of her utensil bag while she listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.

a moment later, the door opened.

a woman with sharp brown eyes and a warm smile greeted her. brunette, hair clipped up effortlessly in a claw clip, dressed in a dark purple blouse and sleek black pants.

emma.

she matched azzi’s grin almost instantly—because azzi couldn’t help it. her smile always gave her away. wide, bright, those signature bunny teeth front and center.

“azzi, right?”

“yes, ma’am,” she replied, voice steady but kind. “it’s nice to meet you.”

emma stepped aside, holding the door open. “you’re right on time. come on in.”

azzi immediately stepped inside, her eyes scanning the space as she walked in. the apartment smelled like vanilla, soft and warm, with a hint of coconut. maybe even mint, if you sniffed hard enough. it was clean, minimal but lived-in. the kind of place that made you want to sit on the couch and never leave.

floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one entire wall, sunlight spilling through and pooling onto the hardwood floors. the living room was massive. a huge cream-colored sectional sat in the center, facing a mounted tv with books and candles lining the shelves below. outside the window, dallas glittered in the distance.

everything really was bigger in texas, huh.

but then her eyes landed on the kitchen.

and that was it.

her mouth parted slightly. she stepped forward without realizing. the kitchen was nearly as big as the living room—double oven, island in the center, marble counters, a full rack for spices already installed. built-in fridge. gas stove. space.

real space.

the excitement bubbled in her chest like a slow boil. her fingers twitched at her sides.

emma watched her with a quiet smirk, catching the exact moment azzi’s entire demeanor shifted. it wasn’t dramatic, but she could see it—chefs had a way of lighting up in kitchens. like they could already taste what they’d create.

“she’s all yours,” emma said lightly, her voice soft in the background.

azzi was about to respond, a small smile tugging at her lips, but she froze when she heard a second set of footsteps.

lighter, more casual.

she turned toward the hallway just as paige appeared.

the athlete walked in with a half-full water bottle in one hand and her phone in the other. her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and she was wearing a gray tee tucked into black nike shorts. her eyes lifted the second she noticed someone new in the room.

azzi blinked.

paige was… taller than she looked on tv. lean but strong, presence filling the space without even trying. her skin had that natural post-shower glow, and her face was bare, soft and open, blinking slowly as she processed who was standing in her apartment.

emma stepped in, gesturing between the two of them. “paige, this is azzi. your new chef.”

azzi stood a little straighter, smile returning instinctively. “hey. it’s really nice to meet you.”

paige’s brows lifted slightly, clearly caught off guard.

but then, after a beat, she nodded. “oh. yeah. hey.”

her voice was low. smooth. still waking up, maybe.

her eyes dropped briefly to the bags at azzi’s feet, then flicked up again—curious, unreadable.

“welcome,” paige said, stepping forward just enough. “hope you don’t mind dogs.”

emma grinned. azzi’s smile widened.

“not at all,” she said. “what’s their name?”

“ace,” paige answered, tone softer this time. “he’ll probably sniff you for ten minutes straight. don’t take it personal.”

“i’ll consider it a warm welcome.”

emma watched them both, quietly satisfied. the air between them wasn’t stiff—not quite—but it held a quiet tension. the kind that could shift into comfort or chaos. too early to tell.

but she had a feeling.

“this is a really nice place,” azzi said as she set her utensil bag down gently on the ledge by the kitchen, fingers brushing over the marble like she was already claiming it.

paige smiled, small and polite. “thank you.”

azzi nodded once, her gaze drifting again to the tall cabinets and deep sink. then silence fell between them. not exactly awkward, but it had weight. like two people stuck between strangers and we’ll-get-there-eventually.

emma glanced at paige with a look. a full conversation packed into a single expression. say something. do something.

paige blinked back at her, confused. it took a second. then her eyes widened. “oh shit. my bad—let me show you your room.”

azzi let out a soft laugh, stepping back toward her bags. “you’re good. lead the way.”

paige nodded and turned, walking down the hallway barefoot, water bottle swinging in her hand. azzi followed, rolling her suitcase behind her, her bag slung across her shoulder. the hallway was long, framed with framed jerseys and a few candid pictures. she caught glimpses of a dog bed, a pile of basketball shoes by a door, a laundry basket tucked against the wall.

they stopped at the second-to-last door.

paige pushed it open, revealing a guest room that didn’t feel like an afterthought. it was clean, cozy. queen bed with gray sheets, a desk near the window, small bookshelf already stacked with random novels and one dog-eared cookbook.

“emma said you’d probably want a space to unwind when you’re not cooking,” paige said, stepping aside so azzi could enter first. “if anything’s missing, just let me know.”

azzi looked around, letting it sink in. it wasn’t flashy, but it was… intentional. thought-out. it felt like she’d be able to breathe here.

“this is perfect,” she said honestly. “thank you.”

paige gave a little nod, then leaned against the doorframe. “cool. you can settle in—no rush. i’ve got a call in like fifteen, so you probably won’t see me again until lunch.”

“got it.”

a pause. paige looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she gave a small smile and slipped out.

azzi turned back to the room once the door clicked shut.

okay.

this was real.

she dropped her suitcase by the closet, took a slow breath, and grinned to herself.

first impression? not terrible. maybe even promising.

paige walked back toward the front of the apartment, her steps easy but her mind still spinning a little. she rounded the corner and found emma exactly where she’d left her—leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a knowing smile already tugging at her lips.

“so…” emma said, eyes twinkling. “how you liking it so far?”

paige snorted, tossing her water bottle on the counter a little harder than necessary. “it hasn’t even been an hour yet, em.”

emma shrugged, unbothered. “and?”

paige sighed, but her voice softened just a touch. “she seems nice, i guess.”

“you guess?”

“i don’t know,” paige mumbled, dragging a hand through her braid. “she’s quiet. polite. she smiled a lot.”

emma raised a brow. “and that’s a bad thing?”

“no,” paige said quickly. “no. it’s just… weird having someone new in my house. give me like, a week before i form a real opinion.”

emma grinned, grabbing her purse from the barstool. “sure. a week. i’ll check in tomorrow.”

paige rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it. “you’re annoying.”

“and yet, i’m always right,” emma sang as she made her way to the door.

paige followed her halfway, leaning against the arm of the couch.

emma pulled the door open but turned back before stepping out. “for real, though… you’ll get used to her. might even like her. she’s got that… calm energy. feels like the opposite of you.”

“thank you for that,” paige deadpanned.

emma just winked. “you’re welcome.”

and with that, she disappeared, the door clicking shut behind her.

paige stood there for a second, letting the quiet settle back in. the place didn’t feel different exactly—but it didn’t feel the same either.

she glanced toward the hallway where azzi’s room was.

calm energy, huh.

we’ll see.

azzi started unpacking, slow but methodical. she always liked to settle in right away—it helped the nerves. helped make things feel real.

she slid her suitcase over to the closet and unzipped it, tugging out her neatly folded clothes. basics, mostly. tees, sweats, leggings, a few button-downs she wore for dinners or when she felt like pretending she had it all together. she started stacking them in the dresser drawers, one by one.

the closet was roomy. one side already had empty hangers waiting, which made her smile a little. she hung a few nicer pieces up, kicking her suitcase off to the side once it was empty.

she opened her utensils bag next, double-checking that nothing had shifted out of place during the flight. her knives were still in their protective rolls, each one labeled. wooden spoons, metal tongs, a small blowtorch. she had her own apron too—black with her name stitched in cursive near the chest. cheesy, but hers.

it was technically her room now. her space. she could do whatever she wanted with it. that fact settled into her slowly.

she opened the small bookshelf near the window and slid in a few of her own cookbooks—well-used, dog-eared, some with splashes of oil or sauce still dried on the pages. she kept one in her hands a second longer: flavors from home. it was her mom’s favorite. she set it in the middle.

once everything was in place, she flopped back onto the bed, arms stretched out, eyes on the ceiling.

the apartment was quiet. like the calm before something.

this was her job now. her home too.

she let the quiet settle before pushing herself up, already itching to check out the kitchen again.

her phone dinged, screen lighting up with the familiar chaos of the family group chat. she smiled before she even read it, already knowing someone was about to say something ridiculous.

mom

you made it there yet?

azzi

yes, just settled into the room she gave me

the apartment’s nice

jon

you have to take a picture with her and send it

azzi

lol not right now jon

jose

i’m happy for you sis

although i will need an autograph sooner or later

azzi

🤦🏾‍♀️

dad

good luck cooking for an athlete

you know they eat 2x as much

azzi

wait

you’re not an athlete though..

jon

ooo burn

katie

😂

tim

watch it fudd

azzi

☺️

katie

alright sweetie

be safe

try not to poison her on your first day

azzi

hahah

no promises

she let the phone fall back on the bed beside her, grin still on her face. god, she loved them.

pulling her apron from her bag, she looped it around her neck and tied it behind her back like it was second nature. she grabbed her utensil bag next, zipped it up, and slung it over her shoulder.

then, with a quiet breath and the smallest pep in her step, she left the bedroom and made her way back down the hall.

azzi strolled into the kitchen, this time without hesitation.

this was her domain now.

and lunch wasn’t going to cook itself.

the moment azzi stepped into the kitchen, everything else faded out.

the sun was still pouring in through the massive windows, casting gold over the countertops. the space was clean, untouched, like it had been waiting for her. she set her bag down gently on the island and unzipped it, pulling out her knives and lining them up like soldiers. each blade had its place. her hands moved without thought—grabbing a cutting board, washing her hands, tucking her apron tighter.

she opened the fridge and gave a soft, approving hum. it was stocked well. fresh greens, fruit, eggs, chicken, salmon, almond milk, protein powders, and of course—a drawer full of random condiments athletes swore by.

she scanned the shelves, then pulled out what she needed.

lemon. garlic. rosemary. chicken thighs.

her mind was already spinning a recipe together. something clean but flavorful. comforting, but not heavy. her go-to lemon rosemary garlic chicken over a warm quinoa salad with roasted veggies sounded like the perfect first meal.

she started with the marinade, squeezing lemon juice into a bowl, adding garlic paste, fresh chopped rosemary, a drizzle of honey, salt, and pepper. she dipped a spoon in, tasted it, nodded. good.

she tossed the chicken in the bowl, coating each piece with her hands, then set it to rest.

next: quinoa.

she rinsed it thoroughly, then got it simmering on the stove in low-sodium veggie broth—extra flavor, no extra effort. while that cooked, she chopped up bell peppers, zucchini, and red onion. her knife moved fast, a smooth rhythm against the board. she laid them out on a tray, drizzled with olive oil, hit them with sea salt, cracked pepper, a pinch of paprika, and tossed them in the oven.

by the time the chicken hit the pan, the kitchen already smelled like home. savory, citrusy, rich.

azzi didn’t realize she was smiling until she glanced at her reflection in the oven door.

she loved this.

being here. doing this.

a job that didn’t feel like one.

paige walked out of her room, barefoot, hair now down and out of the braid, no water bottle this time. just her phone.

she wasn’t thinking much—call had ended early, her brain was foggy, and all she really wanted was to lie on the couch and maybe scroll aimlessly for a while. but halfway through the hallway, she stopped.

her nose twitched.

the smell hit her all at once—warm, garlicky, a little sweet, a little sharp. something roasted. something sizzling. she blinked, her stomach reacting before her brain could even place it.

when she turned the corner into the kitchen, she froze.

azzi was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot with one hand, flipping chicken in a cast iron pan with the other. the oven was glowing behind her, and the whole kitchen looked alive now—vibrant, full, used.

paige leaned against the counter quietly. watched for a second longer than she meant to.

“i didn’t know the kitchen could smell like this,” she muttered, half to herself.

azzi turned her head slightly, smile creeping in. “yeah? good surprise or bad?”

“very good,” paige said, and her voice came out softer than she intended.

azzi went back to her chicken. “hope you’re hungry.”

“i wasn’t five minutes ago, but now i think i might eat the pan too.”

azzi laughed, short and warm. “please don’t.”

paige watched her a beat longer. the way she moved—calm, confident, completely in her element. like this was already her kitchen. like she belonged here.

it was… weirdly kind of hot.

paige cleared her throat and stood up straighter. “need help with anything?”

azzi looked over her shoulder, eyes amused. “you offering out of kindness or guilt?”

“guilt,” paige admitted.

“honest. i like that,” azzi said, flipping the last piece of chicken and turning off the heat.

paige leaned against the counter again, eyes following her. “so… what is this?”

“lemon rosemary chicken. quinoa salad with roasted veggies. easy first day lunch.”

paige blinked. “that’s easy to you?”

azzi shrugged. “yeah.”

paige whistled low. “i’ve been living like a peasant.”

azzi smirked. “not anymore.”

paige grabbed two plates without being asked, sliding them onto the island as azzi finished plating the food.

everything looked… perfect. golden seared chicken, still steaming, nestled next to fluffy quinoa mixed with bright roasted veggies—orange, green, red. there was a light drizzle of some kind of sauce on top, too, glossy and rich-looking.

“damn,” paige muttered, genuinely impressed. “i feel like i should tip you.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “not on the first day, please. i might start expecting it.”

they sat down across from each other at the bar, stools pulled in. paige didn’t wait—she grabbed her fork and took a bite of chicken first. her eyes widened just slightly. “oh shit.”

azzi raised a brow, already chewing. “good?”

paige swallowed, then pointed her fork at her. “so good. i feel like i owe you a bonus already.”

azzi gave a small, modest shrug. “i’ll let emma know.”

they ate in a comfortable kind of silence after that. no small talk. just silverware clinking, drinks being sipped, the occasional low hum of appreciation.

paige leaned back eventually, fork still in hand, plate nearly clean.

“i’m not even exaggerating—i think i might cry,” she said, hand on her chest. “this actually healed something in me.”

azzi smiled, cheeks a little pink. “then i did my job.”

“nah,” paige said, “you bodied your job.”

azzi shook her head, amused. “you’re dramatic.”

“you’ll get used to it.”

azzi leaned her elbows on the counter, her tone light. “so what now? nap? practice?”

“practice,” paige groaned. “which sucks because now i’m full and happy and don’t want to move.”

��want me to make you something for post-practice?”

paige tilted her head. “you do that too?”

“that’s kind of the job, isn’t it?”

paige didn’t say anything right away. just looked at her. really looked.

then nodded, slow and certain. “you’re gonna fit in here just fine, fudd.”

azzi smiled, biting back the way that nickname made her stomach flip.

“we’ll see.”

when paige arrived at practice, she barely made it through the doors before two voices hit her from opposite ends of the gym.

“you’re smiling way too much,” dijonai said, hands on her hips, eyebrows lifted.

“she’s glowing,” arike added, tossing a ball up and catching it lazily. “who made you breakfast this morning?”

paige tried to play it cool, adjusting her hoodie and pulling the sleeves up past her elbows. “y’all act like i don’t smile.”

“you don’t,” dijonai shot back. “not like this.”

“mhm,” arike agreed, walking over. “you got that i just ate real good and had someone clean the dishes for me energy. go ahead. spill.”

paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her mouth. “emma got me a private chef.”

dijonai’s jaw dropped. “what?”

“you got it like that now?” arike laughed.

“no—it’s not like that. i was tired of eating frozen meals and chipotle bowls every night. i just—i don’t have time to cook.”

“so you hired someone to live with you?” dijonai asked, now fully invested.

“not hired. emma hired. i just agreed,” paige clarified, then shrugged. “but yeah. she moved in this morning.”

arike raised a brow. “and you’re already smiling like that? what’s her name?”

paige hesitated, then looked down at her shoes for a split second. “…azzi.”

“azzi,” dijonai repeated, dragging out the name like she was trying to taste it. “that sounds like a problem.”

“a pretty problem,” arike added under her breath.

“she’s just a chef,” paige said, defensive but not convincing. “she made lemon rosemary chicken for lunch. and like. quinoa. and roasted veggies. it was insane.”

“mmhmm,” dijonai said, smirking. “and did she cook, or cook cook?”

“what does that even mean—”

“it means you’re not just full, you’re fed. spiritually.”

paige tried to fight the grin again but failed. “okay. maybe.”

arike bumped her shoulder. “you’re in trouble.”

“i’m not,” paige insisted, then sighed, grabbing a ball off the rack. “she’s cool. it’s chill.”

“sure,” dijonai said. “until one day she’s making you post-practice pasta and you’re in love.”

paige just laughed before shaking her head. “i just met her. who knows, she could be a serial killer.”

dijonai raised a brow. “a serial killer who sautés?”

“those are the most dangerous ones,” arike added, dribbling in place now. “you think everything’s fine, next thing you know you’re dead in a house that smells like fresh-baked focaccia.”

paige laughed, hand on her chest. “y’all are actually insane.”

“we’re just saying,” dijonai said, walking backwards toward the baseline. “if she can cook like that and she’s cute—”

“who said she was cute?” paige cut in, too quickly.

both arike and dijonai stopped in their tracks, turning slowly.

“nobody,” arike said, grinning. “you just did.”

paige blinked, lips parting slightly before she scoffed. “whatever. focus on practice, please.”

“you focus on keeping your heart intact,” dijonai teased, then jogged off toward the rest of the team.

paige stood there for a second longer, spinning the ball in her hands.

“not happening,” she mumbled to herself, but even she didn’t believe it.

azzi had her hair tied back, an apron snug around her waist, sleeves pushed up. she was in her element—music playing low on her phone, knife tapping rhythmically against the cutting board as she chopped fresh herbs. garlic and shallots were already sizzling on the stove, their aroma filling the space.

the kitchen was warm, sun dipping lower outside the massive windows. she didn’t mind the quiet—she liked this kind of solitude, where she could move how she wanted, experiment a little, taste as she went.

this time it was a creamy tomato-based pasta, something rich but not too heavy. she’d roasted cherry tomatoes earlier, slow and low with olive oil, then blended them into the sauce with basil and a hint of red pepper.

for protein, she marinated some grilled shrimp in citrus and honey—it was cooling now, ready to be reheated just before paige walked in.

azzi looked at the clock: 5:18 p.m.

emma had mentioned paige’s practices usually ended around 5:30, which meant she’d be back soon.

as she stirred the sauce, her phone lit up from where it sat on the counter.

emma

hey, just checking in. everything good so far?

azzi

all good. just cooking dinner now.

she paused before sending another one.

azzi

do you know if she has any allergies or food sensitivities? just to be safe.

emma replied almost instantly.

emma

no allergies. she hates mushrooms though lol

azzi

noted. no mushrooms in this kitchen.

azzi smiled a little to herself, sliding the pasta into a large ceramic bowl.

she wiped her hands on a towel, then leaned back against the counter, letting the music play.

if paige walked in now, dinner would already be ready.

and maybe—maybe that would say enough on its own.

azzi had a feeling she was gonna enjoy being here.

so why did she also feel like it was going to be a problem too?

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi

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almondmilkcleanser · 2 months ago

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𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖘 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒☾ ☽𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 - OO4

SYNOPSIS - what was supposed to be a quaint summertime retreat to your favorite cousin's mansion has now turned into a type of rendezvous that you never dreamed of between two contrasting butlers with, almost sinisterly, similar desires.

■ ` ♡ characters / fandom ; f!reader x sebastian michaelis x Claude Faustus ■ ` ♡ tw ; MINORS DNI

main menu | one-shots menu | masterlist

■ ` ♡ VIP GUESTS TO THE MEAL ↷@preciousamethyst @crow-like-shiny-things @chrollohearttags @muvaginger @justaproudslytherpuff @kookie-vuitton @starstarbinks @flxxrence @urbunniebaby @nocturessa @neko-michaelis @maidensblessing @aiyaaayei

■ ` ♡ A/N → siiiigh I'm so sorry for disappearing on you guys -- alot has been going on and I completely lost desire to write. Forgive meeeee. Enjoy this apologetic meal on my behalf <3

A few weeks passed. It was dinnertime. You sat at the far end of the table in silence. Sebastian was at Ciel’s side, calm and stoic. Claude was at Alois’ side, his eyes closed and hands behind his back. Alois, with an almost devious child-like glee, ate his bountiful meal in gulps. You often would glance at his direction just to make sure that the child chewed his food properly.

Mei Rin, Fin and Baldroy all stood by the door, their individual stances equally unnerving. You felt like everyone was watching you. Waiting for your next word or your next motion.

Everyone but Ciel.

Instead, he sat there, unamused, with one hand used as a rest stop for his cheek while the other lazily wrapped itself around a steak fork. That same hand repeatedly poked a large chunk of meat almost as if he were double checking if it was fully dead or not.

You took a small bite of your meal. Tonight was themed after the French – Steak au Poivre slow simmered in a red wine sauce. Your serving was pre-sliced into fine, almost mechanical slices. You could easily pick up each tantalizing piece with ease and pop it into your mouth without worrying about spillage. Each bite being more delicious than the next.

Each morsel melting in your mouth like butter. As much as it aggravated you to be seated with this brat, his lackey and a blonde-haired carbon copy diagonally from you, the fragrant morsels in front of you made it seem to be, at the least, moderately tolerable.

“Dinner is excellent tonight.” you spoke, drawing up Sebastian’s attention first then Ciel’s. His piercing blue eye looked straight at you as you continued lapping up your meat with the viscous red sauce. You could almost see yourself in the viscous reflection.

“Who is the chef with such talent?” a wiry smile spread across your full lips. As you looked up, you saw Sebastian’s burn into you. He didn’t smile nor did he frown. But he never broke his gaze off of you. Claude on the other hand, only opened his eyes. He too was waiting on a response.

“Well,” Ciel smirked proudly as the words left his lips. His own little sense of pride beaming off his cool skin.

“It was none other than Baldroy himself. He had a little help, afterall.” Ciel raised his hand, palm upwards, in Sebastian’s direction.

“Oh, Young Master, you flatter me.” Sebastian bowed his head at the compliment. “Its all in a day’s work as the Phantomhive Butler.” If you could vomit your red sauce, you most definitely would.

“I see.” You dabbed your lips with the cloth on your lap. Trying your best to be a defined lady. Even with the inert frustration and irritation this ordeal has put you through, you stil maintained your composure. Both Sebastian and Claude took notice of that. One of them more impressed than the other.

“So what are the proposed plans for tomorrow?” you picked over your tray of vegetables, the leftover wine sauce coating your peas and carrots a dull maroon color.

Sebastian peered his eyes at the Young Master who carefully picked at his vegetables as well. Sebastian cleared his throat, adjusting his tie in the process.

“A studious Young Master won’t be so well equipped to perform his duties if he skips his vegetables.” Ciel grimaced, sending Sebastian in a silent giggle. It took a while for Ciel’s brattish stare to pry off of Sebastian, but when his eyes bounced back to you with an uncomfortably childish smile, you sort of wished he would have continued staring daggers at Sebastian.

“Tomorrow, we are going for a hunt.” You don’t know why this response made you unconsciously swallow. “Alois and I are going to pair up while Claude and Sebastian attend to you.” shit! “Afterall, its not all the time we have such a high-functioning lady in our company. We can see to it to make a few subtle arrangements.”

You forced a chuckle. “I can’t say that having your designated butlers following me around qualifies as subtle. I assure you that I can handle myself just fine on the hunt alone.”

“That just won’t do!” This time Alois chimed in, sending your stomach in a whirl. “Claude and Sebastian will be your company while Ciel and I talk much important matters. Won’t that be fun, Claude?” Alois’ piercing blue eyes radiated to Claude who merely nodded his head with his eyes closed.

“Then it's settled.” Ciel smiled, clapping his hands together. “We shall meet in the morning. Make sure you get adequate rest, Y/N.” you scanned the room for a moment before deciding it was time for you to retire. Everyone seemed so rehearsed, everything too pristine. It made you sick. So, with a dab of your mouth with the napkin on your lap, you pushed yourself from the table, proceeding to the main hall doors that led to the bedroom chambers.

“If its alright with you, Ciel, I would appreciate Sebastian to show me the way back to my room. I still get rather lost in such a big home.” you helped yourself through the doors, only leaving a big enough crack for another person to walk through. Sebastian looked down at the bored Ciel, who merely sipped his nighttime tea, unabashed at your mild tantrum.

“Go see to it she finds her room, Sebastian. But don’t take all night doing so.” Claude’s eyes slid to Sebastian who kept a calm appearance.

“Yes, My Lord.” Sebastian bowed his head, dismissing himself, and gracefully left the dining hall with a firm click of the doors.

—

“I don’t enjoy hunting. Not one bit. And Ciel knows that.” you huffed on the bed, kicking off your shoes in a groan. “I don’t see why i have to accompany him on such a brutish, unneccessary slaughter.”

“Forgive me if I’m misunderstanding, but you didn’t seem to have a problem cutting into tonight’s steak.” You cut your eyes at Sebastian with a scoff.

“Its different! I don’t want to see them being killed Sebastian. Sigh. Help me, please.”

“As you wish.” Sebastian walked around to the other side of the bed. He moved your hair to the side to loosen the ties and clamps around your dress. As his fingers brushed against your bare skin, you trembled. You and Sebastian have been meeting almost every other night for the past few weeks.

He catered to your mind and serenaded your flesh, effortlessly. You took advantage of having him to your every beck and call in the interim of you staying there. Father seemed elated based off the letters Sebastian wrote him and business continued on as planned. But, tonight, you had another craving on the tip of your tongue.

His slender fingers ran down the hem of your dress, slowly draping them off your shoulders little by little. He leaned down to kiss the nape of your neck, tracing his lips down your spine.

“Your tense.” he whispered in your ear. “What ails you?” he slipped his hands into your dress, his gloved hands encircling your breasts around and around. “I thought this makes the lady feel good.”

“It does.” you sighed, tilting your head back . He flicked his fingers back and forth on your nipples. He climbed on the bed, on his knees, with his torso bent to press against your back. You felt the warmth of his chest against his dress shirt, making you crave to be flesh to flesh again. When he touched you one specific way, you tilted one of your shoulders upwards, mewling softly beneath clenched lips.

He sucked his teeth playfully in a scolding fashion, using his chin to push your shoulder down. All of your clasps were undone, ribbons unraveled, hanging loosely against the seams of your dress. Without resistance, you angled your body so your dress could fall and your bare flesh be exposed in the mirror in front of you.

You angled your face to Sebastian, palming his angular jawline in a lover’s admiration. If one were to look at you two, they would assume that this was another night. That you two, completely enamored with each other, were tantrically peeling away the layers. Bracing each touch and kiss with delicate precision.

Even when you closed your eyes, you could pretend that Sebastian was something more. That he was, perhaps, someone else. Sebastian kissed your jawline from the small piece of connecting flesh between your ear down to your chin.

Nipping intentionally here and there, smiling at your recoil in pleasure. He sifted through the bottom of your dress until he found his paradise. Parting your lips with his pointer and middle finger, he rubbed up and down, tauntingly missing the bud of your clit to make you squirm.

“Please-” you groaned aloud, wrapping one of your arms around his neck. You gaped, hoping for another word to leave your mouth, but it simply didn’t. He motioned his finger around and around, pushing down, flicking back and forth, plunging into your wetness as he pleased. His breath hitched at your wetness, at the viscosity of your slick thickening stroke by stroke.

“The lady is needy today, what’s the matter?” He kissed your earlobe, smiling to himself. He knew it was going to be nearly impossible for yout o mumble a coherent sentence with him teasing you so much. Your eyes pressed shut, moans echoing across the room, you opened your eyes and gazed into the mirror just to see Sebastian staring right back at you with a fanged grin.

“Talk to me, Y/N. You know I’m only here to take care of you.”

“Sigh” he continued at your neck as the thoughts tried to pool to the front of your mind. “I’m craving something else tonight.” his eyebrow raised, but he continued his pacing.

“I want-” He pushed two fingers inside of you, this time leaving it there. The pressure surged up to your stomach, making you purr.

“I want you.” You moaned aloud, releasing onto his fingers.

“And Claude.”

His movements slowed, making you panic. “O-only if its alright with you. I’m more than happy with you. I just- I’m just-” He reassuringly kissed your jaw again, slowly retracting from inside of you.

“The lady doesn’t have to explain. By how.. Aroused you get,” he suckled those same fingers, humming in mischevious delight, “There’s no doubt who you’ll prefer overall.”

“Time to come out of hiding, Claude.” huh?!

You covered your chest on reflex as Claude pushed the wardrobe door open and climbed out without a hint of apprehension or embarrassment. Instead, he stood there, his eyes peered to you with his arms behind his back. A butler ready to serve.

“W-what? For how long?”

“You forget our agreement, my dear.” Sebastian reached around to pull the zipper on the side of your dress, fully undressing you this time. His hands were meticulous, almost routine. “We are here to please you until your time here is over.” His crimson eyes looked to Claude with a reminiscent smirk. “Our dear Claude was never far, you see. He was merely waiting, every time.”

“Every ti-” Your memory reeled back to the night that Sebastian had your chest pinned to the bed and hips high in the air. He pounded in you relentlessly, making you squirm, whine, cry for him. The candle was at the top of the wax when you two started, and only finished when there was only a flicker of a wick left. You were so sore the next day you had to have your breakfast and dinner brought to you.

“Yes,” his lips grazed against your chin, kissing it softly. “Every time. Claude, you won’t be of much use to the lady standing in a corner, now will you?” There was a brisk woosh past you, and just like that, Claude was between your legs, his gloved hands opening your legs wide to peer deep inside of you.

He could see the remnants of your elixir spreading thin, spreading wide, eagerly waiting for someone to fill the void. He could even see new streams of slick coming down in real-time. Sebastian guided your other hand around his neck as he continued to fondle and kiss your flesh, his fingers tracing the outlines of your body, even following the jagged streaks of your stretchmarks as they traversed down, down, down.

As Sebastian worked up top, Claude helped himself to the bottom. He lapped up your juices with his wide tongue, taking corner by corner into his mouth and down his throat. He continued to sample you without ever coming up for air, his chin and cheeks spotting with your wetness the more he plunged into you with his tongue.

Your hips buckled at the sensations electrifying every prickle of your skin. Sebastian pulled at the nape of your neck with his teeth, his dark eyes shining under the moonlight that beamed into your bedroom through the open balcony doors. The chilled breeze of nighttime air tickling the bare crevices of skin as Sebastian and Claude’s silhouette was tinted an opaque shade of blue.

You were so fucking close. Between Sebastian’s teasing and Claude’s tongue, your mind was turning to mush. Your senses were heightened and your body felt as though it was melting, solidifying, and melting again. Claude, his lips latched onto your clit, flicking it rapidly back and forth, pressed his hands into your thighs to keep them open. He could feel you trying to close them, but he just wouldn’t have it. Your climax was his and all his no matter how long it took.

“A-ah! C-Claude, I- I’m going to,” you tried to break free of Sebastian’s restraints, but that only made him pin you more. His muscles hardened as he kept your arms in place.

“Don’t fight it, Y/N. Use him. Use us.” With a whimper, your ground your hips into his face, your hips buckling at each contrasting sensation from Claude’s tongue. He prodded you with two of his fingers, pumping back in forth in synchronicity with your grinds. His eyes peeled open, showing the simmering golden hues that entranced you so much.

He fixed them on you, his gaze smoldered and alluring. Pulling you in pump by pump. He finally came up for air, droplets of your elixir streaming down his cheek and bottom lip.

He kissed your inner thigh, biting down with just enough intensity to make you thrash uncontrollably. Your juices poured nonstop, flooding the floor and the edge of your sheets. Even when the uncontrollable sparks bounced between your body and your mind, Sebastian kept you still, a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face.

“That’s right. Let it all go, Y/N. Marvelous work.”

Claude dawned his hand with the same white glove as he and Sebastian exited your bedroom. You were tucked in, your hair brushed and your nightgown shielding your lustful mounds once more. As the two stood on the opposite side of your bedroom, Sebastian matched Claude’s pensive glare with a bemused one.

“Well, I guess the classic saying goes something like,” He chuckled at his own joke, fluffing his jacket back to its pristine nature,

“May the best man, or demon, win.”

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theemporium · 1 year ago

Text

[3.3k] a friendship begins to blossom between you and luke as he begins to feel more settled in new jersey. the jump from college was intense, but he was somewhat glad he had a supportive group around him. and maybe his makeout sessions with you were a great stress relief too. (less smut and more heated makeout)

series masterlist

cherry🍒: i don’t believe you can cook

cherry🍒: sounds fake tbh

Luke snorted to himself, his lips twitching upwards as he stared at your message. You had sent it at some point during practice, continuing the conversation the two of you had been having the night before.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Less than two weeks ago, he was practically dry heaving on the ice at the idea of meeting up with you and now there hadn’t been a day the two of you had gone without talking.

He didn’t even text his brothers this much when they were apart, and now he was practically glued to his phone whenever he got the chance—something Jack loved to point out.

Pre-season training was intense, he expected as much when he entered the NHL. Both his brothers had warned him about it, too. He just hadn’t realised how intense it was going to be, or how big the jump between college to professional hockey would be.

And he didn’t realise how much more he would be eating.

Jack had found it fucking hilarious. He continuously chirped his little brother for always having a snack in his hand. Whether it was in their apartment, on the road or in the locker room, Jack would be the first to laugh, teasing him about being a ‘growing boy’. The rest of the team were a little more sympathetic, but that didn’t stop them from making some jabs themselves.

It meant that Luke had to adapt, meaning he had to learn to cook more meals beyond the three staples that had got him through college when he wasn’t relying on any meal plans. And it meant he was getting pretty fucking good at it too, much to his own surprise.

hockey boy: i cook so well, you’re just jealous

He paused, his shirt still half-hanging around his neck as he saw you typing.

cherry🍒: prove it then

Luke grinned.

hockey boy: i’m about to blow your mind with my steak subs

He felt a rush of anxiety—a good kind, for once—when he saw the bubbles show up on his screen again. He waited, anticipating your response. He had practically forgotten about the fact he was standing in the locker room, half-dressed after practice until he heard someone calling his name.

“Luke!”

His head snapped up, turning to find that most of the boys had already left. There were a few stranglers, still packing up their stuff with no real rush. But it was Nico who had called his name.

“Uh, yeah?”

“You free to talk?” Nico asked, a kind smile on his face like the other boys on the team had always said. It was hard to feel anything but welcomed by the Swiss. “After you’ve changed.”

“Oh,” Luke glanced down at his phone, seeing a notification that you had replied but quickly shoved his phone down on his bag. “Like, right now? Because I kinda had some plans—”

“It will be quick,” the older man assured him.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat and smiled a little. “Yeah, I’m free.”

Luke moved pretty quickly after that, ignoring his phone as he quickly changed back into the sweatpants and hoodie he had thrown on this morning when Jack had banged on his door at some ungodly, early hour. He shoved most of his things into his bag, trying to act like he felt completely normal and stress-free about a one-on-one conversation with his captain.

He tried to act nonchalant as they made their way to the lounge area where some players crash before or after a practice. Fridges and shelves were stocked with a variety of trainer-approved snacks and protein shakes, it was probably one of Luke’s favourite rooms recently. But now he felt too on edge to even grab one of the lemon muffins he loved.

“Calm down, you aren’t in trouble,” Nico eventually spoke up, settling down on the couch as he looked at Luke expectantly. “I just wanted to talk.”

Luke cleared his throat, settling down on the couch too. “Yeah, so you’ve said.”

Nico’s lips twitched. “How are you finding Jersey?”

“It’s good,” Luke nodded.

Nico raised his brows. “Just good?”

Luke blinked. “...really good?”

“Hm,” Nico hummed, but he sounded amused. “Usually I have trouble shutting Jack up, you’re like the opposite.”

Luke laughed a little. “Jack was always the yapper.”

“He’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about,” Nico added, almost far too casually. He briefly wondered if his captain was waiting for an in to whatever the real reason behind this conversation was.

“Yeah?”

“You know I’m your captain too, right?” Nico asked, and this time he sounded a lot more serious than he did thirty seconds ago. It was how he sounded on the ice, how he sounded on the bench during playoffs last year. He hadn’t seen much of this side of Nico, but he recognised it well.

Luke frowned. “Is this a trick question?”

“No, I—” Nico paused, shaking his head. “I just want you to know that I see you as one of my boys. Not just Jack’s little brother. When I played with my brother, I know sometimes it feels like you’re just…there. In his shadow, sometimes. I just don’t want you to feel like that here.”

Luke relaxed a little. “I don’t—”

“But you’d tell me if you ever did, yeah? I’m your captain too. I want you to know I’m there if you need me, as a captain or a friend.” Nico had a sincere but serious expression on his face, and a small part of it reminded him of Quinn. That warmth and comfort that came from someone a little older, a little more sure of themselves—a true captain.

“I know,” he promised the older boy with a nod.

“Good,” Nico said before his face broke out into a smile. “Do you need a lift home? I told Jack he could go and I could drive you back—”

“No!” Luke blurted out before blinking, seeing Nico’s slightly surprised face at his outburst. “I, uh, meant that I didn’t need a lift. I was just going to get an Uber.”

Nico’s brows furrowed together. “There’s no need, I can drive you back. I know where—”

“No, I just,” he paused, feeling his cheeks heat up in response. “I’m heading to a friend’s house. Not going home. So.”

“I see,” Nico murmured, and there was something shining in his eyes that Luke didn’t fully understand. He wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. “I can drive you to your…friend’s house, if you want.”

And let you watch him get dropped off by his captain? Yeah, he would rather not.

“I’m fine with an Uber, but thanks,” Luke said with a slightly strained smile, only hoping he didn’t look as guilty as he felt. He didn’t even know why his whole body felt on edge, he knew he was doing nothing wrong.

But something about the way Nico was staring made him feel like he could see right through him, through everything.

He was almost convinced his captain knew exactly where he was going and why, and that was something Luke didn’t want to think about.

…

“Back off!”

“But I’m hungry!”

“There’s gonna be nothing left if you keep eating everything.”

“But it’s taking so long.”

Luke shot you an exasperated look, though he didn’t bother to hide his smile as you slumped against the counter beside him. “It’s only been forty minutes.”

“I was hungry before you got here,” you defended with a huff.

“And you’ve practically eaten all the cheese I was gonna use,” he retorted.

You crossed your arms over your chest. He tried to ignore how endearing he found the act.

“C’mon, give me five more minutes and your food will be done,” Luke tried again, and he managed to finally crack a small smile from you.

“This better be worth it, Hughes. This is my first meal of the day.”

“I—” Luke frowned a little. “Yeah, we’ll dive into that later.”

You raised your brows, something like amusement painted across your face. “Worried about me, Hughes?”

“At the fact it’s one o’clock and you haven’t eaten a single thing?” Luke pointed out. “Yeah, actually, I am. And I think that is a justified reason.”

You waved him off. “I had coffee.”

His lips parted. “That’s not—”

“Cook for me, Hughes,” you interrupted, a grin stretched across your face as you playfully slapped his ass. “You said you would prove yourself.”

Luke’s cheeks flushed. “You’re bossy.”

“And you like it.”

He didn’t disagree.

…

“Stop looking so smug.”

Luke glanced over at you. “I never said anything.”

“But you have a smug smile on your face.”

“I don’t.” He definitely did. “But I am waiting for you to admit I was right.”

“Fine. You’re a good cook or whatever.”

Luke beamed in response.

He was never an overly confident or arrogant guy, not even on the ice. He knew when he played well, he knew when he made people eat their doubts that the youngest Hughes brother wasn’t as good as the other two. He was never the kind to go fishing for compliments or praise either.

But there was something admittedly satisfying when he got to see that expression on someone’s face, the one they got when he proved them wrong.

Whether it was something as big as proving his high school coach that he was good enough to make it into one of the best college’s hockey team, or as small as proving to you he was a damn good cook, and he made a damn good steak sub.

He didn’t like asking for compliments, but it was nice to receive them. To have that reassurance. To know that maybe he wasn’t as hopeless as he sometimes felt in his own body.

You raised your brows. “What? No cocky follow up?”

Luke shrugged, leaning back into the plush cushions of your couch. The plates and the rest of the dirty dishes had been shoved in the dishwasher, some random old sitcom was playing on the tv and the two of you were sprawled on your couch with your feet on his lap. Not that he was complaining.

It was sweet. Relaxing. Domestic.

Almost like you two were just friends hanging out.

“Not really my thing,” Luke admitted. “You said I was right. That’s enough.”

You tilted your head in interest. “That’s enough?”

He missed the heat in your words, the shift in tone in your voice. His eyes were aimlessly focused on the tv, trying to work out what was going on after he zoned out for a few moments. He missed the way your eyes dragged over his body, lingering on the way his shirt stretched over his shoulders and clung onto his arms.

“Yeah,” he nodded absentmindedly. “Jack is the one who would—oh.”

You grinned at the way he fell silent, as he blinked in surprise at the way you planted yourself in his lap.

“I—” Luke cleared his throat, no further words coming out as you placed your hands on his chest.

“Just wanted to say thank you,” you told him, your eyes following the way you ran your hands over the expanse of his chest, the way his heart thundered under your touch before your fingers traced along his neck. “For cooking for me.”

“Right,” Luke said, swallowing a little.

“Can I say thank you, Luke?”

He nodded.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” he rasped, his wide eyes staring up at you. “Please.”

“So polite,” you teased before you leaned down, your fingers fisting the material of his shirt in your hands as you pressed your lips together.

It took Luke a few seconds before he eased into the kiss, into letting you take control as your tongue swiped over his bottom lip. He sunk further into the couch, his hands hesitating a few moments before they rested comfortably on your waist, just like they always did.

And you waited.

You waited for them to move as you deepened the kiss, as your tongue explored his mouth. You waited as your hands ran up and down his chest, feeling the way his body shivered under your touch, at the way your nails lightly raked down his stomach. You waited as you felt his hands squeeze your waist, like he was finally giving in.

But his hands remained where they were.

“Luke,” you murmured, a little breathlessly between kisses. “Move.”

He paused, pulling back as he looked up at you with a confused expression. “What? Like, from the couch?”

You couldn’t help yourself as you snorted. “No, I meant your hands.”

“My hands?” He repeated dumbly.

Your smile softened a little as you reached for his hands, squeezing his wrists tightly. “Your hands are your friends,” you told him, biting back your laugh when you noticed his confusion grow. “There’s more to making out with a girl than kissing her.”

“Right,” he cleared his throat a little. “I knew that.”

“You like it when I touch you, right?”

He nodded.

“So, do the same,” you told him, squeezing his wrists again.

Luke blinked, swallowing hard. “I—”

He quickly closed his mouth, his cheeks flushing as a familiar feeling of embarrassment washed over him. He looked a bit hopeless, and it tugged on your heart strings a little to see him so hesitant.

“You can ask me anything, Luke,” you reminded him, your tone soft and void of anything remotely mocking like he almost expected. “I won’t judge.”

His eyes flickered back to your face. “Where…do I touch you?”

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “You want me to show you where I liked to be touched, baby?”

He nodded, his face flushing a deeper shade of red.

You never tore your eyes away from his face as you placed your hands over his, trying not to focus on how much bigger they felt than your own. You watched the way his brows furrowed, like he was trying to concentrate as you guided his hands along your waist until they dipped down to cup your ass.

He swallowed. “Is this okay?”

“So okay,” you told him before you leaned down to kiss him again. His hands remained still on your ass and it made you smile against his lips as you prompted him, as you let his hands experimentally squeeze your ass. “Girls like this.”

“O-Okay,” he breathed out.

“Feels nice when you wanna take a bit more control,” you told him, lightly nipping his bottom lip as he let out a choked noise of surprise. “Control the pace.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to guide his hands over your body again.

“Sometimes a girl just wants a little more when you’re making out,” you continued to whisper between kisses, taking his hands to the hem of your shirt. You felt him freeze a little beneath you as you guided him under the material of your shirt and softly squeezed his hands in reassurance. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“Just wanna make you feel good too,” Luke murmured, a little bashful in his admission as his fingers skimmed over the skin of your stomach.

Something inside you twisted, in a good way.

“You’re making me feel good, Luke,” you told him, your lips grazing his as you spoke, as you continued to move his hands further up your body. “Just doing exactly what I tell you. Such a good boy, such a fast learner.”

“Shit,” he breathed out as you rested his hands over your tits. He paused for a moment before giving them an experimental squeeze, finding the smile you gave him in response much more rewarding than anything else.

“That’s it, baby, just gotta be a little more confident,” you murmured before you dipped your head down, finally pressing your lips against his again.

And yeah, it was a little awkward at first when you dropped your hands from his. You were kissing him, your tongue swiping against his and his hands were just lingering on your tits like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

But then you rolled your hips against his, snapping him out of whatever brain fog he was lost in and he decided to just let himself sink into it. To just let his instincts take over. To trust the fact you would help him if he was doing something wrong.

And, fuck, Luke thought he might have to listen to his instincts more often if these were the results he got.

One of his hands slipped back down to your waist, to keep you on his lap as the other squeezed your tit over the fabric of your bra. You keened under the touch, almost panting against his lips between kisses as you gripped his shoulders. And then his other hand moved lower, moved to cup your ass and squeeze until he was helping you rock against him.

Your nails dug into his skin, but the pain was dull and desirable. It showed him that you were enjoying this, that you were enjoying the way he pawed at your tits and squeezed your ass. It showed him that maybe he did just need some confidence, to just trust that sometimes he would just instinctively know what to do.

His head dipped a little as your pants became heavier and the kiss was harder to continue. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, experimentally mouthing along your skin until he found a spot at the base of your neck that made you shiver under his touch.

He slowly ran his tongue along the spot, smiling a little when your fingers moved to grip his curls and tug a little. His teeth grazed the spot, a small voice in the back of his head wanting nothing more than for him to wrap his lips around the spot and suck until—

RING! RING! RING!

Both of you jumped at the shrill of the phone echoing through the room, both of his hands dropping to your waist to hold you tightly before you fell on your ass. His eyes snapped over to where his phone sat on the coffee table and groaned when he realised who was calling him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Luke grumbled, eyes narrowed on his phone as he watched Jack’s call ring on until it stopped.

“For someone who was desperate to get you laid, he sure knows how to ruin a moment,” you commented, though your voice was amused and lighthearted.

“I told him I’d be back later,” Luke huffed out. “I don’t know why—”

He was cut off by his phone buzzing again. And then again. And then again. He sighed deeply as he reached over, not moving you off his lap—and you made no move to slide off either, so he wasn’t complaining. He swiped, unlocking his phone as his brother’s messages came through.

jack attack: yo how did the thing with nico go?

jack attack: also idc what you said, we are having a birthday party for you and the boys agreed

jack attack: bring your lady friend ;)

Luke groaned a little, rolling his eyes and locking his phone instead of replying.

“Not a fan of parties?”

“Not a fan of Jack’s parties—especially ones that are three weeks after my actual birthday,” Luke corrected, his lips twitching downwards as his hands rested casually on your waist. “He tends to be a little…”

“Much?” You supplied.

“Yeah,” Luke snorted. “He also said he wanted me to invite you.”

You raised your brows. “Do you want me there?”

He raised his brows in response. “Do you want to come?”

“I’ll never say no to a party,” you said with a smile that was anything but innocent, leaning down until your lips were brushing his. “Plus, it’s your birthday. I think you deserve a little treat.”

Luke gulped a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grinned before kissing him, whilst his whole body flushed at the implications of your words.

jack attack: i know you read my texts

jack attack: stop fucking and reply, asshole!!

#luke hughes #nhl #new jersey devils #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes one shot #luke hughes smut #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl smut

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carminechrollo · 2 months ago

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THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: When Chrollo Lucilfer is assigned to go undercover and kill a billionaire's daughter, he finds himself breaking the most sacred rule of the underworld—that there should be no feelings involved. The consequences of his actions backs Chrollo into a corner where he has to choose between fulfilling the job or following his heart at a risky price.

CONTENT WARNING: undercover assassin!chrollo, bodyguard!chrollo, billionaire's daughter!reader, loosely follows some canon events (chrollo's past), reader is referred to as 'miss’, DARK CONTENT, DARK ROMANCE, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort (no happy ending), explicit smut, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, SLOW BURN, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, touches on arranged marriage, cheating, killing, money laundering, human trafficking, kidnapping, sacrilege & blood (briefly), gun use, chrollo struggles with feelings, chrollo has scars, OCs mentioned, not beta read.

WORD COUNT: 18,853

NOTES: this is a repost from my previous account, chrollogy (now deactivated). i really really love this piece (its my baby :<) so i’m reposting it here !! divider: edensrose

Loud music, enough to make one’s chest thump, annoying bright strobe lights, and the sea of intoxicated bodies that passionately danced with one another without a care in the world, Chrollo wanted out.

He observed the luxury club with a subtle scowl, gaze sharp enough to tear one’s throat as he watched the spoiled, and rich carelessly sway to the beat of the music—you were one of them.

A privileged affluent businessman’s daughter who didn’t know how to handle one’s wealth so she resorts to spending nights swiping her card for overpriced drinks, and whatever expensive shit the club had to offer.

Meanwhile, the lower class had to work themselves to near death to be able to provide for their families.

One, two, three jobs just to make ends meet—just to pay rent, just to bring food to the table even if it meant working for the underworld.

That was where Chrollo fell into the spectrum; fortunate enough to live but unfortunate enough to live a cruel life in an equally cruel world. He grew up learning how to steal, fight, and kill while you grew up having maids cook every meal, a solid roof over your head, and generational wealth to spend.

It made Chrollo sick to his stomach how wealthy kids like you could just take, take, and take yet had the audacity to complain about their lives as if society didn’t favour them at all. He could go on, and on about this whole ordeal but at the end of the day, no one would even bat an eye, plus, Chrollo had a job to do—technically, two jobs.

At the heart of the sweaty, inebriated club, you stood there beneath the neon strobe lights, it bounced off the strands of your hair like a colourful aura mirroring your careless joy.

Body perfectly swaying to the beat of the music, a half-full glass of a sweet cocktail, and a blissful expression on your face; maybe if the circumstances were different Chrollo would have smiled at your blithe spirit but it wasn’t. Your eyes—a drunken haze—found his own to which you immediately acknowledged with a cheery wave of your free hand.

It only took a split second for Chrollo to mask the obvious scowl on his face with a sickly saccharine smile—one that made his gut twist with disgust—he returned the gesture with a dip of his chin paired with raising a glass of water in the air as if to make a toast.

Chrollo’s expression fell the minute you turned away, unceremoniously slouching back into the leathered booth you’ve booked beforehand, he let out a deep sigh, and rubbed at his temples.

Two weeks.

It had only been two weeks since your father—Chrollo’s employer—hired him as your personal bodyguard, and as expected, extensive pre-screening was a must before one could securely acquire said role which Chrollo found extremely bothersome despite its lack of difficulty.

Though this wasn’t a rare occurrence, it only made sense for the rich to hire a skilled bodyguard to protect oneself from unknown dangers.

Obviously, he didn’t apply to be your personal bodyguard for sincere reasons—far from it, actually; Chrollo was here for a task that would land him his heftiest pay yet, even just thinking about made his head spin with immeasurable happiness already but Chrollo figured he’d bask in filthy money after completing the job.

He always did.

If anything, this should be a walk in the park for him considering there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the demise of a wealthy brat. But for now, he’d take it slow, and earn your trust ‘til the right time comes; where his mask falls, and true motives come to light.

Where the last thing Chrollo would receive from you was a look of pure horror much like his previous targets. Would you beg for him to spare your life as others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?

These thoughts immediately dissipated at the call of his name; a few feet away, you stumbled your way towards the booth, the highball glass tucked in your hand was now empty with only half melted ice cubes remaining. Chrollo stood up, wrapping a firm arm around your back, helping you regain balance before guiding you to the leathered seat, the fabric cool against your feverish skin.

“Should I call the chauffeur, miss?” Chrollo feigned worry.

His stature loomed over your sitting figure, back lit with red neon strobe lights, giving him a deep crimson glow. You stared at him longer than necessary before responding with a small nod; the wild atmosphere, paired with your spinning vision seemed like a good enough hint to head home, and retire for the night.

At your agreement, Chrollo let out a big mental sigh of relief—he may be an adept assassin but sitting idly for hours while watching his asset drink the night away exhausted his patience more than one could imagine.

The ride back to the estate was all a drunken haze for you, though, you recalled a brief exchange of words between Chrollo, and your chauffeur as the latter helped you inside the vehicle before, they seemed to get along swimmingly despite the former only being a new addition to your personal staff.

Albeit, that description might be a bit too generous, maybe it was just your drunk self thinking but nonetheless, you appreciated the courteous manner between the two.

“Lukas?”

You called out to the chauffeur, he donned a formal attire just like Chrollo—a black tailored suit—he was an old-timer who had been your father’s previous chauffeur before you were born. It was safe to say you’ve learned a lot from him growing up, and maybe even served more as a father figure than your biological one.

“Yes, miss?” Lukas glanced briefly at the rear-view mirror. “Chrollo . . He’s nice, isn’t he?”

The older man could only chuckle in response, letting your words soak into the darkness of the vehicle before nodding,

“He’s a promising young lad.”

He glanced at the mirror once again, this time letting his gaze linger on you, headlights from the vehicle Chrollo drove behind poured into the backseat, and illuminated your face; Lukas didn’t know if it was due to your drunken state or from pure sincerity but the subtle smile on your face somewhat warmed his heart.

He took a mental note that you seemed to be quite fond of your new bodyguard.

After safely reaching the estate, and escorting you inside, Chrollo made his way to the staff house.

Walking past the wooden double doors, he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice, “Off to bed, Chrollo?” It was Lukas, your chauffeur; he sat on one of the crimson couches, one hand nursing a cup of hot coffee.

Chrollo stared at the old man’s face behind the wisps of steam from the drink, the latter donned a rather pleased look on his face, he thought nothing of it, and nodded, “And yourself?”

Lukas returned the nod, “A little later for me.”

Silence occupied the living room for a moment.

Chrollo could’ve left the conversation at that but instead, he stood there, feet rooted on the wooden floor, sensing that Lukas had more to say but was debating on it.

Seeing as he didn’t want to waste any more time, Chrollo spoke up “Is there something else you’d like to say?” His voice cut through the quiet atmosphere, he had now angled his body towards the older man.

Lukas set the mug atop the coffee table before giving him his full attention,

“The young miss seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Chrollo didn’t know how to react to that—even if he did, he wouldn’t have let on.

At his silence, Lukas invited himself to speak further, “At times, she can be quite a handful . . but hearing her speak positively of you warms my heart. What I’m trying to say is, please take good care of the young miss, it means a lot for her to say such things about you.”

Trust? Good.

Chrollo’s rosy lips stretched into a genuine smile, “I will. Thank you.”

And with that, he excused himself before heading to his room, the soles of his obsidian shoes produced no noise with each step.

He wasn’t happy because you seemed to like your new bodyguard, no, Chrollo was happy because you trusted him so easily—probably the biggest mistake you’ve made. Though, nothing would really change if you didn’t trust him, either way, you’d meet your demise no matter what.

As the new week rolled around, it was no surprise that Chrollo had already memorised your weekly routine—without a doubt, you spent days in the office but he had noted other destinations you frequented.

On Mondays, you visited a cosy flower boutique in the morning, owned by a lovely old florist whose cheeks were as pink as the camellias neatly displayed on the counter next to her. You only bought one type of flower—white chrysanthemums, a dozen, to be exact; they were carefully wrapped in a simple brown paper, and topped off with an ivory satin ribbon.

On the way back to the car, Chrollo wondered why you chose these specific flowers, and upon asking, you simply replied with:

‘White chrysanthemums symbolise devoted love, and loyalty—something we need more of in this world, don’t you think?’

How ironic.

Chrollo had no knowledge about flowers but he always thought white chrysanthemums meant death, specifically a symbol of mourning, and grief—a flower fit for one’s grave yet you displayed them in a vase to bring life into your room.

If you were being completely honest, chrysanthemums didn’t hold any significance in your life; one day you decided to visit the flower boutique run by the old lady, and she had told you all about the flower.

Oddly enough, you started to grow fond of it.

Chrysanthemums were awfully common in his hometown—Meteor City—and not in a good way; inhabited by untraceable outcasts, it was the perfect hunting ground for illegal activities such as human trafficking, as well as an endless source of disposable hitmen, and assassins like Chrollo himself.

Due to mass abductions, and murders of the people, chrysanthemums were laid out at the church for each victim; he could clearly remember walking down the aisle, a smell so sweet, and minty filled the thick atmosphere.

For an aroma so pleasant, who would’ve thought it was associated with such sorrow?

On Tuesdays, you attended your private pilates lesson at 8 AM on the dot which lasted a little under an hour. As usual, Chrollo stayed idly by the entrance of the studio, just at the foyer as the muffled voice of your instructor seeped from under the closed door; this was usually paired with brunch at a local café after, as per your words, ‘a much needed caffeine break’ whatever that meant.

Chrollo couldn’t care less, he was too busy assessing the layout of the building for an escape route, and potential threats as though he wasn’t the biggest threat here.

The window seat offered a clear view of the street outside, vehicles driving by, people in their own little world as they headed to their destination; not to mention the ample morning sunlight that poured in, allowing you to study Chrollo’s reflection from the glass.

He stood behind you with his back facing the window, scanning the entire café; you watched as his head slowly moved from left to right, then right to left, giving you a peek of his side profile.

Your eyes traced every dip, and curve of Chrollo’s face, from the slope of his nose, all the way to the sharpness of his jawline. It was odd how this man—who barely talked to you unless necessary—had piqued your interest.

In what way? That was something you were still trying to figure out.

How Chrollo carried himself with silent confidence stood out from the rest of your security team; sure, he was vigilant of his surroundings but each action he displayed was calculated, and clean—too clean.

You’ve also noticed how his steps were much lighter than everyone else’s, it made almost no sound as though he was actively stalking a prey. And for a brief moment, you wondered who that prey was.

On Wednesdays, you were present at your father’s company for the whole day.

Though, the scowl on your face clearly screamed your opposition; it wasn’t a secret to anyone how uninterested you were in all the business talk—in fact, if anyone were to ask about it, you could probably go on, and on about how boring, and tedious it was, conversely, if asked what you wanted to do in life, you’d probably have a hard time answering.

Alas, as the sole heir, the company automatically fell to your hands whether you liked it or not.

Wednesdays were always a drag, having to make acquaintances with investors, and show face during monotonous meetings that rarely concerned you—you’d rather spend time elsewhere.

On Thursdays, you were also at the company but for a different reason. Chrollo only knew you reported straight to your father’s office, and he was often ordered to wait at the ground floor.

The meeting with your father always took approximately two hours, and each time, you came out looking like someone had pressed all your buttons.

Though today, for the sake of Chrollo’s own selfish curiosity, seeing as the hallway was deserted, he lingered outside the office for a bit but all he really got was pure silence—either you, and your father conversed in a hushed voice or the walls were soundproof.

Whatever the case was, Chrollo didn’t bother sticking around but he was quickly stopped in his tracks as voices from inside were suddenly raised—yours first, followed by your father.

Looking back at the office door, Chrollo heard you shout in opposition, it seemed like the conversation had somewhat turned into a heated argument.

Nonetheless, he continued down the hallway—it was none of Chrollo’s business, after all.

“No! I’ve already told you, I’m not doing that!” Loud voice sliced through the growing tension inside the room.

The older male—who sat behind his desk—leaned back into the seat, leather groaning beneath his weight as he rubbed his temples at your stubbornness, clearly displeased with how much you were blowing everything out of proportion.

You stayed rooted in your spot, just standing a metre away from your father.

“Look, darling, I’ve already agreed—”

“Agreed without my consent.”

Raising your hands in defeat, you paced around the room, each heavy step muffled by the crimson carpet beneath your soles.

“I’m the one getting married to someone I haven’t met! I never even wanted to be in an arranged marriage just because of what—a stupid business partnership?!”

This was the first time you’ve raised your voice at your father; all the years under his care, and guidance, you gladly accepted what was left upon your hands.

Continuing the legacy of your father’s company? Sure, no problem, you could deal the burden on your shoulders but marrying a complete stranger?

That was more than crossing a mere boundary.

Your father was a skilled business man, and you never doubted that once—he was excellent at negotiating, and closing deals so for him to stoop as low as agreeing with an arranged marriage for the sake of his company, it baffled you, a lot.

What more could he possibly want?

“I’m done with this conversation.”

Letting out a breath you’ve been holding, you turned around, and headed for the door but before reaching the silver handle, your father spoke up from behind,

“Next week. You’re attending the corporate event with Euan. That’s final.”

All you could do was nod.

Chrollo spotted your rather distressed figure exit the elevator, and head for the car park, not so much sparing a glance as you passed him; nonetheless, he quietly trailed you, steely gaze observing your figure up, and down—shoulders tight, and fists clenched at your side.

You felt defeated.

The thought of spending the rest of your life with a man you didn’t genuinely love, was that really your so-called future? A bond made for the sole purpose of expanding business?

Stepping into the underground car park, you stopped in your tracks, the automatic glass door silently humming as it closed behind you.

Naturally, Chrollo did the same but didn’t dare speak up.

Click clack.

Two clicks from the soles of your shoes as you turned to face your bodyguard with a deflated expression, he could only raise a brow in surprise before you sat on your haunches, and buried your face inside the hearts of your palms.

Oh.

One, two, three seconds—it took Chrollo exactly three seconds to register the sight before him, and he didn’t know what to do; awkwardness settled in the air between the two of you as you sobbed into your hands.

He moved closer—taking a few cautious steps as though he walked on eggshells—and squatted down to your level, “Miss?” He called out, his dulcet voice drowned by your soft whimpers, every muscle in Chrollo’s body was stiff, movements unsure.

What was he supposed to do? Reach out, and stroke your hair? Pull you close against his chest? Chrollo was more than sure that doing so was completely unprofessional on his end.

So, he was reduced to sitting next to you, silently watching your shoulders shake with each muffled sob until you finally decided to lift your head, “I apologise for acting this way. I’m certain you probably don’t care but—”

Correct. Chrollo did not care.

“My father has been pushing me in an arranged marriage. I kept saying ‘no’ until he went behind my back, and agreed to it. I found out today and I just—I lost it. The benefits of what comes after marriage are endless for the company; more investors, more money, more security but is that really worth sacrificing my shot at finding the one I truly love?”

Saying the words aloud made it sound so silly.

Finding your one true love, how naïve, that only worked in children’s fairy tales.

Upon learning the reason for your upset, Chrollo could only nod, he wasn’t the type to console anyone, let alone his employer’s daughter.

The last time he could remember doing so was almost a decade, and a half ago during the time his dear friend—Sarasa—went missing.

It was a rainy day in Meteor City, Chrollo remembered hugging his friends tightly, reassuring them that everything was going to be alright even though uncertainty gnawed at his skin.

He was innocent and didn’t know better then.

But the incident with Sarasa was what fuelled his pure hatred for the wealthy. Chrollo was only a kid, full of limitless joy, and hope despite growing up in poverty.

It was during the height of abductions in Meteor City, and that was when he learned that not even his friends were immune from illegal activities after seeing it with his own eyes.

It was broad daylight, and Sarasa had been forced into a car by two large men—as if one wasn’t enough to take a helpless little girl.

The worst part was, Chrollo could only stand, and watch as his friend got taken away with nothing but helpless tears in his eyes, and a blazing anger that burned a thousand suns.

He could still recall the way his nails dug into the hearts of his palms, the temporary pain it felt. The incident haunted his coming days, hearing Sarasa’s screams at night, and how she begged for the men to spare her life.

Chrollo overheard from the Elders that the ones behind illegal abductions were the wealthy, and that night, he made a promise to avenge Sarasa—even if it meant taking lives.

It was clear the rich were parasites of the world, greedy for money, and power, leaving none behind for the unfortunate.

Chrollo couldn’t bring himself to understand your situation, and emotions—he didn’t have to but some odd part made him want to.

From Fridays to Sundays, you usually spent the time out with friends but as the days came, you remained cooped up inside your room, and only came out unless necessary.

The thought of isolating yourself somewhat ate away at Chrollo, despite not being able to fully grasp your situation, he figured it must have been a breaking point for you, and deep down, for some weird reason, he was worried.

This was the first time you’ve shown him an emotion other than happiness—which he presumed was most likely out of professionalism—so seeing your distressed state had him rather curious.

Stationed just outside the doors to your room, Chrollo couldn’t do anything to quench the sparked interest inside him—guarding the entrance of your room was all there was to do which ended up with him drowning in his thoughts while standing idly.

Even though Chrollo didn’t understand your sentiment, he knew no one should marry a stranger for the sake of business.

Though, Chrollo didn’t have much time to ponder about your situation as his replacement came walking up the stairs meaning it was the end of his shift for the day. He entertained a brief exchange with his co-worker before heading out.

Walking down the stone path that led to the deserted flower garden, Chrollo dug into the inside pocket of his blazer, and took out a burner phone.

As the assassin dialled a number, he was greeted with a view of endless greenery decorated with bright hues from a variety of flowers; the floral aroma wrapped around his body like a fluffy blanket.

Somehow, the sweet scent reminded Chrollo of you.

The cheap phone rang once, twice ‘til a familiar voice spilled through its speakers,

“I’m guessing you’re here to update me?”

The male on the other side of the call questioned.

Chrollo agreed, and the line went silent, urging him to give the details.

As he gave a thorough update, Chrollo mindlessly walked down the stone path, various colours making its way to his line of vision.

Though, a particular flower caught his eye—a sea of yellow as bright as the morning rays decorated several bushes on the ground.

While speaking into the phone, Chrollo squatted down to its level, and examined the delicate flower,

Bird’s foot trefoil, the small ivory signage before it read.

Two months, that was the amount of time given to complete the job. It was reasonable enough with the amount of security you were surrounded with, and even though Chrollo was the only bodyguard you took whenever you left the house, Lukas remained by your side as well—he made sure not to underestimate the old timer.

Chrollo had never heard of this man before but from what he knew, he seemed to be about the same age. Why the man was seeking out revenge by targeting your life was also something that remained a mystery—after all, Chrollo was only there to kill, details weren’t necessary when it came to an assassin.

“‘M not gonna tell you how to do your job but remember, time is ticking, and I’m spending a whole lot of money on this, yeah?”

Voicing his agreement before ending the call, he took one last look at the flower, and stood up, heading for the staff house.

It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.

With the new week, everyone prepared for the corporate event in a few hours—even Chrollo himself, as well as the rest of the security team was busy scouting the venue, and looking for any potential threats around, and inside the building.

Tonight, he donned a sleek, all black look which was slightly different from the usual white button down, and black suit he wore.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, employees, and important investors began pouring in the building; the inside boasted a formal theme with a lavish teardrop crystal chandelier that mimicked the shine of a thousand diamonds, round tables were draped in ivory cloths which housed a bunch of butterfly pea flowers encased in sleek ceramic vases.

Silence was replaced with melodic laughter, and casual conversations between acquaintances, and co-workers as the vast room was slowly filled with more people.

Having arrived at the venue earlier, Chrollo stood by the entrance, waiting for your arrival. As the familiar vehicle rolled around, Lukas exited the vehicle, and opened the rear passenger door.

Expecting you to come out of the vehicle, Chrollo was caught slightly off-guard when a stranger clad in a navy blue tuxedo did so instead—he donned obsidian strands that carefully framed his handsome face, and piercing honeyed eyes that was sure to make any woman swoon.

The assassin watched as he turned to face the vehicle, and held out a hand to you. Taking up on the polite offer, you held his hand, and gracefully stepped out of the vehicle.

And there you were, in all your serene beauty, skin glowing beneath the warm streetlights that made Chrollo inhale a sharp breath for some odd reason.

“Thank you, Euan.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Euan? Chrollo thought.

With how he lovingly kissed the back of your hand, and from the way you forced a smile, it wasn’t hard to piece together that this was the man you were forced to marry.

Somehow, Chrollo felt a tinge of annoyance spark within the depths of his chest—maybe because he was aware of the whole arranged marriage situation or maybe because he was yet in the presence of another stuck up, pompous spoiled person.

Euan interlaced his fingers with yours before heading towards the entrance, Chrollo didn’t miss the way the diamond ring on your finger twinkled like stars in the night sky.

Surprisingly, Euan acknowledged Chrollo with a dip of his chin; you mirrored your date’s action, and only then did the assassin respond in the same way.

The event was boring as one would have expected, your father—the CEO—mostly talked about the company’s milestones up on the podium, he held a champagne flute in one hand filled with golden liquid while entertaining the room with uneventful accomplishments.

Though, what you didn’t expect tonight was for your father to openly reveal your arranged marriage with Euan in front of your subordinates, and investors,

“It’s my pleasure to announce that the COO of D&J—my daughter—is soon to be wed with Mr. Euan Heston from Heston Enterprises.”

As endless applause, and supportive smiles filled the venue, you sat frozen on your seat, unable to muster even the tiniest smile. From the corner of your vision, you could see Euan bashfully nodding his head, and shaking hands with those in neighbouring tables as they congratulated him.

You stared at your father in complete disdain which only prompted a forced smile from him.

Unbelievable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips before swallowing the raging emotions, pushing them down, down, down to the depths of your core, and as though a switch inside you was flipped, a smile stretched across your face, throwing out thank you’s to those who offered their support.

With the end of the CEO’s speech, and certain formalities, all that’s left was to mix, and mingle with everyone else which—thankfully—Euan did while you quietly sneaked away to the open bar.

Although, visibly drowning yourself in more champagne only invited more guests to come, and gush about the weighted ring on your finger, not to mention how openly they adored Euan.

Hearing such high praise thrown his way, you caught yourself staring at your soon-to-be husband; you watched as he gracefully waltzed from table to table, engaging in polite conversations with not only the important people in the room but also with your subordinates.

Euan was well-mannered, kind, and respectful—he was everything your father wanted as your husband but he wasn’t made for you, and deep down, you knew that.

From the corner of the room, Chrollo watched it all unfold.

From the way you stiffened beneath everyone’s stares as your father revealed the marriage, all the way to your gaze finding Euan amongst the crowd.

He felt weird.

Albeit subtle, Chrollo sensed it was there—as though a foreign seed had been planted in his chest waiting for it to grow, and destroy him from inside out.

Whether it produced the fruit of anger, revenge or some other emotion in the dictionary, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was it took root inside his heart.

As Chrollo got lost in his thoughts for a bit, he was greeted with an empty barstool that was previously occupied by you; he scanned the vast room, stone cold eyes darting from left to right, and right to left trying to catch a glimpse of your familiar figure.

Slight panic didn’t settle in until Chrollo realised that you were nowhere to be seen—the feeling began to gnaw at his very bones as the attempts of finding your whereabouts led to a dead end, he even went as far as asking a woman standing just outside the bathroom if she’s seen you walk in but only shook her head.

Wide, panicked steps, Chrollo unceremoniously crossed the room in search of you while almost bumping into several guests in a nervous haze; he muttered out whispered apologies, gaze remaining ahead.

His heart thumped loudly against his ears, serving as a mere distraction to throw off his already breaking composure. God, your father would absolutely kill him if he were to find out that he’d lost sight of you.

But Chrollo wasn’t scared of that, not even an ounce of fear in his body at the thought of your father’s wrath, instead, he worried for your safety; the more minutes passed without a trace of you, the more frustration consumed every fibre of him.

The only option left was to check the balcony.

With a bated breath, he opened the sliding door, a gentle, cool breeze of the night greeted him like a welcome hug.

His gaze scanned the open area which—thankfully—landed on your familiar figure, you stood there, leaning against the metal railing while looking up at the obsidian skies. Relief briefly washed over Chrollo as he let out a sigh but this feeling was soon replaced with red, hot anger.

He stalked over to where you stood, each step heavy with annoyance,

“Where have you been? I was looking all over for you! Don’t run off like that.”

The ever calm, and collected bodyguard coming for your neck with such ferocity caught you off guard, not to mention the obvious bite in his tone.

With furrowed brows, you turned to face Chrollo, a look of disbelief painted on your face.

The audacity of this man.

Who the hell was he to boss you around as though you were his subordinate?

“That’s ‘miss’ for you—” You crossed your arms, head slightly tilted upwards as you looked down at him from your nose.

“And relax, Chrollo. I’m not harmed. I don’t see what the fuss is about.”

You were absolutely right, and Chrollo hated that you were because he didn’t know where else to channel his anger, if anything, your words doused the flame inside his chest with gasoline, allowing it to expand, and burn an azure fire.

Despite his better judgement, Chrollo let it consume him,

“Relax? I’m your bodyguard, it’s my duty to keep you safe, and out of danger! What if something happens to you, and I’m not around, hm?”

Chrollo felt the foreign seed inside his chest grow into uncertainty—an odd feeling he’s never felt before.

Speaking out like this, and losing his cool over a situation was out of character for him but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, as though words willingly flew out of his throat, and out into the open.

“Exactly, you’re only a bodyguard. You have no right to act this way towards me. Have you forgotten I’m not your equal?” You retorted, dishing out the same amount of ferocity he had given you.

Initially, you were going to let the whole thing slide, it was understandable where Chrollo was coming from—he was only doing his job—but it pissed you off seeing as how he had the audacity to act like that.

You looked up at the taller man, gaze not backing down from his steely ones; it took him a couple of seconds to hold your stare before breaking it, and looking off to the dark horizon.

Though, you swore you saw his eyes subtly dip down for a split second before doing so—you weren’t too sure, maybe it was the darkness playing tricks.

You were right.

Chrollo was only a bodyguard, so did he cross the line?

The unclear answer made him all the more furious but for now, he’d have to settle for the explanation that he’s your bodyguard, and he has the right to worry about your safety.

Even if Chrollo himself didn’t entirely believe this reason.

“You’re right. I apologise for crossing any boundaries, miss.”

Chrollo stationed himself near the sliding door, offering you space to enjoy the quiet night in peace.

Now, you felt kind of bad for raising your voice at him when he clearly showed nothing but concern; you chalked it up to the stress your father weighed upon you tonight—the decision to tell everyone about the marriage, Euan being your date for tonight, the engagement ring that wrapped around your finger.

It was clear that Chrollo was still bothered about the whole thing, you could see it from the way his jaw tightened, and the subtle crease between his brows. Whatever. You’ll deal with it later.

A petty argument.

That was it.

But why did it have Chrollo all worked up? Why was he extremely bothered about it? Hell, where was that useless fiancé of yours, and why wasn’t he looking after you?

Questions swirled in his mind, chaotic, and uncertain—now, Chrollo was really wondering why he was acting this way.

In his twenty-six years of living, never had he felt this feeling before, it stemmed from his chest, blooming across his body, and consuming him in an unpleasant, foreign way.

The feeling stayed rooted inside even until reaching the estate where he stood guarding the door to your room.

Chrollo rubbed his forefinger, and thumb together while staring at the marbled tiles beneath his feet, it was past midnight now, and the only sound heard was the thumping of his own heart—the rhythmic beat that somewhat got louder with each passing minute.

He was soon reeled back into reality at the sound of the door opening behind him.

Stepping out of your room, Chrollo watched as the darkness unclasped your body from its confines; he quickly averted his gaze at your vulnerable state—clad in a flimsy ivory nightgown that stopped just below the knees with satin ribbon straps comfortably sitting on your shoulders.

He felt it was rather inappropriate seeing you in such an attire.

“Ahem. Anything you need, miss?” Chrollo coughed into his fist, staring at the darkness behind you instead of holding the gaze thrown his way.

Letting out a sigh, you replied,

“I think I need to clear my head a bit . . Care to join me for a night drive? That way you’ll know my whereabouts.”

The end of your sentence had a tinge of bitterness laced with it but Chrollo shrugged it off, it’d be no use trying to pick up where the two of you left off earlier.

“I take it as a yes, then? Meet me at the garage.”

With that, you walked down the stairs, the thin fabric of your nightgown swaying with each step taken.

Chrollo quickly headed to the staff house to grab the keys to his assigned vehicle.

Making his way to the door, he immediately stopped in his tracks as a sudden idea popped into mind—the gun hidden beneath his pillows.

Chrollo stared at his bed before swiftly lifting the ivory pillow, revealing a pistol given to him upon acquiring the bodyguard role.

Without a word, he tucked it inside the holster beneath the obsidian blazer he donned, and walked out of the bedroom, heading for the garage.

Disappearing into the night, an odd feeling engulfed Chrollo—he wondered whether the gun on his hip portrayed him as your bodyguard or as your assassin.

Something he has never thought about before because it had always been the latter, regardless of the situation. Nonetheless, the weapon felt awfully heavy hanging onto him—as though it was a great burden that took an even greater effort to get rid of.

The drive was awkward, and there was no set destination; the only instruction you gave Chrollo was to keep driving, and he did, without questions asked.

The only sound that filled the vehicle was the low humming of the engine which lulled you further into your thoughts, warm streetlights would illuminate the inside which allowed Chrollo to sneak brief glances at you through the rearview mirror.

He didn’t want to pry but it was clear you were overwhelmed with a lot of things.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught Chrollo off guard, stone cold gaze looking through the mirror to meet your own for a split second.

“Miss?” He furrowed his brows.

“For earlier. I said some harsh words as well, and you were only doing your job. So, I apologise.”

Now, it was your turn to steal glances through the rearview mirror. Chrollo’s expression remained unchanged—most likely trying to find an appropriate answer.

He shook his head, fully aware you peered at him through the mirror,

“It’s no big deal . . It wasn’t my place to raise my voice. As you said earlier, I’m just a bodyguard.”

Chrollo’s eyes remained on the road ahead, enveloped by the night, he didn’t know why it suddenly became hard to glance through the mirror—maybe it was the unmistakable knowledge that you’d be staring straight back.

Was he nervous?

Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.

“It’s just—the whole announcing the marriage with Euan in front of all the guests stressed me out. The marriage is set in stone without my permission, and I just feel so helpless . .”

You watched the outside view go by, dull colours of the night blending into a blurry haze.

“I know the arrangement has benefits. I know that.”

It was directed more to yourself than Chrollo, as though some part of you agreed with the marriage.

“Euan is . . He’s sweet—a kind soul but I cannot see myself loving him, spending the rest of my life with him.”

The assassin gripped the wheel a little tighter at the mention of your fiancé.

“I don’t think anyone should ever go through that.” He cleared his throat, stealing another glance at you.

“You mentioned a while ago—” Chrollo spoke up, deciding to deviate the topic from Euan.

“That the marriage would benefit the company ‘more security’ . .” He trailed off, realising how he’s prying but you didn’t seem to mind with how openly you replied.

“Long story short, my father had a very close friend—Mr. Driscoll—in the industry. It was later revealed that he was involved in money laundering so most of his assets came from illegal dealings. My father played a significant role in his arrest—basically, Driscoll was stupid enough to tell my father of his underground ties, urging him to do it as well. But my father had tipped the police instead. Naturally, his son, Ciaran Driscoll—who’s now the CEO of the company—saw us in a bad light, and it won’t take long until he makes my father pay for the damages done.”

“The arranged marriage with Euan would obviously combine our security team with theirs which would decrease the chances of Ciaran, and any other dangers from getting near my father, and I.”

Yet Chrollo was here—an assassin tasked to kill you—who easily took on the role of your personal bodyguard. How ironic. You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.

“Ciaran Driscoll?”

Chrollo muttered the name under his breath which you quickly caught onto.

“Yeah. Ciaran Driscoll from Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, you know him?” He wouldn’t necessarily say he knew him but Chrollo was awfully familiar with the name—familiar enough to conclude that Ciaran was the one who hired him to kill you.

Despite meeting at a deserted location back then—nowhere near that gave any hints of Ciaran’s real identity—one of his subordinates had addressed him by his last name which Chrollo immediately picked up.

The pieces fit flawlessly.

It made sense for Ciaran to get revenge for Mr. Driscoll’s arrest by targeting what your father held most dear in his life—you.

And for that to happen, Chrollo was the middle man, the one to fuel the chaos between two families.

If he got the job done.

“No.” Chrollo lied. “Just thought the last name rang a bell.”

“Understandable, they’re a household name. Well, it used to be.”

Short silence filled the vehicle yet again, both left to their own thoughts before you spoke up, albeit, it was more of thinking aloud,

“I truly don’t know what I want in life.”

Odd.

Chrollo always thought that if one was wealthy, they’d be able to wish for anything, and everything yet somehow, even with all the gold in your hands, you were still lost. Chrollo pitied you, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Hell, he didn’t even know whether it was appropriate to reply. What did he know? He was someone born into poverty who didn’t have the luxury to question himself about what he wanted in life, just having to see another was already a blessing itself.

Well, it wasn’t like the outcasts of society were given a choice on how to lead one’s life anyway.

The car fell in another silence but this time it was much longer, long enough for Chrollo to glance at the rearview mirror to see your eyes closed, and head leaning against the window, the rhythmic rise, and fall of your chest indicating the slumber you were in.

It was almost laughable how Chrollo was able to prove his theory right—that the rich were greedy for an even greater amount of money, the obvious example was the ex-CEO of Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, Ciaran’s father. Chrollo’s grip on the wheel tightened, leather burning against his palms at the mere thought of dirty business.

Illegal dealings.

It was possible he had a hand in Sarasa's kidnapping. Mr. Driscoll didn’t belong in jail, no, he belonged before the barrel of Chrollo’s gun.

Taking another glance at your sleeping form, Chrollo quietly pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before twisting his torso to face you.

Warm streetlights casted a gentle glow upon your features, piercing grey eyes carefully tracing each one as though you were a divine creature—otherworldly, and beautiful.

You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed.

Vulnerable.

While his eyes remained on you, Chrollo slowly slid a hand inside his blazer, reaching for the gun affixed by his hip.

The assassin pulled it out, pointing the barrel to your head, the weapon cool against the warmth of his hand. In, and out, he drew steady breaths, forefinger hovering over the trigger—one pull, and it’d be over.

The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.

He has pulled the trigger countless times as though it was second nature, so why couldn’t he do it now?

He couldn’t even bring himself to let his digit touch it.

As you stirred in your sleep, Chrollo swiftly tucked the gun back in his holster, and faced forward.

Shaky, uneven breaths slipped past his parted lips, the sound of his heartbeat clouding his senses. Hands balling into fists, he wondered what had gotten into him, mind racing with a million thoughts as he drowned in pure uncertainty.

Chrollo stared at his hands—the same hands that have spilled blood countless times, the same hands that killed without a second thought, the same hands that were tasked to murder you.

Yet here he was, unable to do so as if it were his first time.

“Chrollo?” You mumbled aloud.

As you peeled your eyes open, you tried to register your surroundings.

“Why did we stop? Is there something wrong?”

He cleared his throat, taking a quick glance through the rearview mirror before shaking his head,

“No, miss. I just had to take a quick call, my apologies.”

With that, Chrollo pulled away from the side of the road, taking you back to the estate.

The ride home was silent. Fortunately for Chrollo, this gave him the opportunity to calm his thoughts, and steady his growing breaths.

Obviously this has never happened before, especially while out on a mission; it made sense for the assassin to lose his cool a bit after hesitating.

If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew. To make things worse, Chrollo had just broken the unspoken rule of the underworld—to never hesitate.

To the underworld, hesitating meant fragility, and fragility meant that the enemy had the upper hand.

He was confused, and conflicted, more so upset at himself for being such a coward—why was he a coward?

After returning to the estate, you softly called out to Chrollo who was heading to the staff house,

“Do you want to come inside?”

All it took was that foreign look in your face for him to fully understand what you meant.

He didn’t have to assume anything—you’ve never looked at Chrollo with such a burning gaze, full of intent, and vulnerability.

God, it was a brazen move to do so but you wished he agreed. All you needed was a little company at the moment.

Something in the air shifted.

Maybe it was because you were both stripped of your layers, baring your defenceless forms out in the open.

Maybe it was the way Chrollo’s rational thinking became compromised on the way home.

Or maybe it was how you oddly felt comfortable around his presence, as though he was a lifelong friend.

Nonetheless, Chrollo found himself inside your bedroom, and as expected, it was grand, spacious, fit for a billionaire’s daughter.

Sweet aroma of fresh chrysanthemums filled the air but it was nothing like he had remembered back in Meteor City which was laced with grief, and sorrow.

Instead, it enveloped Chrollo in a warm welcoming hug, he could finally understand your interpretation of chrysanthemums—devoted love, and loyalty.

Moonlight spilled from the windows, illuminating the side of Chrollo’s face.

He was just standing there yet he mirrored the divinity of an angel as soft shadows contoured his handsome face, dark eyes gleaming beneath the dulcet glow; you’ve never been able to decipher the emotions behind his gaze but tonight was different, his stare was soft mixed with hint of uncertainty; Chrollo wore his heart on his sleeves.

“Help me escape even for a little while.”

Like the obedient bodyguard he was, he nodded.

Chrollo took one step closer, reaching out a hand to gently undo one of the satin ribbon straps.

The flimsy fabric gracefully slid off your right shoulder, just enough to expose your pert nipple.

It hardened beneath the cool evening air which had Chrollo swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing with pure excitement, and hunger; oh, how he couldn’t wait to put his lips on your skin, and devour you.

Wasting no time to undo the other ribbon strap, your nightgown instantly fell to the carpeted floors, the fabric pooling around your feet, leaving you almost completely bare in front of Chrollo.

Your skin grew feverish beneath his observant stare as he traced every dip, and curve, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.

After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo’s lips were on your skin, palms finding home just above your waist; he placed gentle kisses down the side of your neck as though on a mission to mark you, pulling dainty gasps in the process.

You tasted absolutely divine—like a hopeful prayer between his lips, and he craved for more. Soft smacks slowly filled your ears as he praised you with kisses.

Down, down, down Chrollo’s lips went before stopping at the junction of your neck, he gave the sensitive skin an experimental lick to which you responded with a heated gasp of his name.

Tilting your head to the side allowed more freedom for Chrollo to explore; hands coming up to tangle with his raven strands, and tug at it urged him to mark your skin with hues of dark purple, and red.

And he did. Gentle, wet kisses turned into rough, electric ones as Chrollo used both teeth, and tongue to nip, and suck at your skin.

“Chrollo—!”

The assassin could only grunt in response as he carved himself onto your skin like a knife on wood—over and over again ‘til it left a lasting mark.

And when you stare at these sinful hues in the mirror, you’d be reminded of the feel of his lips, how his kisses turned your legs into a wobbly mess and mind into a lustful haze.

Embarrassing, warm wetness pooled on the fabric of your panties as Chrollo neared your breasts. Uou watched with a bated breath and keen eyes as he wrapped his lips around a mound—the sinful sight of Chrollo trying to take in as much of it as he could had your legs buckling, you were sure to have met the floor if it weren’t for his firm hold.

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his hot tongue swirling around your nipple, teeth gently grazing the sensitive spot which sent lightning down the length of your spine.

Eager hands tugged at the roots of his obsidian strands, nails raking across his scalp; it was beyond lewd how you readily pushed your bare body into Chrollo’s face—a man you’ve only known for less than a month yet here he was, wicked lips made of fire against your naked skin that melted like ice.

A large hand snaked its way up your front, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and pausing just beneath the other breast before cupping it wholly—the heart of his palm rubbing against your sensitive nipple as he massaged, and toyed with the fat.

Without an ounce of shame left in inside you, you wantonly moaned his name at the feel of his lips, and hand making love to your chest, it had Chrollo twitching in his slacks but he paid no mind to it because tonight was about ravishing your body until no one else could compare—not even Euan Heston.

Chrollo didn’t know what this meant for the both of you after but that was okay because once the night ends, your body would crave for none but him, and only him.

Chrollo let go of your swollen, wet breast with a soft pop, he looked up through his lashes before licking his lips, as though he just devoured the tastiest meal of his life.

Working his way down your torso, he placed chaste kisses down the valley of your breasts, steadily sinking to his knees as he descended further, each passing second growing closer to your heat—where you needed him the most.

Before Chrollo could kiss the intimate spot just below your belly button, you cupped his face, making him look up at you with slight confusion,

“On the bed . .”

Three words was all he needed to understand before standing to his full height,

“Jump.” Chrollo ordered.

You didn’t need to be told twice before doing so, arms, and legs wrapping around him while he supported your weight.

As Chrollo sauntered over to the bed, you used the time to eagerly explore the spot beneath his ear, using teeth, and tongue to suck at it which pulled a few soft sighs from him.

His intoxicating scent filled your senses, the sweet minty aroma from chrysanthemums mixed with his musky perfume had you groaning into his skin.

Chrollo shuddered at the feeling, the tips of his fingers digging further into the fat of your ass.

Gently laying you down on the pillows beneath, he stared at the serene beauty before him, steely eyes drinking in your nakedness.

Chrollo’s stare felt like you were standing directly under the blazing sun on a summer day, igniting your skin to the core without anywhere to take cover but you liked it, you liked the feeling of his hungry stare, how he looked at you like fresh meat on a silver platter—a predator, and his prey.

As if to put on a show, Chrollo hastily shrugged off his blazer, mindlessly throwing it on the floor, leaving him with a white button down.

He caught a glimpse of your lust-clouded gaze staring at the gun affixed to his hip to which he immediately removed by unclasping the holster.

The weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thud, you paid no mind to it but for Chrollo, it served as a harsh reminder of his real motive and everything that would happen tonight was nothing but an insignificant moment in his life.

At least that's what he convinced himself this was.

The mattress groaned beneath Chrollo’s weight as he dipped down, wasting no time to connect his lips on your bare skin and picking up where he left off—right below your belly button.

He kissed at it before wickedly pulling the waistband of your panties using his teeth and letting go of it to snap against your skin.

A small gasp escaped your lips at the feel of the slight burning sensation which had you aching for more; it also didn’t help how his hot breath ghosted over the most intimate part of your body.

Though, before you could open your mouth and beg, Chrollo hooked a forefinger around the waistband and swiftly tugged it down the length of your legs, wet cunt squeezing at nothing as the cool air embraced its heat.

Chrollo took his time to enjoy the bare sight before him by placing open-mouthed kisses dangerously near your sopping cunt—on your inner thighs, below your belly button and the spot just above your clit.

It had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, fingers digging into the sheets beneath. What a wicked, wicked man, he hasn’t even properly touched you yet here you were, legs shaking from all the teasing.

Pride bloomed across his chest at the sight of you—the fucked out expression you donned, the heavy rise, and fall of your chest, and the dainty whimpers that filled the air.

Hooking his hands behind your knees, Chrollo gently pushed them towards your chest ‘til you were folded in half, glistening cunt deliciously exposed for him to devour.

A wanton moan slipped past your lips as Chrollo traced his tongue around the outside of your clit before laying the wet muscle flat against it.

He expertly rubbed at the sensitive nub, lewd sounds mixed with your shameless moans engulfed his ears, encouraging him to further stimulate the spot.

Your hips bucked against his face, hands flying down to his hair as the electric sensation returned to your body, sending massive jolts of lightning down the curve of your spine.

“Chrollo, right there! Yes—haah!” You gasped as he switched to the tip of his tongue to lick at your clit.

Chrollo placed his thumb, and forefinger on either side of your clit for better access before moving his tongue side-to-side, across the area beneath the clitoral hood, resulting in a broader stimulation that had you stiffening with pure pleasure.

Looking down at the sinful view between your legs, you let out a loud moan as Chrollo met your eyes through his hooded ones.

Without a doubt, ecstasy slowly consumed both his body, and mind with how he subtly rocked his hips against the mattress—cock aching for any kind of contact but Chrollo had to focus more on holding your hips down while you unceremoniously thrashed around, trying to slow your impending orgasm.

As Chrollo continued his torture, it didn’t take long for you to let pleasure consume your body as a whole, and cum on his tongue.

He drank in your pleasured state—lips parted, brows furrowed, and back arched off the mattress; the orgasm that hit you was intense, as though your whole body has been electrified, and the only way to respond was by moaning his name like a sacred prayer in hopes you keep you grounded to reality.

Chrollo relished the taste of your essence on his tongue by closing his eyes, humming against your sensitive nub in complete satisfaction which had your legs shaking, and hands attempting to push his head away.

He gave a few more gentle licks before pulling away, revealing his chin completely drenched in your filthy arousal—Chrollo paid no mind, simply bringing a hand up to his face to wipe at it.

You watched through a lustful haze as Chrollo finally worked on his shirt, each button undone growing closer, and closer to exposing the entirety of his torso.

As he shrugged the fabric off, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch his bare skin—it was pale, fascinatingly chiselled, and scarred; Chrollo’s torso was decorated with a few raised, discoloured patches here and there indicating the rough past he had.

He stared as you traced a scar with your forefinger—a ghostly touch that brought a shudder down his spine—but before you could move onto the next one, Chrollo gently grabbed your wrist, and brought it up to his face, placing a chaste kiss on the heart of your palm.

By no means was he insecure about those scars, in fact, he proudly wore them like a badge, to serve as a reminder that the rest of the world wasn’t his friend.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat or two.

The kiss from Chrollo was different—different from the one Euan had given you during the company event.

Yes, the latter was full of sincerity but it didn’t bring warmth to your face like Chrollo’s one had.

Or maybe it was just because of how lost you were in pure lust, unable to decipher even the simplest feelings.

“Tonight is all about you.”

Chrollo shouldn’t be doing this, it goes against his beliefs, and goals—against the very reason why he turned into the person who he was right now.

Mingling with the wealthy, even going to an extent as to have sex with you, if his younger self saw him right now, he wouldn’t be able to believe it.

But what was it about you that had Chrollo rewriting his rules? Why was he so willing to throw away the deep rooted anger inside his heart to pleasure you?

More so, what did he gain from all this?—not money, not power, definitely not the justice he sought.

Nonetheless, Chrollo threw those thoughts in the moonlit window—he’d grab them again later at the crack of dawn when guilt eats him alive.

Slowly, he dipped his hands below his torso, fumbling with the zipper of his slacks; Chrollo felt your heated stare on his crotch, how your short breaths quickened as he tantalisingly pulled the metal zip down, the sound echoed along with your breathing, allowing Chrollo to bask in your desperation.

You thanked the stars above as he bared himself without anymore teasing, articles of clothing that once hugged his body were now strewn across the floor of your room like unmended pieces of oneself.

Moonlight surrounded Chrollo like a serene aura, an angelic-like glow that had his skin radiating beneath the celestial gleam, turning his hair into the colour of the first starlight.

It was hard to focus on his heavenly appearance when sin was right between his legs.

“Do you want me to stop?”

No, god, no, just the thought of Chrollo completely leaving you high, and dry brought tears to your eyes.

Shaking your head vigorously, he crawled atop your lust-fuelled body before placing a chaste kiss on your temple then onto your nose, trailing further down ‘til he reached the valley of your breasts.

You let out a shudder as Chrollo lapped his way down, not forgetting to tease at your pebbled nipples by giving them a light nip.

“Chrollo, please . .”

For once, this was different from what was usually thrown his way—most people begged for their lives as they stared down the barrel of his gun with pure horror in their eyes, lips disturbingly quivering as they pleaded during their last moments.

Wasting no time, Chrollo met your gaze once more, his face mere centimetres from yours.

You gasped as his cockhead gently prodded at your entrance as he reached down between your bodies, he rubbed it a few more times, the sinful contact earning low grunts, and moans from both of you.

Chrollo connected his forehead with yours, damp obsidian hair ghosting over your warmed cheeks, holding it in a gentle caress

Chrollo let out a shaky breath, cock slowly pushing your folds apart as he inched in.

Immediately, your legs curled around the dip of his bare waist, interlocking behind his lower back; your hasty movement jolted Chrollo forward which forced his cock further into the plush of your velvety walls.

He sighed, cursing the eye rolling pleasure sent his body into a pathetic tremble. Though, you were no better, clenching around Chrollo every time he pushed deeper—not only did it test his sanity but it also tested his patience.

He reminded himself a million times that simply fucking you like a mere cocksleeve was not his intention for tonight.

Or ever.

Rich or not, you were still a woman after all, one deserving of nothing but genuine pleasure.

As Chrollo bottomed out, he held your starry gaze, watching as your eyes glistened with tears—whether it was from the bliss his cock had you under or from sadness, Chrollo had no idea.

You felt so full, as though the gaping void inside you had been magically sealed—his cock sat there unmoving yet it hit all the right spots, the ones that had you trembling a little harder, and moaning a little louder.

Hot breaths mingled as the two of you let out heavy pants, he stilled inside your wet cunt, allowing both himself, and you to adjust to the feeling, “You’re so tight—fuck.” You gave your hips an experimental rut at his words which pulled a long hiss from him, brows furrowing together.

After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo slowly pulled out, the languid drag of his cock against the plush of your walls had you whining in the shape of his name.

It went straight to his cock, twitching at the pornographic sound you let out—if you noticed, you didn’t let on, you were too focused on the way he moved inside you.

With only the tip remaining, Chrollo pushed his hips using the same pace; all the way until he disappeared in your folds once again, heavy balls kissing the skin of your ass.

You could feel the entirety of his length—every dip, and curve which had your legs shaking, and toes curling a little harder.

Chrollo’s cock was slightly curved upward which allowed an easy reach to your sweet spot, and with every languid thrust he gave you, his cockhead kissed it repeatedly.

Hands that were pinned to the pillows were released as Chrollo brought a hand to caress your cheek while the other supported his weight.

You leaned into his fiery touch, as if doing so was going to ground you from cloud nine.

Setting a deep, slow pace, Chrollo’s face remained a breath away from yours—he kept eye contact, nothing but an endless pit of alluring onyx that pulled you further into the ocean of bliss.

Every languid stroke pulled oxygen from your lungs, it had you desperately gasping for air, one which only Chrollo could quench by whispering sweet nothings mere inches from your parted lips.

Mixed with breathless sighs of pleasure was the soft creaking of the bed frame which sung in unison beneath the weight of your rocking bodies.

The air grew impossibly thick, and hot allowing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to your bare back but you didn’t care, not when Chrollo fucked you into the mattress as if the sun was going to burn out tomorrow.

You pulled him closer, arms instinctively wrapping around his torso to decorate his back with crimson streaks.

The sharp sting of your nails fuelled Chrollo’s drive—he picked up the pace but remained bottoming out with every powerful thrust, causing your body to jolt in response.

You clung to him tighter, legs painfully locked behind his back as he did his best to move in, and out of your sopping cunt.

You were close, and despite Chrollo taking you for the first time, he knew—he could feel your body stiffen with each passing second, the way your greedy cunt grew impossibly tighter, making it hard for him move, and not to mention your broken cries of his name so close to his ears that those were all he could hear.

“I’m so near—god, please don’t stop, Chrollo—!”

You sounded so vulnerable, so bare it made his cock twitch.

Greed consuming his pleasured state, Chrollo wrapped an arm around your shoulders, deftly snaking it between the mattress, and your back.

He pulled you closer, the weight of your limp torso straining against his curled limb while the other supported his own body.

Chrollo cradled your head with his palm, pushing your face closer to his ‘til the tip of his nose brushed your own.

Oh, how tempted he was to kiss the very lips that cried out his name as if he were your saving grace—an angel with his hand stretched out to you.

Barely a whisper above the heavy breaths you exchanged, your name smoothly rolled off his tongue.

It was the first time Chrollo did so, and god how addictive it sounded; you shuddered at it, his dulcet voice engulfing the entirety of your being right down to your very core.

“You’ve been so good, are you going to cum? To let go, for me?”

With the minute space left between the two of you, you vigorously nodded your head, too fucked to care about the desperation that seeped from your skin like sweat.

Chrollo moaned at your wordless response, fingers slightly curling at the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp,

“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”

And you did.

With a final drive of his hips, you came undone—the pressure that’s been slowly building up finally bursting inside you.

A broken moan escaped your lips, body arching closer to his as you let your orgasm take you beyond cloud nine.

As if you weren’t already breathless from panting like a whore, Chrollo greedily pressed his lips against your quivering ones to capture them in a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft, and sensual, like it was sculpted by the goddess of love herself.

He greedily drank in every moan, and whimper you had to offer, claiming them as his own prized possession to keep.

Chrollo’s pace faltered at the feel of your cum coating his cock in a warm embrace—a feeling he’s been deprived off, a feeling he didn’t know he needed.

Pulling away from the kiss, he spoke, breathless,

“I’m close—fuck. Where do y—”

“Inside.”

Chrollo swallowed thickly with your legs tightening around him. It dizzied him, the thought of you so willing to let your insides be marked by him without a second thought.

A small gasp escaped you as he gently set you down onto the mattress, his cockhead brushing your sensitive spot.

With his orgasm near, Chrollo dropped his body on top of your own, torsos flush against each other as he trapped you with his weight.

With his own pleasure in mind, Chrollo gave short, hasty thrusts, desperately rutting his hips to chase the growing bliss.

The only option for you was to lay there, and moan his name from overstimulation; with his weight on yours, you couldn’t squirm your way out of the immense pleasure.

“I’m here—ngh! ‘M close.” Chrollo whispered into your ear, a hint of apology laced his tone, most likely from how overstimulated you were.

After a few more desperate thrusts, Chrollo stilled, sheathing his cock all the way inside your cunt, you felt him twitch before releasing his load with a low moan.

Feeling his hot cum paint your walls white, you mirrored the sound he made.

Loud, wet squelches filled the room as Chrollo rode out his high, effectively fucking his cum deeper.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, letting your bodies bathe in serene moonlight. You laid beneath him, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat pound away against his ribcage, it effectively lulled you to the borders of sleep, your heavy eyelids slowly closing in exhaustion.

Though, before you could fully close them, Chrollo rolled off your body with a soft grunt, his cock slipping out in the process.

The loss of contact had you clenching around nothing at the feel of his cum slowly seeping out of your cunt. Before you could speak up, Chrollo beat you to it,

“I should go.”

He cleared his throat, voice low, a hint of sadness laced in his tone.

Though, you didn’t catch on.

Chrollo quietly gathered his clothes, putting them on layer by layer until he was fully clothed.

An indiscernible emotion washed over you as he made his way to the door, each quiet step taken tugging at an invisible string tangled in your heart. Oddly enough, it stung.

“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.

The lack of response from your end tore at Chrollo’s insides—it made sense, after all, he was nothing but a quick fuck, what did he expect?

For you to convince him to stay the night? That was beyond delusional.

As Chrollo reached for the handle, you called his name out of instinct. His heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, miss . . ?” He spoke your title in a small voice, unsure which name was appropriate in this situation.

“Thank you.”

That was all you could reply with. What else was there anyway?

Chrollo wasn’t a person you were supposed to be sleeping with in the first place, nor was he your lover who you could be intimate with after sex. Chrollo was nothing but a bodyguard, and will remain your bodyguard.

Whatever happened in this room was to be forgotten.

The sound of the door clicking reached your ears, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. His scent lingered in the air, becoming one with the sweet aroma of chrysanthemums.

Within the next coming days, you were right, and wrong.

Right because in the face of others, the professional relationship between you, and Chrollo remained—a bodyguard, and his principal.

Wrong because stupidly enough, the both of you had not forgotten what happened a couple of nights back.

The days were filled with stolen glances, and stuttering heartbeats, you couldn’t stand by idly while your heart yearned for your bodyguard.

At first, you convinced yourself that this feeling was purely lust-driven, it was only natural to seek out Chrollo’s presence after a night with him.

You believed it for a week.

One whole week until you felt your heart clenching at the sight of your bodyguard exchanging a conversation with one of the maids.

Chrollo was all smiles, the kind that reached his eyes; the maid wasn’t any better, an obvious blush extending from her cheeks to her ears said it all.

He never smiled at you like that.

Why was he treating you—his boss—any different? Chrollo was always nonchalant with you, barely any words spoken yet here he was animatedly cracking jokes left, and right like he had some kind of alter ego.

It pissed you off.

More so, being angry at the fact that Chrollo treated you differently upset you even more. At best, this was a trivial matter, something you shouldn’t even think about.

But you couldn’t let go of it, not when he gazed at you the same way he had done so that night.

Within the next week, you’d realise that merely having Chrollo by your side wasn’t enough.

On Monday, you did your best to converse with him while buying chrysanthemums at the boutique, even going as far as giving him a flower from your bouquet, hoping that he’d think of you whenever he looked at it.

On Wednesday, instead of asking your personal assistant to grab your lunch, you took Chrollo instead, and headed out the office which gave you more alone time with him.

And by Friday, you couldn’t take it anymore. You called Chrollo into your bedroom late at night after finding the courage to do so.

Naturally, he stood inside as if he didn’t have you filling the room with your own moans two weeks ago.

The familiar sweet scent of chrysanthemums filled his lungs, taking him back to the pleasure-filled night with you. Chrollo pushed the thought down, deeming it extremely inappropriate, especially being alone with you like this, again.

He swallowed as you pat the empty spot next to you, your vulnerable state beckoning him to devour you. Who was he to deny himself of acting on his predatory instincts?

“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”

That was the last thing he said before he found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, kissing you like he loved you.

Did he?

Large hands cupped your jaw, eagerly pulling you closer to his face.

Even though Chrollo didn’t bare his heart, the zeal behind his kisses revealed the truth hidden in his chest.

Both lips fell into a unison, slotting into each other like they were made for one another. Before getting carried away, Chrollo pulled back, brows lifting in amusement as he watched the way your face leaned in, searching for his lips.

“What—What about Mr. Euan?”

He asked, breathless, onyx strands dishevelled, courtesy of your wandering hands.

You both knew you didn’t have feelings for Euan but saying it aloud wasn’t going to change the fact that a ring sat on your finger, it was far more complicated than that.

Lowering your gaze, you shrugged. Guilt picked at your skin, the thought of disrespecting Euan had you freezing in place.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying.”

Chrollo whispered, hot breath fanning across your face. He tucked a strand behind your ear before sliding his digit down to your chin, lifting your face.

“Kiss me?”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

What the two of you had wasn’t exactly a relationship—beyond a professional relationship but less than a romantic one.

But Chrollo cared for you all the same, even if it meant watching in the sidelines as Euan made his polite advances—kiss on your cheek, a hand on the small of your back, his fingers tucking stray hairs aside, Chrollo endured it all. Whether or not it affected him, he didn’t let on.

Instead, he returned affection tenfold in comparison to what Euan gave you.

Your room had turned into a rendezvous—every night, behind its closed doors, Chrollo took you in his arms, and whisked you away from reality, from all the inhibitions you felt.

And amidst all the meaningful conversations, the shared pleasure, the tears shed, a bond deeper than one could comprehend blossomed within these walls.

Chrollo became a rock you could lean on—a significant person you could be vulnerable with, and bare your heart on the table, unguarded.

He listened to your problems, and silly thoughts with open arms, and ears, stroking your hair beneath the moonlight as the two of you lay underneath the ivory sheets.

With you, he was a completely different person, a person who he deserved to become.

One that could relate to the little joys in life—whether it be chasing sunsets, dipping salty fries in vanilla ice cream or looking up at the night sky without any remorse in one's heart.

With you, Chrollo had a fleeting glimpse of the life he was robbed of because all he knew was how to survive for another day—how to kill swiftly, and effectively.

And he’d be reminded of all these when returned to his own quarters in the dead of the night.

That the sole purpose of his arrangement in this estate was to take you out—not to nurture a bond with you, not to have sex with you, not to listen to all your thoughts, no. Chrollo was here as your assassin.

To hold you so gently in his hands knowing they would be the same ones covered in your blood.

It was almost laughable, it surprised Chrollo how he—a person conditioned to destroy—was able to touch you with the utmost gentleness as if he’s never once tasted violence on his tongue.

Clearly, you both felt something for one another but acting on it was easier said than done—not to mention how this mission wasn’t supposed to end up like this, all tangled up in a web known as you.

Did Chrollo love you?

Truth be told, he didn’t know.

He never had the privilege of experiencing what romantic love was. Wanting to be by your side was the only thing he was certain of.

Lying in bed, Chrollo looked over at his nightstand, it housed a singular piece of chrysanthemum soaked in a glass of water—one that you had given him earlier this week.

Now, his room smelled just like yours, the flower’s sweet aroma lingering in the air. It helped Chrollo sleep a little better; smelling its familiar scent tricked his mind into thinking he slept in your presence.

A little over a week.

That was how much time Chrollo had left to get the job done assigned by Ciaran. It wasn’t long, and he knew he had to make the decision soon but not before taking a gamble.

As Saturday arrived, you stuck to your routine as usual, the only difference was, the late night was spent driving around with Chrollo.

The atmosphere inside the vehicle grew thicker by the minute, he could tell something weighed your mind from the way you pursed your lips, and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

But of course, the ever polite man he was, he waited ‘til you opened up to him—Chrollo knew you like the back of his hand, whenever things bothered you to an extent, it didn’t take long for you to break.

“Can I tell you something?”

You murmured above the hum of the engine.

Staring to the side, you watched as Chrollo wordlessly nodded his head, stealing a brief glance your way before focusing on the wheel. He took notice of how you sat on the front passenger seat instead of your usual spot.

Looking out the window, you spoke up, “I . . don’t know how to deal with all this.”

Chrollo remained silent, urging you to continue.

“I’m going to be married to a man I don’t love, and I’ll be running a company I don’t want. And us. I want you, Chrollo, I really do but I . .”

Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.

“Why don’t we just run away, and leave all this behind? We can build a new life together and—”

“Is that what you want? To run away with me?” Chrollo cut you off. Coming to a full stop at the red lights, he turned to you, the seriousness in his expression made you somewhat nervous.

Would it be foolish of him to comfort you with words he partially meant?—words that would only hurt you in the end?

“I can give you that.”

At this point, Chrollo was lying to himself. To be so brazen, and accept running away with you knowing well enough his neck was chained to the underground—loyal to his roots.

Weighing the options, it was crystal clear that the odds were against the both of you.

Of course, you didn’t know that, you had absolutely no idea Chrollo had underground ties nor was he assigned to kill you by none other than Ciaran.

Considering the latter’s involvement in underground business, you wouldn’t be the only one with a target on their back; it only made sense for Ciaran to put a hit on Chrollo as well for disobeying his orders if he were to consider running away.

It would elicit a whole lot of enemies, and he couldn’t put you in a situation where he was willing to risk you dying in someone else’s hands.

Living a life hiding from dangers of the world—that’s what you would have to go through if you, and Chrollo were to run away. Did you really deserve to live that way? Did you deserve to live in the conditions Chrollo tried to run away from?

The answer was more than obvious.

Obviously, a life with Euan benefitted you more—you’d have more stability, and security. Who was he to take away all those things from you?

Having never tasted something as sweet as this feeling with you, Chrollo found himself holding tighter rather than letting go, he fed on greed, and delusion.

Truth be told, it tore him apart. A part of him cursed, and yelled at him for being so naïve, and easily moved by a woman he had only known for a month and a half—not to mention how he despised your kind.

The other part urged him to reach for the unthinkable, and build a new life he deserved, with you. Chrollo was ready to lay his weapon down if it meant being by your side ‘til the end of time.

Maybe in another life.

He knew he had to make a decision. Soon. Ciaran had been making calls to his burner more often than not, and he could sense the former’s patience growing thinner, and thinner as each day turned into night.

Whatever Chrollo’s decision was, he just hoped you’d still love him all the same—forgive him.

There was one crucial piece of information Chrollo had remembered.

On Sundays, you dismissed all security staff that accompanied you, including the chauffeur, Lukas.

This meant that for one day, you were completely unguarded, and alone. Chrollo was unaware of the reason but it was obvious you wanted to experience a sense of independence one way or another.

Nonetheless, he managed to keep an eye on you by using an ample amount of distance—it was a piece of cake, after all, he tracked his targets in stealth mode for a living; akin to a predator sizing up its prey before sinking its canines.

Sundays weren’t particularly eventful, you spent the day alone running around swiping your credit card left, and right until it made you feel a tad better.

So when Chrollo had ‘accidentally’ bumped into you at the parking lot, hidden from public cameras, he was aware of how effortless it was to whisk you away from the public.

“Chrollo? What brings you here?”

The bodyguard was dressed in his usual attire, a white button down neatly tucked beneath his black slacks, and this time, he didn’t wear a blazer.

“I figured you’d be here, miss. Something came up at the estate—you’re needed back home.”

A lie.

Chrollo observed as the sparkle in your eyes drained at his words, genuine concern rolling in like grey clouds looming above on a stormy night.

His heart clenched.

Not in a good way.

“Don’t worry, no one is hurt.”

With his reassurance, your shoulders dropped with ease, the breath you’ve been holding slipped past your lips in a relieved sigh.

It pained the assassin how trusting you were, how easily one could play you into the palm of their hand the same way he did right now.

Why?—why didn’t you question how effortlessly Chrollo pinpointed your exact location?

The city was expansive, no normal person would be able to trace your steps unless they followed right from when you left the estate.

The vehicle was quiet, leaving room for Chrollo to notice the faint scent of chrysanthemums inside—it was your personal car, not the one Lukas used to drive you around hence the flowery aroma.

For some odd reason, the smell no longer comforted him the same way it did whenever he frequented your room.

It made him nauseous.

If Chrollo was to put it in words, the aroma smelled of sweet death, and it reminded him of the church back in Meteor City.

Consumed by concern, and lost in your own thoughts, you paid no attention to your surroundings outside, how it grew less, and less familiar with each kilometre driven by your bodyguard.

You also didn’t notice Chrollo repeatedly stealing glances through the rearview mirror every now, and then, missing the way his steely gaze housed a hint of nervousness—an emotion he didn’t normally harbour.

Though, as you finally came to, you gazed out the window, eyes carefully scanning the fleeting hues outside as the car drove by.

Soft colours of pinks, and oranges seeped through the glass which casted an ethereal glow inside, it hinted at the setting sun, and the darkness that loomed just around the corner.

As your brain registered the foreign roads, confusion settled in, “Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”

He wordlessly nodded.

You mirrored his action in acknowledgement but the feeling of unease was oddly difficult to dismiss, especially with how deserted these roads were.

The streets were decorated with construction sites, abandoned buildings, and old houses that were decorated with wooden planks to seal off windows, and entrances.

A weird feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

You caught the way Chrollo’s stone cold gaze locked with yours for a split second but didn’t dare speak up.

Just as your heart started to race, the vehicle came to a halt, Chrollo had parked in front of an abandoned building—an old chapel, based on its architecture.

Its unmistakable pointed roof aiming at the skies above, and stained glass windows marked with angels, and other holy beings said it all.

The building was surrounded by overgrown greenery, and wrecked furniture dumped on the side which hinted at years of apparent neglect.

Its dressed stone walls were the epitome of sacrilege itself, littered with colourful vandalism from top to bottom; even just seeing it with your own eyes felt like a grave sin.

A forbidden image.

“What—”

“Get out.” Chrollo cut you off.

For a tone so cold you could’ve swore a subtle shudder ran down the length of your spine. His stare met your own through the mirror for a second time and your heart sank all the way down to your stomach at how serious he was, dread slowly engulfing your body.

What the hell was happening!? Why was Chrollo acting strangely?

“No.”

Chrollo turned to face you, still wearing that stoic expression.

You felt small under his gaze, it almost felt predatory—no—not almost, it did; you didn’t want to admit but you caught a glimpse of the way his eyes sparkled with sharp, murderous intent.

Swallowing thickly, you crossed your arms, trying to appear nonchalant, albeit, it was more for yourself than for the man before you.

“Not until I get an answer. You mentioned something had come up at the estate, so why aren’t we—”

“I lied.”

Before you could question his motives, Chrollo swiftly got out, the resounding thud as he shut the door closed had your body flinching a bit.

You watched as he rounded the car, and made his way just before your door.

Opening it, a hand reached in for your wrist; gentle fingers curled around your skin as if you were a delicate flower—a daring contrast from the way his piercing gaze stabbed shards of unease throughout your body.

You pulled away, easily slipping off Chrollo’s placid grasp before helping yourself out of the vehicle. His hand curled into a loose fist as he watched you exit the car with an evident scowl on your face; funnily enough, Chrollo had the audacity to feel upset at the rejection.

Never once have you denied his touch.

Crossing the narrow clearing that led to the unsealed church entrance, chunks of loose stone, and dirt moved beneath your steps; you stared at your feet as they navigated through the unstable terrain.

It was odd.

Calm, and composed were the last two things you should be feeling in this situation, given the sudden shift in Chrollo’s demeanour, you were supposed to be fearing for your life right this instance despite your blindness to the hidden danger that lay ahead.

Chrollo . . He would never do that to you, right?

Upon taking the job, he swore to protect you. But your better judgement screamed at all the glaring crimson coloured flags—an abandoned church in a deserted neighbourhood?

It was the perfect set up for heinous crimes.

Out of instinct, you scanned the layout of the building from where you stood, if it came down to it, there was only one viable escape route which was through the main entrance of the church, the one Chrollo pulled open.

By now, the sun had fully disappeared below the horizon, and the colourful remnants the burning star left in its wake slowly faded into deep hues of night azure.

Strangely, this end of the town harboured harsher winds with a freezing bite that had you rubbing your arms over the sleeves of your top.

A heavy groan sounded from the mahogany doors, it cut through the wind’s endless howl as it danced with the leaves, and through the sharp branches, interlocking trees in a soft sway.

A chill ran down your spine at the loudness of it.

The doors parted revealing a view you’d expect in an old abandoned church—disorganised pews to create a spacing in the middle, antique chandeliers affixed to the high ceiling covered in thick layers of dust and cobwebs, and trash scattered across its marbled floors; by the state of the inside, squatters most likely frequented the building due to its unsealed entrance.

The inside was dimly lit from street lights outside, it poured through the stained glass windows which allowed a deep scarlet glow to illuminate the building.

Chrollo stepped inside, the soles of his obsidian dress shoes quietly clicked with every calculated step further into the church.

Foolishly enough, you followed as though a crimson string bound yourself to his—he was acting strangely, and the most appropriate approach as of now was to question his behaviour, and the bizarreness of the situation.

Walking away would only prove useless with how far he has driven, and he had your car keys; at best, you could only cooperate.

“Chrollo, will you please tell me what’s going on?” You navigated inside the old building, the scent of mildew, and rotten wood lingered in the damp air, it captured your senses in a tight hold.

Ruby bounced off Chrollo’s inky strands as he stood at the heart of the church, right beneath the stained windows with divine beings. It turned his pale skin into an angry red, and you wondered if that’s what he felt right this very moment; clearly you weren’t far off with how he pierced your soul earlier.

He turned to face you, “I’m doing this for your sake.” For the first time today, emotion seeped through the cracks of his nonchalance.

Chrollo looked almost sad, you weren’t entirely sure given the lack of lighting but the unmistakable glint behind those obsidian eyes was anything but foreign.

For a split second, it was the same Chrollo that spent countless nights in your bedroom; not as your bodyguard, not as anyone else but simply as Chrollo—your Chrollo.

“For my sake? What the hell are you talking about, Chrollo?”

Like the vermillion glow that bounced off your skin as you stepped closer, anger slowly bubbled in the pit of your stomach.

Chrollo was nothing but cryptic with his responses, and you couldn’t wrap your head around any of them!

He had always been a straightforward person, sometimes blunt, so why was he holding back now?

Standing beneath the scarlet light softly illuminated your features, Chrollo thought you looked exquisite bathed in the brilliance of red.

Even with a tinge of doubt, and anger in your eyes, you were filled with love the same way the colour kissed every part of your skin.

“An escape from all this . . That’s what you want, right?” With his right hand, Chrollo reached inside his pocket, it took you a few seconds to identify the item in his hand—a gun.

With the way it’s unmistakable silver glistened beneath the dim lighting, you could tell it was a weapon of his own; not the ones registered under your father’s name.

You stiffened, and your body ran cold, gaze met with the barrel of his gun.

“Chrollo?”

Barely a whisper, you called out his name above the thick atmosphere, each second spent inside it had you desperately gasping for air; whether it be from nervousness or confusion, you didn’t care to find out.

He swallowed thickly, fingers curling tighter around the handle of his gun, trying to ignore the way your desperate plea violently struck a chord in his heart.

“Chrollo please put the gun down! You’re out of your mind!”

Panic surged from head to toe, it came in vicious waves, scratching, and gnawing at your bare skin like a vehement beast.

Chrollo tried to ignore the apparent tremble in your voice, he couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“Yes, I want to escape—with you. Why are you doing this to me, Chrollo? Why do you want me dead?!”

The third time his name rolled off your tongue, he was ready to throw the gun across the room, and cradle you in his arms while whispering apologetic nothings in your ear.

But he didn’t.

Chrollo stayed rooted in his spot, gun aimed at you, “Remember Ciaran Driscoll?—”

You furrowed your brows. Ciaran?

“He paid me to kill you.” A shaky breath, that was all you could muster, your mind was too busy trying to piece everything together.

Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.

But Chrollo didn’t give you time to breathe, steady clicks of his shoes echoed throughout the church as he paced back, and forth,

“I was elated when I agreed to his proposal. Why? Because a pompous soul dying by my hands is what I’m made for—”

He was calm, and collected, a faint smile displayed on his face as he slowly walked towards you.

“Did you know what your people did? To my home? To my friend?”

Stopping just before you, Chrollo leaned in, obsidian gaze piercing right through you.

“A lot of you treated Meteor City like some kind of hunting ground at your disposal. As if—as if its inhabitants were nothing but mere animals. For what? The sake of illegal dealings? For more money? Power?”

Chrollo caressed the side of your face with the back of his left hand—the other remained motionless by his side—his ghostly touch trembled against your skin, afraid that if he pressed down any further, you’d crack.

The situation baffled you.

Not only was Chrollo blaming you for the atrocities caused by other people, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was in cahoots with Ciaran Driscoll to orchestrate your demise.

Is that why Chrollo applied to become your bodyguard? To get close before finally killing you off? You felt another wave of dread wash over you.

Everything felt numb, your limbs, your torso, your heart.

Shaking your head, you finally broke the silence with a trembling voice, tears threatening to spill out,

“I’m not involved in any of those, Chrollo. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He did.

God.

He fucking did and he felt absolutely foolish for blaming you.

After you had bared your soul to him every night, Chrollo stopped seeing you in the same light as he did before.

Yes, his deep-rooted disdain never left but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of loving you; it was a battle between desire and duty, and he already knew the victor.

Chrollo could see the determination in your eyes, you were set on running away from the current life you had, and as tempting as that was, he didn’t have the courage to lead you into a new life full of nothing but danger.

Chrollo would rather have you dying by his own bloodied hands—for him to live each day filled with regret—than have someone else basking in the glory of killing you. At least that way, he’d be tainted by you.

“You’re all the same. Ciaran’s father is proof enough! You said it yourself that he was involved in illegal business—”

“So those nights we spent together . . were they just all part of the act? You never cared for me.” Chrollo barely caught the last part of your sentence as you muttered it under your breath; he watched as your gaze lowered, a wave of sadness engulfing you for a split second before finding his eyes once again.

This time, you wore a glare.

You straightened up, “Tell me, Chrollo. Was it all just an act? A show you put on just to get close to me?”

Questions lingered in the air the same way dust did, it sat heavy on Chrollo’s shoulders but he remained stubborn—silent.

Would his answer change the circumstances?

No.

After all, nothing good came out of trivial matters. At his stillness, you grabbed his right hand, trembling fingers curling around the shaft of his wrist as you brought it up to your face, pressing the barrel of his gun to your forehead.

It felt icy against your feverish skin, like the kiss of a grim reaper.

Ever so slightly, Chrollo’s brows rose in shock, breath hitching at your brazenness.

“Did you ever love me?”

A broken whisper spoken into the crimson-lit night, so dainty, so weak yet it pierced his heart without a second thought.

It left a gaping hole, as ugly as sin, and no amount of repentance could heal.

Love.

How would one define love? Was it the act of sacrificing someone dear to oneself? Chrollo didn’t know. But more importantly, how did you define love?

“Did you?”

Digging deeper into the subject would only lead to the grave of his heart but Chrollo couldn’t care less, it was already six feet under since the day he sought revenge for his friend.

With a heavy sigh, your eyes finally softened, “Of course. I still do.”

You felt his hand twitch in your hold, as if he briefly tried to pull the gun away.

Glimmering like the first starlight were tears staining your cheeks, one by one they fell down as a surge of emotions drowned your body; your brows were furrowed yet your eyes looked at Chrollo like he held the cosmos in his hands.

Is this what was meant when they said love and anger were painted in the same shade of red?

In his line of work, Chrollo has never seen anything as haunting as your gaze.

It was natural for his targets to look up at him in complete horror, tears welled up in their eyes as they begged him to spare their lives but you—your eyes were full of nothing but love, and adoration despite his gun pointed at you.

That look alone was enough to torment his coming days.

“Do you, Chrollo? Do you love me?”

His chest tightened at the hopeful glint in your eye.

Nothing good ever came out of trivial matters because at the end of the day, Chrollo was nothing but a man chained to his sinful revenge—blindly devoted to the hatred planted in his heart, and it came with a great price.

A sudden wave of red washed over his body, resulting in an ear splitting bang that resounded within the church’s bricked walls.

Chrollo flinched at the sound—he’s never done that before—followed by a heavy thud against the marbled floors.

It took the assassin one, two, three seconds to register the situation, the violent sensation of the gun’s recoil still fresh on his trembling hand.

The faint scent of iron hung in the air.

Chrollo looked down at the grisly sight before him, gun in his hand weighing heavy before it finally slipped from his absent grip.

The weapon fell beside his right foot.

For the first time, Chrollo Lucilfer—the bringer of death—weeped and mourned the demise of his target.

He wailed into the darkness as warm crimson slowly pooled around your head, it resembled a faux halo, a tainted fallen angel.

Broken sobs, and ugly cries filled the damp building—this was the first in a long time that he had heard the sounds of his own grief.

Guilt, and sorrow consumed Chrollo the same way the shadows of the night did but no amount of tears would bring you back to life, no amount of whispered I love you’s would reciprocate his words, no amount of cracks in his heart would turn back time.

You were dead, and it was all because of the man you loved so blindly.

‘Til your dying breath, you were shielded from the secrets of his true identity and feelings—ones he swore he would take to the very grave he dug.

Chrollo fell to his knees, his fingers dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

The vile pungence of your blood suffocated his senses, despite something so familiar to him. Chrollo heaved and curled over himself, quivering like an autumn leaf in the wind—he looked pathetic—hot tears and snot covered his reddened face as he cried out into darkness.

Every bit of air left his lungs and each breath felt like a chase he couldn’t win. Truth be told, he didn’t have the courage to reach out to your body, no, he didn’t feel like he deserved to do so.

To taint you more than he already had.

So, Chrollo didn’t, instead, he weeped until the moon decorated the obsidian skies, until his tears tried, until your body ran cold, and every bit of colour you wore was gone.

And when the assassin finally pieced himself together, he did three things.

One, let Ciaran Driscoll know that the job had been done using a burner phone.

Two, with the same device, Chrollo called the police, brazenly letting them know he murdered someone, and the exact location of the crime scene.

Three, he covered your car in flames, and fed the burner phone into it; he watched as bright hues of oranges and yellows devoured the vehicle before doing what he did best: disappearing into the night, and becoming one with the shadows to never be found again.

The night before, he had quietly handed in his resignation to Lukas who gave him an appreciative pat on the back, the old timer parted with words that Chrollo knew would remain ingrained in his mind,

‘I’m quite sure the young miss appreciated your service. Thank you for taking care of her.’

His heart shouldn’t have clenched at that but it did, and painfully so.

The coming days blended into nights with Chrollo sitting inside his hideout—a dingy, rundown motel with paper thin walls that housed interesting individuals.

Completely unaware of the time, his only company was the ticking ivory wall clock above the cramped dining space.

The hefty payment from Ciaran lay untouched on the bed, concealed within a briefcase.

He didn’t eat nor drink, not even having the energy to step outside for occasional sunlight, and every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the look you gave him during your final moments, he remembered the metallic tang in the air.

The old chunky television situated atop a rusty console table was what kept Chrollo’s sanity intact.

Day to night, it blasted morning, afternoon, and evening news—to the point of fellow motel goers knocking at his door to complain about the noise—just to keep up with information about you.

As much as Chrollo yearned to bask in the memory of you, seeing your face plastered on television followed by a variety of words such as ‘rest in peace’, ‘murdered’, ‘assassinated’, and ‘dead’ didn’t help his mind at all.

At least what kept him entertained were the updates on potential suspects that may be tied to the crime scene; the murder weapon was an unregistered gun loaded with an unregistered bullet, and the footprints left at the scene had no unique tread.

So at best, there were no concrete leads in the case.

Not that it mattered to Chrollo.

Atop the cheap wooden table on which he sat were two things, the murder weapon and a singular stem of a white chrysanthemum.

The one you had given him from your bouquet. Chrollo let the flower sit there for days on end until its ivory petals shrivelled into a brown hue—its sweet aroma turning pungent.

Until it withered.

Until the scent of death choked him the same way his cries did that night—a mockery of what was lost, of what he willingly destroyed.

One month. It took Chrollo a month to finally step into the day, and out of the drab motel room.

Brightness engulfed his vision, the sun’s afternoon rays shone as brightly as ever, enveloping him in a warm, gentle hug as if to welcome him back to reality.

He was certain he didn’t deserve kindness from this world, not even the permission to step foot in the very earth that held your body dearly in its grasp as though you were its prized possession.

Oddly enough, Chrollo found himself standing before a familiar flower boutique.

With his gaze locked onto the floor-to-ceiling windows, he looked around the inside, as if doing so was going to have you magically pop out of nowhere, and buy a dozen of white chrysanthemums like before.

But you didn’t.

Pulled from his thoughts, a recognizable voice filled his ears, it was the owner,

“Are you here to buy flowers for a lover, perhaps? I can recommend a few—”

She stopped halfway through her sentence, realising the familiar face that stood before her.

Chrollo watched as her face morphed into a sad smile, the cheery glint in her eyes disappearing beneath the thickness of her lashes,

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re her bodyguard, right?”

He inhaled a sharp breath at the mention of you, heart violently thumping against the confines of his chest.

Chrollo could only nod, anything more than that would have him breaking.

The old lady reached out her plump hand, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was lovely—”

Don’t say that.

Don’t say it to me like I’m not the cause of her death. Don’t say it to me like I should be mourning for someone who died by my hands.

Chrollo gritted his teeth, jaw clenching at the sympathy thrown his way.

He felt sick and disgusted with himself—as if he were a vile being trapped beneath human skin.

All of a sudden the sun rays that gently enveloped his body didn’t feel like a warm hug anymore, sharp, hot prickles spread throughout his clothed skin, leaving a painful itch.

“—and the only customer who bought chrysanthemums frequently. Others usually bought the flowers once or twice for funerals and death anniversaries; she was the only one who truly saw chrysanthemums in a different light.”

A symbol of devoted love and loyalty, that’s how you saw them.

How ironic that the flowers you once adored would be laid upon your grave, holding a completely different message; mourning and grief. That didn’t sit well with Chrollo, you loved white chrysanthemums but not for that reason.

“Apologies, I ramble too much.” The owner let out a polite chuckle before continuing. “Well, can I at least interest you in some flowers? What would it be for you?”

“Can I get a dozen of those?” Chrollo pointed at the lively bunch soaked in water, situated just beside the boutique’s entrance. Following his finger, she looked behind her and smiled,

“Right away.”

Its petals resembled rays of the first sunshine, the golden hue it wore promised eternal warmth even after death.

As day turned into night with the crescent moon high above the obsidian skies, Chrollo made his way to your perpetual resting place—it didn’t take much effort to do some digging around to find out where your body had been buried.

The chilly wind howled as it danced with the dark, trees and leaves swaying to accompany it with a silent song.

He walked down the moonlit path of the cemetery, land that outstretched before him was decorated with tombstones, and in his left hand was the bouquet he bought earlier.

Moonlight shone over your grave as if the moon herself knew the secrets shared between you and Chrollo on cloudless nights.

Bouquets of white chrysanthemums decorated the space around your grave, candles that were once lit rested atop the marbled tombstone that housed your full name.

Oddly enough, this felt like déjà vu.

Maybe it was due to the fact that you and Chrollo rendezvoused in your room the same way he visited your grave—under a lonely moonlit night where soft whispers, and beating hearts were heard.

Bending down, Chrollo lightly caressed your carved name, cleaning out stray pieces of grass and dirt blown by the wind.

He gently placed the bouquet amongst the sea of white, its colourful hue greedily taking all the limelight from the sombre flowers,

“I know these aren’t your favourite but I figured you’d like them too . .”

He paused for a moment, foolishly waiting for you to reply.

“. . Yellow chrysanthemums just like the white ones but—”

Who was he kidding? Chrollo felt stupid. Talking to your grave as if you were alive—as if he wasn’t the one who brought you to your demise.

The audacity he had.

Truth be told, every fibre inside his body screamed at him to turn back, and never show his disgusting self but Chrollo was as greedy as the darkness that drank the moonlight each night.

He envied the ground like sin, how it held you in its arms, cradling your rotting body in its eternal embrace. That should be him. Now, he’d have to remember you longer than he had known you.

Instead, Chrollo was six feet above—alive; tied to, and haunted by the shackles of foolish regret.

The memory of that night replayed in his mind over and over again like a cursed broken record, the disgusting thump as your lifeless body hit the floor, blood pooling around your head.

Most nights he’d find himself calling your name in his sleep—he always dreamt of the same dream: you, running away from him in a field of flowers, no matter how hard he worked his legs, he never seemed to reach your body.

Chrollo sat before your grave and sobbed, letting creatures of the night feel his vulnerability; as the wind howled, the breeze carried the sounds of his cries to the trees, where it promised him to keep it a secret—a story only reserved for the dead.

Hot tears rolled down his frost-bitten cheeks, pooling on the tip of his chin before it fell on the damp grass beneath.

In antique texts, yellow chrysanthemums represented one’s heart left to desolation—neglected love.

It was only befitting for he has killed the very person who grew to love his blood-stained soul because in the end, he was nothing but a man only adept at destroying.

He let out shaky exhale, and whispered into the night the answer you sought,

“I love you.”

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seelie-buddy · 10 months ago

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Tell Me You Love Me

summary : your love for alhaitham is endless, and you make sure to express that verbally; alhaitham makes sure his affections reaches you as well

contains : alhaitham believes in 'actions speak louder than words' ; pre-established relationship ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 800

The candle by your bedside is close to running out when Alhaitham appears through the door. Eyes drooping and a yawn slipping out, the bed dips under his weight as he joins your side. You smile softly as he snuggles in, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut instantly.

"Long day?" You whisper, raising a hand to brush through his hair. You receive a sleepy hum for a response as you pull the blanket over him. "Rest well then."

You can feel his breathing slow as sleep comes over him. It's rather endearing, watching him melt in your embrace, relax to your warmth. Oh, you loved him dearly. And you had no qualms to saying it out loud.

"I love you," you say, a gentle whisper as you lay a soft kiss against his forehead. You would repeat those words for him over and over again until the whole world knew. You would let those words echo through your shared house, letting its warmth fan the fire of the hearth, allowing your abode flourish in the warmth of a home.

And you were sure he heard you, as you felt his hand brush against yours, his index finger curling around yours, wrapping your finger in a gentle, yet firm, hold.

The sky remained hidden behind large, fluffy grey clouds, indicating the rain that would soon fall on Sumeru City. It made sense then of the people rushing back into the shelter of their homes before they get caught in the upcoming downpour.

You simply smiled at the idea of a cozy evening. You paused in your tracks, however, as you caught the whiff of flowers. Turning around, you catch glimpse a flower vender, packing up their stall as the other merchants did.

You returned home, grinning brightly despite the light scoldings of the elderly flower vender who was rushing to return home.

"I'm home!" You chirp in a sing-song. And ah, the sight of your beloved welcoming you back with a warm smile.

You thrust the flowers into Alhaitham's hand, feeling absolutely gleeful at the surprise flashing across his face. His widened eyes, momentary gaping melting into a smile as he recognizes the bouquet of flowers to be the same as the first gift you had given him at the start of your love story.

"I have something for you too," he says in a soft whisper before disappearing into your shared bedroom before returning with another bouquet of flowers in hand. Ah, seems he must have encountered the flower vendor on his way home as well.

His gaze remains on you as you laugh at the coincidence, his eyes honeyed with endearment and softened with amusement.

Oh and his silent laugh as you jumped into his arms, hugging him tight.

"I love you."

You were sure you found your heaven on earth.

You love your off days. Not only did you get to sleep peacefully until the sunlight seeping in through the curtains slowly awake you, but you get to enjoy the sight of your sleepy beloved. The whispered 'good morning's as you take each other in an embrace, snuggling until late in the morning, that joy was unparalleled.

Preparing meals together, snuggling on the couch as one napped and the other read, random chit-chat about some curious thing that happened at work throughout the week; these were all simple moments, but things you yearned for when you had to be apart because of work.

You enjoy watching the sunset with Alhaitham, sitting down on the ground, surrounded by the smell of the grass and dirt. Waiting until the moon rose high as you listened to him narrate bits of poetry in languages you could only dream of learning.

As you worked around in the kitchen with him, preparing dinner, you smiled contentedly.

"I love you," you mummer.

A soft kiss lands atop your head as Alhaitham continues to work around you, leaving you grinning brighter than ever.

"I love you lots," you say amidst your soft chuckles.

"I love you too," Alhaitham smiles back. "More than words could ever express."

"Really?" You cock an eyebrow playfully, not bothering to hide how his words made you soar over the moon.

"Really," he says, not minding your playfulness. "I could use all the words I know, speak all the languages I can, and it still wouldn't suffice to express what you make me feel, how happy you make me."

Alhaitham turns towards you, devoting his utmost attention to you. "Your laugh, your smile, your voice, your eyes, they will always be more beautiful than any language, any poetry that the world has to offer. You are the language I love most, and the only one I want to remain fluent in until my time runs out."

a/n : I previously wrote this drabble (a quiet love) for alhaitham and enjoyed writing it a lot, so I wanted to write more for him (I'm definitely not biased.... okay maybe a tiny bit hehe—); but yeah, I really like the idea of alhaitham following the 'actions speaks louder than words' if it wasn't already obvious

→ this fic was the (3+1) kinda type, or well, I had that in mind when writing it; dunno if it was noticeable or not lmao

p/s : now that my senior year of highschool started, I might be a bit irregular at posting (not that I actually wrote consistently before—), but I don't have too hard courses this semester, so who knows I actually might be a tiny bit consistent; but yeah you get the point right?

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solvskrift · 2 months ago

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it seems basically canon that jayce spends a decent amount of time on self-care (nose hair trimmer in his s1 workshop, nails and hands are always impeccably clean and neat for someone who works in a forge half the time, has pre-made sandwiches sitting around ready to consume during long hours)

and viktor very much presents as the kind of single-minded entity who forgets to eat, sleeps in the lab, wears yesterday's clothes if it means more time to work - with the added bonus of chronic pain sapping most of the energy he might have to clean his home, wash his hair, or keep his back and leg braces in prime condition

but now they're partners

and jayce simply won't stand for viktor's personal living conditions and comfort being anything less than supremely optimal

so he sits viktor down in front of a good book, or the latest equation to solve, and goes to town. he trims viktor's nails, cleans out under them, cuts the split ends off of his unruly head of hair. feeds him a sandwich and cup of tea. gently removes viktor's braces, moisturizes and massages the skin underneath back to life. runs viktor a warm soothing medicated bath while he tightens and polishes the braces themselves, lays them ready and pristine on viktor's bed along with a fresh and pressed change of clothes.

jayce tidies up viktor's sitting room and kitchen while he finishes up in the bathroom, stocks the ice box with a week's worth of homemade meals that ximena sent along, and when viktor's out of the bath all calm and relaxed jayce sits him down again to shine his nails with a protective polish to withstand a bit more damage in the lab and gives his bad leg a careful massage that leaves viktor falling asleep right on the couch with his feet in jayce's lap.

(viktor tried to protest all this at first but jayce brought out the puppy dog eyes, plus viktor's never slept so good in his life as he does after this new experience of being so spoiled and taken care of)

this quickly becomes a biweekly tradition

#it recharges them both #jayvik #they're SO??#viktor arcane #jayce talis #arcane #i want to write this into one of my fics #it's what they deserve

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cyberrmusee · 5 months ago

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| I hope nobody catch us

(but i kinda hope they catch us) |

contents: professor!nanami, virgin!reader, chubby!reader, nerdy!reader fem!reader, age gap (reader is in their early twenties, nanami is in his early thirties), pet names (darlin’, doll, pretty girl, sweetheart) oral (f receiving), p in v, size kink!, softdom!nanami.

synopsis:Kento has always been fond of his students, but his naive, innocent, star student? Drove him nuts in ways he couldn't explain. The need to corrupt the young, pretty, straight-A thing, was his only thought.

A/N: thank you SOOOO so much for over 100 followers and all the love on my last post!! (this is not proofread so i apologize in advance LOL) pls enjoy!

"Alright everyone." Nanami started, voice rumbling deep, grabbing his students attention right at the very end of his class.

"Next class.... we'll start going over Kantianism. So everyone please, do tonight's pre-reading," His eyes drifted over each students face until his emerald and hazel eyes landed on you.

Your sweet and innocent focus on his words made his cock twitch. Hanging on to every word from his thick, pink lips— snap the fuck out of it kento

His eyes lingered on you for a moment as you flashed him a polite smile, waiting for him to continue on with the “homework” he was in the middle of assigning.

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from you, no matter how much he desired to gawk at you as if you were the mona lisa freshly painted. “Its only twenty pages.. you all should be able to handle that.. right?”

And again his eyes were back to you, as the rest of your peers let out collective sighs and groans. You nodded your head eagerly, the biggest, most dorkiest albeit adorable smile on your face.

Admittedly, for whatever reason, Your Ethics and Morality class, was your favorite one. You loved the way any and all information you learned in the class challenged your brain, and you loved to think and see problems from any and every angle possible.

And there was also the fact that your Moral Philosophy professor was fuckin smokin-

Nanami couldn’t help the faint smile that flickered at the corner of his mouth when he saw how eagerly you nodded your little head. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but you were his favorite student not to mention, star pupil and dream fuck—

He looked over the class once more with a faint chuckle and nod before speaking again. “Alright then everyone, class dismissed. Enjoy your weekend.”

With that the entire class began to pack up and file out, before Nanami remembered he’d be posting their test scores from last weeks exam . “Ah also, grades for your most recent exam, will be posted this evening.”

a few sighs of relief were heard from some as they exited, while others face palmed and groaned at the thought of seeing their grade.

You however, were elegantly and quietly packing your class materials away into your little earthy shoulder bag. Standing from your seat as you finished and rounded the table to head toward the exit, pulling the bag over your shoulder.

The long patterned skirt you wore, hugged your hips. Little bits of chub spilling out over the top, just enough to make Nanami’s mouth salivate.

Your form fitted shirt clung to your curves and hugged your chest. Breasts overflowing out of the shirt just enough to make your cleavage the main appetizer of the meal that was you.

your skirt flowed within the air conditioned breeze inside the classroom as you walked, hips swaying and a small mindless smile across your face as you did so. blissfully unaware of the raging hard on you were giving Nanami.

He had already been watching you, sitting at his desk, leaned back in his chair. You were always the last person to leave from his class, but he didn’t mind, the longer you stayed, the more fuel it gave him to imagine shoving his cock right into your little hole and ruining you for any other man.

He knew he probably shouldn’t, it felt wrong, he was your professor, and ten years your senior. It went against everything he knew within the world of ethics.

But god, he needed you wrapped around him, he needed to feel your walls squeeze his cock and milk him til his balls shriveled up from how empty they were.

You were the only thing he was willing to break his moral code for.

Mindlessly you waltzed past his desk “Have a good weekend, Professor Nanami, see you on monday” your voice was like honey and lilacs, so soft and sweet but also rich and deep, he throbbed in his boxers and sat up before clearing his throat to speak.

“Would you like to help me grade your classmates exams?” He sputtered out voice strained, sounding like a nervous teenage boy.

You whipped your head around to face him, a small smile creeping onto your pretty features. “Again?” you questioned, a small chuckle following behind your words.

It was no secret that you were sort of his undefined teachers assistant. after all, you did have the highest grade throughout his entire student chart. 102.3%, most students left his class with an 83% on average. Last week you helped him grade another classes exams as well.

He smiled a little sheepishly after hearing you speak, though your tone was laced with amusement, he felt a twinge of guilt.

He always asked you for some form of help, but he couldn’t help it, it was the only way he could be with you alone to admire and ogle you the way he wanted.

“Yes, again.” he chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he confirmed your word. “Won’t hold you too long, yeah? swing by my office tonight and we’ll get through it together” he smiled reassuringly as if you weren’t already gonna say yes.

You had no plans this weekend (or any other) other than to write, masturbate or play a few games on your PC, the usual. “alright, is seven okay?” you asked, voice a bit softer than usual as you offered him a small smile.

he hummed and looked at the expensive watch on his wrist before nodding and drifting his gaze back over to you, drinking your body in again. “perfect, i’ll see you then.” he said firmly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

you nodded, your small smile turning into a much larger, toothier one, excitement brimming in your veins at the prospect of grading papers with your favorite professor again. “see you tonight professor” and with that you were out of his sight.

the door to his office was cracked when you showed up to it, punctual as ever. typical behavior for you. you’d decided on dressing a little more comfortable, some cute, fluffy little pajama shorts, a long sleeved shirt with lace just at the hem of the fabric, and the cutest little fuzzy slippers to match.

you held your bag over your shoulder and rubbed your lip balm covered lips together as you knocked on his office door before peeking your head in.

“hi professor” you said cheerily as your head popped into his office. he was sitting as his desk, first few buttons on his shirt undone, pen tipping back and forth between his middle and ring finger and tie partially unraveled as his eyes bore into the stack of papers on his desk.

his hard gaze, once focused on the papers in front of him, shot up to you and immediately it softened at the sight of your face.

“hi, c’mon in, glad you could make it.” he said rolling back in his chair, pushing away from his desk. you opened the door fully, stepping in and shutting it behind you, revealing your little outfit and his eyes nearly left their sockets.

his throat went dry and his cock started to harden in his khaki slacks. you looked so sweet and innocent in your little outfit. his mind began to run rampant, fantasizing about all the ways he could rip you out of it as his eyes traveled over you figure.

“i’m happy to help you Professor Nanami” you mused sweetly as you took a seat opposite of him in front of his desk, crossing one leg over the other.

you noted his lustful gaze and the way his eyes raked over you, and your mind started to swirl a bit.

You were innocent, at least in the way that society had painted you. No one knew about how curious and insatiable you were.

How you dreamt about your professor rearranging your guts and walls to the shape of his cock, nightly. How you fantasized about him being the one to touch you, while you touched yourself. How badly you wanted to hear him whisper how good you were taking him while he corrupted you.

You wanted him to do so, badly.

“Kento.” he corrected in a soft but firm tone. “Huh?”

He chuckled a bit “Call me Kento, or Ken.” he replied as he lazily drug his eyes over your body from across his desk.

“Kento” you repeated out loud, more to yourself than to him. He smirked, good, now he just needed to hear you moan it next—

He knew feeling like this about you, fantasizing like this about you, went against everything he stood for. His moral code, his ethical one.

But fuck he just could not help himself. There was something so sweet, so pure about your very being, that just drove him to the edge in the best way possible.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the stack of exams dividing it in half to split amongst the two of you. “Need a pen doll?” he asked with a raised brow, offering you the one between his fingers.

“Oh, um.. yes please” you smiled softly, pulling your mind out of the gutter as you grabbed it softly.

Your finger tips brushed against his and you swore you felt something deep in your soul ignite, it crackled and sizzled and it started to burn. Nanami felt that same feeling, it went straight to his groin.

you weren’t quite sure how you got here. sat on top of your professors desk with your shorts and underwear off, legs spread wide open with him on his knees in front of you, kissing your inner thighs.

maybe it was somewhere between the lighthearted jokes and prolonged eye contact, or the repeated subtle brushing of finger tips when you’d ask him if you graded a test correctly, showing it to him for reassurance, regardless both you and his dreams were coming true.

you looked down at him, eyes half lidded and low as he kissed closer and closer to your cunt, his glasses pushed up as far they’d go on his beautiful, broad nose. you were soaked, Nanami ran a finger between your puffy lips, coating it with your slick “pretty lil things all wet just f’me huh?”

you whined at the feeling, your body jerking just a bit against his finger, desperate for more, for anything. “ken, d-don’t tease me, p-please” you pleaded as you rolled your hips against his thick appendage.

you’d never done any of this before, you’d never even gotten past a singular kiss or first date with anyone before. sure you’ve tried fingering yourself, but it just didn’t feel right when you did it, maybe you didn’t know what you were doing, so you always stuck to good old fashioned clit rubbing.

a low chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating up your thighs as he kissed them, closer and closer til his face was right in front of your core, glistening and hot, he was close enough he could feel the heat from it warming his face.

“alright baby, won’t tease ya no more” his words were a promise. he licked a long stripe up your cunt, right between your sticky folds, eliciting the prettiest little whimpers from you.

he savored the taste of your slick on his tongue, thinking it was the sweetest little pussy he’s ever licked on “pussy so sweet pretty girl, tryin’ to get me addicted huh?”

immediately he dived in, his big muscular arms snaking around your thighs to hold you open, making you lean your body back and placing your hands on his desk to keep yourself as steady as possible, his lips latched on to your clit and he started to suck and lick on it like a man starved.

all the intense stimulation had your brain going haywire, unintentionally trying to shut your legs around his head “nghh— k-ken i— ohh m’god” he only hummed in approval.

he lapped at your cunt like you owed him something and this was his way of taking back from you, what was owed. like you’d stolen something and by god, was he going to get it back. he yanked you closer and pushed his head deeper as his tongue worked your clit into overdrive, you thought you’d physically explode from the way he ate you.

“w-wait.. kennn.. m’gunna” you whined as you tried to scoot back away from him, the pleasure was too much, but at the same time not enough.

he yanked you back to the edge of the desk, shooting you a little glare as he stopped for just long enough to discipline you and fix his glasses, moving them up to his forehead “no movin’ ‘kay darlin’? m’hungry, let me eat.” and then right back to your cunt he went.

you couldn’t even respond to him with words, all you could do was choke out moans and cries as your head tipped back, eyes in the back of your head with your mouth dropped open. the heat in your stomach was building, it was tight, and white hot, bound to break the dam and overflow.

“m’gunna cum— ken…pleaseee” you cried, cunt clenching around nothing, the heat in your stomach at its limit. “i know darlin, let me have it, give it to papa” was all he muttered as he redoubled his efforts on your clit, driving you right over the edge.

the damn finally broke. the heat overflowing as he held you in place and worked his tongue while you came. body trembling, legs shaking as you whimpered from the intensity of your orgasm.

his face was drenched in your juices as he lapped you up, working you through your orgasm and drinking you up as your essence dripped down his chin.

“there you go darlin’ that’s it, let it out” he cooed as he watched your eyes finally flutter open “good, you did so good f’me sweet girl.”

he pulled away from you and stood up, leaning his body against you, his bulge rubbing against your exposed core. you looked at how messy and wet his mouth was and felt a wave of embarrassment flood you.

“m’sorry” you muttered as you looked away. he laughed in response, it was deep and husky, filled with amusement as he tilted your face back towards his with his index finger. he set it under your chin and tilted your face up, making you meet his gaze.

“eyes here pretty girl” he murmed “you’re okay, i like the mess” he cooed sweetly as he leaned closer, pressing himself fully against you, “taste yourself, you taste so good” then he kissed you, chest pressed against your own as he moved his lips languidly against yours.

he grinded his bulge against your core, letting your wetness soak him through his pants as he groaned into the kiss. “need to feel this pretty pussy on me doll” he murmured against your lips.

you whined in response, heart thrumming in your chest nervously as he moved a hand down and worked the buckle of his belt and his zipper, glasses falling back down on to his nose, his pants dropped and his boxers weren’t far behind him. you broke the kiss and looked down at his cock—

holy shit.

your eyes widened, anxiety suddenly filling you to the brim as you stared at the monster, it was fully erect, standing at attention. precum beading from his angry red tip.

veins adorned the sides of his thick cock, traveling all the way down to his based where little curls of dark blonde hair nestled against his skin. how were you supposed to take that monster?

your eyes flicked back up to his, and he’d been watching you, watch him the entire time, letting you take in the sheer size of him, a knowing smirk on his face “s’alot ken..” you whispered

“i know darlin’, but you’ll be good and take every inch f’me wontcha?” he cooed sweetly. you figured at this point, there was no turning back, so now was a good a time as any to tell him you were a virgin right? right?!

“kento.. i.. i’m a-” you stuttered out, and before you could finish, he’d cut you off with words of his own “a virgin, i know doll, i’ll be gentle. promise.” your face flushed, hot as ever. “h-how’d you know?” you asked in a small voice.

he laughed, like genuinely, his chest rumbled against yours as the melodic chorus of his laughter filled the room. “doll, you came in less than sixty seconds. now i’m pretty good with my tongue, but that’s still a tell tale sign f’me.” he snickered just a bit.

you had never felt so embarrassed in your life, did you really cum that fast? it felt way longer when he was down there. how did he even know it was less than sixty seconds? was he keeping track?

he was, earlier, while you had your head in the clouds, singing a symphony of moans, he’d been lapping at your cunt and looking at his watch, noting the fact that he made you cum in about 45 seconds.

your face was hot with embarrassment at his words. you wanted to shrivel into a hole and die. nanami however thought the entire scene was so adorable, and it made him unimaginably hard.

he pressed himself against you to pull you out of your head. his tip and shaft gliding through your fat lips to gather up your juice. he groaned at the feeling “focus darlin’, m’not judgin, im proud to be your first, i’ll take care of ya” he reassured you as he leaned in and peppered small kisses against your neck.

you whined as you felt his cock glide through your lips and his sweet kisses against your neck, coupled with the reassurance, it was enough to get you right back in the zone. “m’ready ken” you crooned as he kissed at your neck and collar bone.

he hummed in approval and he drug his head from his neck to look at you “yeah? alright pretty girl, just hold on to me, papa’s gotcha”

you nodded slowly, placing your hands on his shoulders for stability. he gripped his throbbing cock, dragging it through your lips again, to gather up enough slick and pumped himself before settling at your entrance.

“deep breath for me sweet girl, mkay?” he said gently. you nodded and braced yourself, inhaling deeply as his fat mushroom tip invaded your little hole, nanami ignored his own pleasure in favor of watching your face to make sure there were no signs of discomfort.

he got a quarter of the way in before he stopped. “y’alright doll? s’not too much is it?” he asked as his eyes traveled your face.

“n-no s’just.. you’re r-really big ken” you breathed out. he chuckled as he rubbed soothing circles on your hips “you’re doing amazing pretty girl, but make sure you tell me if i need to stop ‘kay?” he nodded at you.

“okay.. i.. i can take it.” you whispered softly. he smiled at that, he thought your determination was so cute. “alright doll” and with that he pushed in a little further, you whined and gripped his shoulders, nails digging into them.

you could feel the stretch, the burn as his cock split you open for him. your greedy little walls sucking him in, inch by inch. nanami hissed, the pleasure of your cunt swallowing him and the pain of your nails in the divots of his shoulder blades, egging him on.

“get ready for a biigg stretch pretty girl” his voice had some breathiness to it. you could tell he was trying to hold back for you, he didn’t wanna hurt you. you nodded your head mindlessly, eyes nearly in the back of it.

he chuckled at your cock-drunk state and held your thighs up a little higher and as he pushed the rest of the way in, he let out a strangled moan as his tip kissed your cervix and he felt you clench him tight, almost a little too tight

“loosen up doll—hah—gonna b-break my dick if you—fuck— don’t” he breathed out, leaning forward to pepper more kisses on your neck. you whimpered as you tried to relax around him and adjust to the feeling of being so full. “s’too big ken.. mmf— m’trying” you whined.

it took you a few minutes, but nanami kissed your way through it as he waited for you to loosen up, you couldn’t lie, making out definitely did help.

“ready pretty girl?” he muttered against your lips. you nodded and that was all he needed to hear.

he drew his hips back, pulling out about half way before languidly thrusting his hips forward back in, filling you completely up, the both of you moaning in harmony as he set a slow, languid pace.

“pussy so—shit— so tight—hah-fuck” he groaned as he pulled your hips impossibly closer, your ass barely on the desk. “talk to me doll—fuck— feels good huh?” he panted as he rocked his hips back and forth, bullying your tiny little pussy.

“mmm f-feels gooooddd.. kennn” you crooned as your arms wrapped around his neck. the sensation was new, but god, it felt so fucking good, even the bits of pain from his fat mushroom tip kissing your cervix.

“yeah? taking my dick—hah— so fucking good pretty girl” he praised, and god was it making you twice as wet as before. “f-faster.. ken—nghh-harder.. m-more” you choked out.

it was like those were the magic words he needed to hear, something within him snapped. he grabbed the bottom of your ass and lifted you off his desk into the air as he slid you up and down his dick with ease. his big arms spreading you more open as he used you cunt like a toy, bucking his hips up into you picking up the pace.

“like this doll?—ah shit— you like that huh? like the way my—fuck—dick fills you up pretty girl?” he grunted as he moved you up and down, his hips meeting your body halfway.

your vision was white and spotty as he reached places inside your cunt, that you didn’t know were possible. mouth falling open, head back, whining and nodding as he thrusted upward, your tummy juggling with each upward motion he gave you. “y-yes sir.. i.. ah- ah— ken!”

the way your cunt fluttered around him, he swore he was seeing stars, he walked towards the wall holding you in his grasp as he pinned you against it and hoisted one of your legs on his shoulder as he held the other one open and pistoned his hips upward, eliciting cries from your pretty mouth.

“that’s right baby, you feel me in your tummy hm?” he breathed out, his balls we’re getting heavy, cock twitching in your cunt, the way your walls wrapped around him, it was like a vice, he picked up the pace just a bit further as his balls continued to tighten and the knot in his stomach grew.

“nghh- ken— s’deep.. m’gunna cummm” you whined as your soaking pussy gripped his cock tight, walls pulsing and legs shaking. the squelching sounds of him bulldozing your pussy and the symphony of your and his moans was all that could be heard within the confines of his office.

“go on sweet girl, cum on this dick f’me, give it to me baby” he coaxed as he pulled you off the wall and closer to him, chests pressed together as he kisses and bit at your neck and fucked into you with twice the effort as before.

you yelped and pulled him closer burying your face in his shoulder as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, white and hot, your vision was blurry as you clenched around him, crying out for him “m’cumminnnn kennnnn”

he groaned feeling your cum, hot and creamy, slide down his cock, spurring his own orgasm, he thrusted a few more time before burying himself at your hilt, the heat in his abdomen rushing forward as he came inside of you, hot spurts of cum, jetting out of him and painting your walls with his essence. “shit— f-fuck— sooo fucking good baby”

he rolled his hips up a few more times, emptying his balls as the last remnants of his seed coated your walls before taking your leg off his shoulder. you lifted your head from his neck and looked down at the small space where your bodies connected.

he slowly pulled out, watching the mix of your cum and his, leak out down his shaft and drip onto the floor and groaned at the sight “look at that fucking mess, you did so good f’me pretty girl.” he praised and you whined tiredly as he kept you in his grasp and sat down in his chair, rubbing soothing circles all over your lower back and sides.

“hurts ken” you mumbled against his shoulder softly. he chuckled just a little bit and you smacked his shoulder “s’not funnnyyy” you whined, which only furthered his laughter.

“don’t worry your pretty little head doll, papa’ll take care of ya” he whispered sweetly as he kissed the top of your head sweetly as he rocked you back and forth soothingly, rubbing your lower back as you laid against him, nearly asleep.

he could only hope the two of you didn’t get caught in his office, because he had no plans of moving you or himself any time soon.

nor did he plan to stop fucking you every chance he got, you might’ve been his number one student, but now you were just his.

and Kento Nanami, was not one to share.

#nanami kento #nanami x chubby reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x plus size reader #jujustu kaisen #nanami #nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk nanami #jjk x plus size reader #jjk x chubby reader #jjk fanfic #cyberrmuse #cyberwrites

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 10 months ago

Text

breaking news!

pairing: milf! reader x pre-re2 leon

cws/tags: protected p in v, virginity loss, leon cumming immediately, coming untouched, talking about past somno (implied to be consensual), presumably established relationship, no description of reader beyond cis female who has had a child and is older than leon, reader POV, no use of y/n

summary: leon doesn't wanna die a virgin! shit goes down in july '98 (bizarre murders occur in raccoon city etc. you know the monologue), and leon sees it on the news, decides he's gotta fuck before he becomes a cop fr.

a/n: this is part 3 to cool mom's countdown. i wasn't sure how to tag some stuff bc it's like they're having sex rn but reader is thinking about stuff they've done in the past too, so it's kinda a little time-skipping sometimes. (past things are italicized for your reading pleasure)

wc: 1.7k

taglist: @onlyasimp4-2dbitches @puppedup @nilpill @sya-skies @shiawaseorii

@rigorwhoring @porcelainseashore

@tieabowaroundme @frankieeeeesblog @kerredgraveblog

join my taglist! purchase a commission!

At first, your relationship with Leon made you feel old -- all of the pop culture references you’d make flew over his head, and you realized how out of the loop you were when it came to modern slang when you had to ask Leon for the definition of approximately one word per sentence he spoke. While miscommunications arose through conversations, you were in sync when it came to sex.

In the proverbial bedroom, Leon made you feel young again. After work one Friday night, you made out on the couch until you insisted that you needed to freshen up before your movie date, and ended up sitting on the bathroom counter with Leon’s head between your thighs, and, to pay him back, you jerked him off in the theater.

You’d been together for a good six months before you finally went all the way. You told Leon from the beginning that you wouldn’t have sex with him until he was 100% sure he was ready. A sweet boy like him deserved to have a good first time.

After a gourmet meal of macaroni and cheese plus whatever else you could find in the cabinet, the two of you shared a six pack on the back porch while watching the sun set over the suburbs. It was romantic, minus the topic of conversation -- everyone was talking about the bizarre murders in the Arklay Mountains which weren’t far from where you lived. Leon was glued to the TV, watching updates as they appeared on the news over the course of the past week.

It was disturbing enough to hear the outlandish reports of families being attacked by a group of about 10 people, but the victims were apparently eaten. And, you couldn’t bear the thought of Leon being a member of that STARS team that went missing.

Leon had always been insistent on joining the force, but being forced to actively accept your own mortality can be a scary experience for even the bravest. However, Leon’s biggest fear wasn’t death itself.

“I keep seeing those cops on the news -- the ones from the RPD who died and I don’t wanna die a virgin.”

“What?” His train of thought blew past about 10 stops before arriving at its destination, it seemed. You struggled to put the pieces together.

“That’ll be me pretty soon -- well, not necessarily dead, hopefully not, just part of the RPD, I mean. But, since there’s a real chance I could die, I would like to lose my virginity.”

Talking about death put a bit of a damper on the mood, but Leon could get you riled up in the most inappropriate of situations.

“I told you we can do it whenever you’re ready,” you said nonchalantly.

“What I meant was, I’m ready now.”

Your first instinct was to look down towards the front of his jeans.

“Mentally,” he clarified when he saw you checking for a bulge in his pants.

You swiftly led him up to your bedroom and by the time your lips were on his neck, he was physically ready for you too. Leon’s a sucker for hickies. Pun intended.

“It makes me feel like I’m yours,” he mentioned one night, wearing a stupid grin and smudged lipstick - both courtesy of you.

“You are mine,” you said, cupping his cheek, “and I’m yours.”

“Then, can I give you one too?”

He shouldn’t. You already felt out of place at the neighborhood book club, and you didn’t want Karen and Cheryl (or whatever their names are) to think you’re a complete whore.

Fuck it. They could stare all they wanted. Bring on their jealousy-fueled disgust.

You exposed your neck to Leon and let him suck lightly at the skin. As it turned out you liked them quite a bit too.

When you told Leon he was yours and vice versa, you meant it, but tonight you were really going to seal the deal.

It was a dance of tipsy fumbling around as one’s first time should be. Giggling while barely holding yourselves back from ripping each other’s clothes off.

“You’re so needy,” you whispered into his ear, though you were the one palming him through his underwear.

“No... you’re just hot... I can’t help being like this around you.”

“Yeah? Then how do you think I feel around a handsome young man like you?” You took his hand and gently guided him to feel your arousal through your panties.

He inhaled sharply, and you felt his needy cock twitch against your hand which had yet to slip inside his boxers. Poor thing, he was always so desperate.

Not that you minded – not even when you’d wake up in the middle of the night to him rutting his hips into you from behind. He did this often in his sleep – he thought it was embarrassing, but you thought it was endearing. He’d mumble your name and coax your hand back to his hard-on if you ever dared to retract it.

Leon hooked his fingers in the fabric of your panties and slid it to the side, teasing your folds with his touch.

In retaliation and reward, you took his length in your hand, planning to give him the same languid, tantalizing strokes he was giving you. But he grabbed your wrist and stopped you.

“Wait-” he said, breath shaky with what you assumed to be nerves.

You backed off completely. “Leon, I’m so sorry. If you’re not ready tonight, we can do this some other-”

“-I’m ready, too ready. Just thinking about getting to be inside you is making me feel... really good already, so, um, if you touch me like that, I might not be able- I might cum before I can actually... you know...”

“Fuck me?” God, it was so cute how flustered he’d get over the simplest things.

“Yeah, fuck you.” He couldn’t curse in front of you without blushing. It took him a while to adjust to calling you by your first name instead of ‘ma’am’, so you couldn’t blame him for feeling awkward cursing around you. The redness in his cheeks only rose when he realized how his statement - fuck you - could’ve been interpreted.

“No, wait, not fuck you, I mean, I wanna fuck you... in a good way. I wanna make you feel good,” he clarified.

“Then come here,” you lied back on the bed and beckoned him closer.

“Yes, ma’am.” Typical. You had to resist the urge to call him a ‘good boy’, knowing those words alone might make him cum in his pants.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Once, while he was going down on you -- on his knees at the edge of your bed, his favorite position -- you told him how he was such a good boy for making you feel so good, and though his hands remained gripping your thighs, holding them open so he could bury his face in your cunt, your orgasm triggered his, and he came completely untouched.

You grabbed a condom from your bedside table -- you were on the pill, and neither of you were seeing anyone else, but you were pretty sure that his cock wouldn’t make it inside you if you told him he could fuck you raw -- and you handed him the packet.

“Do you know how to do it?”

“Yeah, they made us try putting them on bananas in health class.”

“Thank your health teacher for me, then, will you?”

“Um, I don’t know if Mr-”

“I’m kidding, baby.”

“This is no time for joking around. You’re breaking my concentration,” he said, but his smile betrayed any facade of seriousness.

When he successfully put it on, you said, only half-joking, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” he said -- no, whined.

“Why not?”

“Gonna make me cum too quick.”

If only he knew that his bashfulness, his pretty, whiny voice, and his desperation were going to make you cum quicker than you usually would.

“Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“At least tell me if I’m doing it right, like, if I’m putting it in the right hole.”

“You’re doing fine so far.”

He nodded and took a breath before positioning himself at your entrance. When he pressed the tip inside you, you moaned simultaneously. You wanted to beg him to keep going, you wanted to feel all of him, but you knew you needed to let him set the pace.

“You feel so good, you’re so tight...” His thoughts were mostly tame, things you’d heard men say before but he was so genuine, couldn’t even help running his mouth -- until his words were reduced to nothing but moans. Pornographic, pathetic, sexy.

When he’d finally buried himself to the hilt, he stilled his hips, keeping both of your orgasms at bay. Your hands never left his body because you couldn’t get enough of him, not even when he was entirely inside you. You thought you were being gentle but the marks left on his skin said otherwise.

Eventually, he began to thrust in and out of you slowly, and you could see that he was holding himself back.

“Leon, baby, you know you can go as slow or as fast as you want, yeah?”

“I wanna go faster but if I do, I’m gonna cum,” he said as if that wouldn’t be the hottest thing he could do.

“Yeah? I wanna see you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, really? Already?”

He didn’t wait for a response before he increased the pace of his thrusts rapidly, his hips leading and his mind following.

You tried to answer, but he was brushing against that sensitive spot inside you over and over again, so all you could manage was an ‘uh-huh’.

Frantically, he said, “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” with a mixture of pleas and apologies. Neither of which you needed.

When he came, he threw his head back and let out an unbridled moan followed by labored breaths.

The sight of him sent you over the edge, scrambling for something to hold onto, your nails dug into his back. You nearly screamed his name as you shuddered through your high.

When you returned to reality, you saw complete bewilderment on Leon’s face. “Did you just cum?”

“Uh, yeah?” you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as you said it.

“I made you cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

Flopping down next to you, satisfied with himself, he asked, “Can we do that again?”

“Like right now?”

“Yeah, that was amazing.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you

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cuteandhughesy · 9 months ago

Text

Dazed & Confused ╰┈➤ SB2

summary: working for the leafs social media team was nothing short of uneventful - especially when a blonde french man is adamant on making you flustered.

[word count] 15.9K

🎵 dazed & confused by ruel, how do I do this by kelsea ballerini, labyrinth by taylor swift, espresso by sabrina carpenter, guilty as sin? by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, + love of my life by harry styles

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Prologue:

you first saw simon benoit in passing. you remember the moment all too well.

dylan, your boss and head co- ordinator for the toronto maple leafs social media team, needed you to cover a pre-season game after the usual instagram girl called in sick. you usually worked more with the youtube page and tiktok account, but willingly stepped up when he asked. after all, it was still grabbing content - and you were used to that.

you remember standing in the players tunnel to capture a video of the team getting ready to take the ice. simon breezed passed you in a cloud of woodsy spice and bright eyes. he didn't really notice you, only sending a brief nod and closed lipped smile in your direction before jogging away.

you barley saw his face, and you didn't recognize the name on the back of the blue jersey. you were intrigued, but didn't seek out for answers - just did the job and left.

you didn't think about him much after that - not until he got called up to play on the leafs back end for the foreseeable future. then, simon benoit was always around; practices, team meals, games and everything in between. he became a solid member of the toronto maple leafs.

he was always polite and friendly. you were smitten as soon as you got a proper look at his face and he flashed you an award winning smile. simon was all dirty blonde mullet, tattoos and moustache...it was unfair, really. in the few weeks he's been playing with the team, you've also noticed how much of a determined and hard player he was. you could tell he really loved what he did. they way he battled for the puck, threw his body around and blocked any shot no matter the speed - and all that made you even more interested in him.

to say you were currently nervous was an understatement: you were quite literally trembling. your mouth was dry and underarms moist as you set up the tripod for the teams filming camera. your dress - although professional - was flowing freely, brushing your tan knees in a way that was almost overstimulating.

normally, getting equipment ready to film content was fine - easy, even. but the presence of the 6 foot 4, deliciously scented, handsome canadian was enough to throw you off your game. just the thought of having to soon converse with simon, has your body feeling trembly. thankfully, you could pass as being chilled: the slight breeze providing the excuse.

"you're not cold?" the sound of simon's french accent has you tensing up in the shoulders. you'll have to talk to him much sooner than you intended, and you feel yourself get warm at the thought.

as nonchalant as you can manage, you pretend to fiddle with one of the dials on the video recorder, although you'd already adjusted it all properly - you needed a distraction when you spoke. you clear your throat, "no, this is a treat compared to toronto."

although it was Anaheim, it was still january and the wind did bring a chill to your exposed skin. in that moment, you wished you brought your jean jacket along instead of leaving it in your hotel room. with that in mind, it was still much warmer than winter back home.

simon laughs once, crossing his arms over his sweater clad chest. the material tightens over his biceps so wonderfully, and you have trouble focusing. "yes, true but you've just got a dress on...i've got a shirt on if you want to borrow my - "

the thought of wearing his clothing and getting to smell his cologne was just too much. even though him just offering his sweatshirt sent your heart ablaze.

"i'm good," you interrupt, eyes finally dashing up to meet the man before you. his gaze is soft on you, and the way his hair sticks out from beneath his hat is almost endearing. you send him a close lipped smile when he gives you a concerned look, clearly weary of your tone. "thank you, though, simon."

his lip quirks up on one side, "just call me benny."

you tuck a loose hair that's fallen from your messy braid behind your ear, hands falling from the pointless fiddling on the camera. "did I say your name wrong?" your brows crease together, worried that he was only giving you his nickname because you butchered his actual one.

simon shakes his head quickly, arms uncrossing. "no, no. it's just..." you quirk a brow as if urging him to continue. he breaths a laugh, "nothing, it's okay."

you don't read into his dismissal and remove the clipboard out from where it was tucked between your ribcage and bicep. immediately you feel relief from where the metal clip was digging into your boob. "okay, benny, just to go over this one more time - it's a get to know you for our tiktok so all the questions are probably ones you've answered a million times so I apologize for that...ummm," you meet his eyes and they widen when you see he's smirking back at you. you clear your throat, and look back to your clipboard. "we are already rolling so if you're ready, we can start?"

his arms cross again, and his chest bulges out. "i'm always ready."

"is that so?" for some reason, you decide to tease him. you're not sure where your sudden confidence has come from, but you don't back down - looking up through your lashes to watch his face for a reaction.

his tongue pokes his cheek and he snickers, "oh yeah." you're not sure if he's trying to sound seductive, but it works, and your face flushes red. his suggestive tone has your spark of confidence disappearing and you dart your eyes down quickly, "how do you properly pronounce your name?"

"are you asking or is this the first question?" he teases, hands clasping behind his lower back. although now you can't stare at his veiny hands and long fingers, the way his chest broadens at the pull has all your attention. "I can't tell."

you subtly shake your head to pull yourself together. "I thought you were always ready?" you hum, sending him a playful glance. you're not sure how confident your teasing remark comes across, but you still keep the eye contact.

simon laughs a real hearty laugh and the sound sends your stomach swooping. "touché" he muses. "simon benoit." he answers your question without being asked again, and his thick accent has you feeling flustered.

clearing your throat once, "any nicknames?" you ask.

"just benny," he smiles.

the breeze picks up again -the anaheim air smelling like ocean. hints of grass from the golf course you and the team were at currently filling your nostrils. "you lived here in california for a few years, where was your favourite spot to go to?"

simon hums momentarily, "I think, uh, laguna beach, it's a pretty cool spot - a little artsy hippie, I liked it a lot."

you hum lightly, tucking the same piece of hair that's fallen out your braid back behind your ear. "artsy and hippie huh?"

his lip quirks up, "what? do I not look like the type?"

you just shrug lightly, "no no, just wasn't expecting that. maybe some practice rink or expensive cafe"

"c'mon i'm not that shallow," he laughs. simon notices your eyes almost sparkle when you tease him, and you always have to fight back a wide smile. he likes the way you flush when he teases you back, and he wonders if you always get flustered when doing media with the team.

your quiet laughs fades, and you look down at your clipboard again. "do you have a favourite spot in toronto?"

his arms go over his chest again, and he sways back and forth slightly. "yeah, I like trinity bellwoods. it's a nice spot. cool little cafes, nice park."

your eyes brighten ever so slightly, "so I wasn't wrong about the expensive cafes?"

simon splutters twice with amusement, "who said it was expensive?"

you giggle, "all toronto cafes are, benny."

he breaths a laughs, "well, one day I can take you. then you can decide if it's expensive."

you have to fight a smile. this was not helping your case- I mean, he was practically asking you on a date...right? maybe he was just being friendly, or maybe just keeping the conversation rolling. regardless, you flush at his words and look away, "we will cut that don't worry."

simon just shrugs, "doesn't matter." although he seems nonchalant with his words, there's a small part of his pride that flares knowing you didn't want anybody to watch the way he flirted with you - that you wanted to keep it between you both.

you fight a smile. "what's in? and what's out?"

his brows pull together, "what does that mean?"

"like, what do you want to see more of this year? and what's something you want to see less of?"

"ahhh, I see," he hums, "let me think."

the breeze picks up again and you shiver gently. on the golf cart behind you, your coworker, james, shoves his headphones off one ear. he's sitting on your shared cart with the teams editing laptop, making sure the shot on the camera is correct and the audio is working - all the boring stuff you hated doing. "y/n," he hums, "can you adjust benny's microphone, i'll let you know when it's good again."

fuck, you think.

"yeah, sure," you nod gently. you move towards simon with as much confidence as you can muster, avoiding the way he watches your every move with a playful little smile.

you can smell that same spicy scent he is always wearing as you step into his space, and you feel faint. "just...stay still for a moment." you whisper into the air between you and the quebec native.

"okay," he says back just as quietly, mirroring your tone. only as you concentrate on keeping your cool, simon is smirking softly down at you.

you hope he can't see the shake in your hands as you reach up to the collar of his maple leaf branded sweatshirt. you start adjusting the microphone with expertise, james calling out directions as you do so.

you can feel simon still staring down at you, and you wonder if he's still got that sexy smirk on his face or not. he shifts, hands moving to sit on his hips.

"stay still," you remind him, eyes darting up to meet simon's. your tone is harsher than intended, but you can't help it. being so close to him had you feeling nervous and tense and james still didn't have the audio and -

"you're kind of bossy," simon laughs.

you hear james call out from behind you both, telling you the audio is back and the video can continue. although his words fall on deaf ears, simon's statement the only thing you can concentrate on. "what?" you splutter, hands falling back to your sides and away from the man in front of you. "i'm not bossy."

"shame," simon teases gently, "I like bossy,"

your eyes go wide, and you shoot a glance over your shoulder to your co-worker. james doesn't look up, but he's smirking - because he can literally hear you both word for word.

"wha - no, i- shhh," you panick, face surely flushed bright red and if somebody was to reach out and touch it - they'd get burnt from the heat.

simon smirks at your reaction. he leans in close to the microphone clipped to your dress, sitting between your boobs. "james, cut that out." he says.

if you weren't frozen (and kinda turned on) you would've moved away, but you didn't. too wrapped up in the smell and voice and aura of simon benoit.

"i've got it," simon says once he straightens back up to his full height.

"got what?" you don't mean to whisper but you do, face still beating red.

"my answer," he teases, "are you ready? or do you need a minute?"

you scoff highly, "yes, i'm ready! you were the one with the microphone problem." you wave your hands rather frantically in the direction of his chest.

you can hear james stifle a laugh behind you.

"I'm teasing you," simon says. he has the strongest urge to tuck that damn piece of hair behind your ear, but he doesn't want to scare you. there's also an audience, and you've also only just properly met. so instead, he smirks, shoe nudging against yours.

"oh, okay." you heat up with something you think is embarrassment, "let's get on with it then, god, benny"

your attempted dig back is successful and has simon laughing loudly as you retreat back a few feet to behind the tripod. you pick up your abandoned clipboard on the grass and you ask the question again.

the filming don't last much longer, and simon continues to flirt with you - very much unbothered by the fact your co-worker can hear his every word. everytime your cheeks turn pinker and you have to fight a smile: simon gets a little bit more smitten. when you end the video, he protests once and says he's having too much fun and that has your heart fluttering.

simon bids goodbye then with a smirk and a gentle nudge to your side. you busy yourself with packing up the tripod so you don't have to face james with a flushed face.

it's no use though, because he comes up to you and clears his throat knowingly.

"what?" you hiss.

james has always been your closest co-worker. you'd even consider him your closest friend outside of the rink. in fact, you spend most evenings with james and his boyfriend at their apartment watching 2000's movies and eating unhealthy snacks until your stomachs are on the verge of exploding.

"you think he's cute, don't you?"

"no," you say immediately. "well, he's not ugly - but, no no he's just-i'm just-"

"you know he was flirting with you, right?" james teases, rolling up one of the cords around his forearm. "but based on your permanently red face...you knew, and you liked it."

you splutter, "he's just being friendly."

"whatever you say," james teases in your ear, turning away to pack up the laptop. "but, so you're aware...he couldn't keep his eyes off you for more than 10 seconds."

you swallow hard at that.

the rest of the day you kept catching simon's eyes and everytime he gave you that smirk that had you melting.

Part One: (A)

ever since that interview, anytime you and simon had to interact, he was always getting you flustered. you're not even sure if he was meaning to flirt with you - but boy was he good at it. even thinking of simon had your chest flushing and ears burning, leaving you to fan yourself with sheets of paper while james gives you a smug look: it's fine...really. three weeks have passed of sweet teasing, brushing limbs and trying to ignore the sultry smirk he always seemed to sport when you cracked around him.

the hallways of the practice arena were dimly lit and the cool air wafted through the halls from the rink just a few turns away: chilling your bones.

james wasn't working with you today. he was back at the main arena working on editing the first set of blueprint videos for the leafs youtube channel. so you stood by yourself, phone held in one of those janky tripods that tilt dramatically to the left when you touch it.

with free hands you hold onto the stained whiteboard that held your question of the day: would you rather be a cowboy, pirate or samurai? the question came after mitch marner was bugging you for questions about cowboys (his yellowstone obsession was getting worse).

it only took three players before simon sauntered his way over. he peeks around ryan reaves, who's stopped to read the question. "samurai," reaves decides, gum clicking between his teeth as he passes by.

simon tucks one of his gloves under his arm and uses his bare hand to scratch his growing goatee. your eyes linger on his lips momentarily, watching the way the move - oh, he's talking to you.

"what?" you mumble, blinking three times fast.

he laughs, and you swear his cheekbones becomes dusted with a faint pink. "I asked what would you pick?"

another player passes and calls out there answer.

"you're the one whos supposed to answer the question, benny, not me."

"but I wanna know you have to say," he quips with a raise to his brow and an upwards tug to his lip.

your spit thickens and you swallow nervously under his tense gaze. "i'm very busy and you're distracting me right now."

simon really laughs at that and you have look away. "i'm not distracting you - i'm trying to give you content."

you blush, "whatever."

simon takes a step closer to you, and on his skates he's even taller than normal- no doubt reaching 6"5. you crain your neck back slightly to keep eye contact. "are you going to answer my question?"

simon smirks down at you, eyes meeting the whiteboard touching your belly once more. "captain jack sparrow."

you squint at him, "what? that's not a proper answer."

"yes it is," he chimes, "the pirate one: so i'd be captain jack sparrow. he's badass, no?"

you'll have to edit most of this interaction out the video, you think. the swearing and his teasing and the way he looks down at you...it's all too much for your crushing heart and the fans speculating will just be overwhelming.

you stand your ground, keeping eye contact and pray your face doesn't go too much redder. "just because you pick pirate, that's no guarantee you'd be jack sparrow."

mitch marner approaches you both and answers samurai - which goes against his begging for the damn cowboy question. as you and mitch bicker about it his answer, simon notices the way you're more confident in the eye contact with his teammate and you don't blush...at all.

it has simon swelling with pride that's he's the only one you react to that way and the thought has a fire lighting under him. wordlessly, he slips past you both with a smile on his lips.

you edit the videos on the unoccupied visitors bench after you captured some on ice videos of the team during practice. you were sitting beside the teams photographer for a good chunk of the practice before you left to go into one of the spare rooms to pack up your stuff and head home.

you could hear the players laughing in the dressing room as they undress and pack up. you end up tweaking the video more on your computer, taking up another 20 minutes of time. you're still shoving things into your shoulder bag when you leave the room, checking the oversized compartments to make sure you've got everything.

so you're not looking where you're going, and you're reprimanded when you bump into a body. the impact sends the bag off your shoulder, loose papers flying out and pens rolling across the concrete.

"i'm sorry, I wasn't -" you look up to see a smiling simon, hand on your shoulder to steady you. the sight and feeling of him as you stopping your scentence.

"my apologies," he says. "I didn't see you."

you give him a skeptical look, "you didn't see me?"

simon did see you: he just wanted to try and get you flustered again. plus any excuse to talk to you from here on out, he was going to take. "swear." the smirk he's sporting has you believing him even less.

simultaneously, you both bend down to collect the spilled items. it's then when you notice simon is dressed in his regular clothing, a hoodie and a pair of athletic pants. he's got his winter parka on as well.

he passes you your pens and you shove them back into the branded bag, standing to your full height. "thanks," you nod, "I didn't take you for such a gentleman."

he stands as well, passing you a loose laptop cord. "you think i'm a gentleman?" there's a teasing tone underlying in his voice.

your eyes are drawn to his black coat again, and your brows pull together. he was clearly leaving, but both entrances were the other way: in the direction you had been headed. the rink, the dressing room, none of that was down were you two collided. "depends," you hum, "do gentleman purposely try and knock me on my ass? or is that just you?"

simon kisses his teeth, looking down to the floor briefly. "just me I think."

his honesty has you fighting back a giggle. you have to bite onto your bottom lip from cracking, but the corners of your mouth still tug upwards. "thought so."

"I wasn't trying to knock you down - which, by the way, didn't happen," he muses, "I was trying to find you."

"why?" you drag out, hands clasping onto the strap of your heavy bag.

"to walk you out," he says in a 'duh' manner. you give him another skeptical look, and he sighs gently "I'm trying to get to know you, y/n. just go with it and treat your new co-worker - me, by the way, nicely." he's teasing you again, a glimmer to his eyes as they watch for your reaction.

"alright," you nod as you start walking down the hall. simon follows quickly, falling into step with your much smaller strides. "it's not like, a part of your job or anything though...to get to know me. you don't have to spend time with me."

he laughs beside you, his coat covered bicep brushing against your shoulder. "I know. doesn't mean that I don't want to spend time with you."

you two reach the door to the parking garage, and he holds it open for you to slip through after him. you smile in thanks, that all familiar heat making it appearance on your skin. "thats nice of you to say, really."

"see," he smirks as he comes to a stop, "I can be an actual gentleman - not just the creepy kind who stalks around the arena until he finds you."

you do laugh out loud at that, all your teeth shining and simon admires the way your face looks while you smile. "stalked the arena until you found me huh?"

he shrugs like he's not embarrassed, which has you beaming even more. "what can I say? i'm very determined to make you blush and do that spluttering thing you do when we speak."

you can't tell if you've paled or gone red, his call out has you feeling light headed and nervous and overwhelmed. "is it that noticeable?" you laugh gently. the panick must be all over your face because simon immediately steps forward, "no, it's okay. it's endearing...I kind of like it."

your brows raise in question and you slightly scoff, "you like watching me get flustered and embarrassed?"

his eyebrows pull together, "what? god no, I like that i'm the only i've seen that can get you like that."

"what is this?" you question, "are you hitting on me? because, you - I can't - we're not allowed to date or whatever without like a 15 page report and - i'm sorry I don't know what's happening. what's happening?"

although his eyebrows shoot up at your rambling, he looks very endeared. "I'm hitting on you, y/n. that's what's happening. is that okay?"

"no!" you say quickly. your eyes close with regret, "no, I meant yes. it's okay but you can't...not really. especially in front of my co-workers and the team. remember! the 15 page report we'd have to fill out if people even thought -"

simon reaches forward, gently tucking a straight strand of your hair back and behind your pierced ear. his gentle touch from his large hand has you pausing, eyes glimmering as you stare up at him.

"okay."

"okay?" you repeat with a squeak. "what does that mean?"

he laughs gently, his hand trailing down your strand of hair and off your body. "it means that i'll be careful when we flirt."

you feel yourself get hot. "seriously, I can get in so much trouble."

"do you want me to stop?" simon asks you gently, "because if you really don't want to continue this, i'll walk away and we can forget it."

with a pondering moment and a shake of your head, you mumble, "no, I don't want you to stop."

"you won't get in trouble, okay?" he hums, "i'll just act normal and just be my normal self...only with secret intentions that nobody will catch on to." he smirks and you laugh through a shaky breath, eyes meeting the floor quickly as you begin to flush a deep burgundy.

simon catches the flush. "there it is," he whispers, hand reaching out to brush against the soft skin of your cheek.

you clear your throat. like with any man you've encountered, there is that nagging voice in your head that reminds you of everything that could go wrong. that what you think could be their intentions are possibly far from it - cheating, toxicity, fake feelings, a bet...everything that could break your heart. with that in mind you meet his eyes again, and you begin to knaw at your bottom lip. you try not to sound guilty when you say, "i'm not trying to date anybody...right now."

you tuck your hands into your coat pockets nervously, already preparing for the blow up and curse out from the man infront of you. he will get mad at your confession...maybe even-

"that's fine," he says immediately, halting the million little thoughts of panic swirling in your head. you exhale in relief, releasing your lip in favour of a smile.

simon mimicks your expression and then says something that has your heart stopping in the best possible way. "but with the most respect i'm not going to stop trying to change your mind."

"he said what?!!" james asks you loudly. you sink further into the white couch cushions of his apartment, hands covering your face.

"that he's not going to stop trying to change my mind." your voice comes out muffled from behind your hands.

james leans forward and pulls your palms away from your face. "and you're telling me you didn't pull him into the back seat of your car and pounce on him after that? it's kind of the hottest thing i've ever heard."

you groan, "I don't know what to do now. or what to say, god, what the hell. I really like him, james. I have an actual crush on this man."

"then why didn't you just say fuck it and do something about it? and don't give me the paperwork excuse, y/n."

"because..." you sigh, your thoughts of doubt once again drowning you. "what if this is all just some sort of thing he does? like...what if i'm just a notch on his belt? something different or someone new that he can't help but try and get with." your pick the skin around your thumb, the sting serving as a distraction. "so I told him I wasn't ready because im scared to get fucked over. i'm trying to protect my peace."

your friend gives you a pitiful look, no doubt memories of your previous relationship and break up making an appearance in his mind.

you had dated you last boyfriend for 4 years and it was awful. sure, the beginning was great but as you two grew as a couple, it got more toxic and exhausting. he cheated on you with a friend and it was all just a shitty situation. hence your hesitation with simon and the thoughts of doubt you were experiencing.

"I get that," james hums, pulling your into a tight side hug, "and I love you so much and never want you to go through that again. just...feel simon out.

let him continue getting you all...blushy and weird as long as you're comfortable- which, judging by your confession earlier - you're very comfortable." you smack your friends arms and he laughs. james continues, "and if you're still feeling doubtful, then it's not meant to be."

Part One: (B)

february 8th was a busy day for you and the leafs social media team. it was the annual outdoor practice and family skate at nathan phillips square downtown - which was a huge day for content.

the TTC was always packed, but even more so with the presence of the toronto maple leafs on board. most of the team wasn't able to find sitting room on the subway, so they were all spread out through the packed cart, shoved between fans and other passengers.

you tug on your lanyard as a nervous habit, eyes dancing through bodies. you find james on the other side of the subway cart. he's holding up one of the teams phones, live streaming for the instagram account. today you opted for purely tiktok content, which would really start once you got to the rink and off the hectic subway.

the TTC comes to a screeching stop at one of the many stops along the way to your destination, and the movement jolts you backwards. "sorry!" you say.

a large hand touches your leather clad hip delicately, steadying your sway. "looks like you're the one trying to knock me on my ass this time." the thick french accent gives simon away immediately.

you turn around so you're facing him. "you're lucky you made yourself known, I was ready to sock a stranger in the face for touching me."

he laughs loudly - too loudly for a public setting and it has you looking around nervously. "i'm kind of upset you only just realized I was standing behind you. I must not have a distinctive presence."

he does have a distinctive presence, you think. you could smell his cologne as soon as the cart started moving, but you were too nervous to turn and look to find out if was him. instead of telling him he smells good and making a fool of yourself, you hum, "I can't take you seriously with that mask on your face."

you see his lips curl into a smirk through the home-made cut out on his black face warmer. "you don't like it?"

"it's awful," your smile betrays your words and that has simon's grin widening. "I can't see your face, only your mouth, it's kind of creepy."

"is that why you keep staring at my lips?" he teases quietly.

you splutter, "well, they are the only thing I can see."

suddenly, simon grabs you waist, tugging you closer and spinning you around so your back is now facing the row of seats that were previously to your right. "what are you doing?" you panick, eyes dancing around to make sure nobody is watching.

"relax," he muses, "you were in the way."

your brows burrow, "In the way...oh," you stop once a little old lady shuffles past, leaning on her walker as she moves through were you once were standing. "I'm surprised you could see her with those crazy tinted glasses."

"wow! you are on fire today," simon muses, releasing your waist. "I like it."

you flush deep, "good." simon's brows raise at your words, and you wish you could see his eyes. at the same time, you think, you were only so bold because you couldn't watch him stare at you.

Instead you focus on his mouth, the smooth pink lips and his moustache peeking out from the mask.

"you're staring again," he whispers. "is it my moustache that you like?" you flush and he smirks, "wanna ride it?"

your face falls and you become impossibly redder. he brightens at your reaction and laughs with amusement. "si!" you screech out. "you flirt in the most awkward situations."

"you know you love it," simon remarked, "you should call me si all the time, I like it."

"does anybody even call you that?"

"no," he hums, "just you."

his arm is caging you in, his veiny hand griping the bar above your head to steady himself. the cart halts again, making you bump into william nylander behind you and it had you snapping out of the trance.

"sorry willy," you mumble.

then willy mentions a certain clip you wanted to get of him walking off the train and you break away from the quebec native to plan with william and directing him like normal.

the short walk form the TTC station to nathan phillips square wasn't long. you got lots of fun videos of the boys during the trek and when you weren't recording, morgan rielly was talking your ear off about his girlfriend and dog who you always asked about.

the fans were always amazing, and you were never less than shocked at how many showed up to the outdoor practice. the practice wasn't anything crazy, but after that, peoples families started to arrive for the scrimmage and family skate. you even got to (very carefully) shuffle out on the ice and get content of willy and his doggies.

you're back on the bench when simon comes up to you, still wearing his glasses and mask, but his smirk is prominent. "hey y/n."

you analyze his face and the way he dragged out your name. you pocket the phone and cross your arms gently, "what do you want?"

simon slaps a hand to his chest, scoffing, "what makes you think I want something?" you raise a brow in his direction and he breaks with a groan. "fine. can you put on my marks for me?"

you're confused at first, but then simon shows you the black stick clutched in the hand he slapped his chest pad with and it all makes sense. "why? you're wearing all that stuff on your face and nobody will be able to see the stripes."

he shrugs and leans in close, "maybe I just want you to touch me."

"shhh," your ears burn red, and thankfully it can be mistaken for just being cold, "just...sit down and shut up."

you gesture to the bench behind you and simon walks around you, his grin still present, "okay bossy."

you send him a look and take the chalk from his outstretched hand. "alright, glasses off."

"mitchy, do you hear how bossy she is?" simon muses. mitch marner is a few feet away from you both, tying his skates up. he snickers as you squeak.

"y/n's always been bossy." mitch teases.

"hey!"

"really?" simon looks up at you, his deep blue eyes now visible as his previously worn sunglasses sit his his lap. "I thought I was special."

your eyes widen in his direction. "you're...ridiculous. now stay still."

"yes ma'am"

with nimble fingers you tug his face covering down ever so slightly, allowing just enough of his cheeks out for you to draw. you're too concentrated on making clean marks that you don't notice simon's gentle gaze on your face.

"you have pretty eyes." he whispers once you finish the left side.

"oh." you pause, "i- thank you." you turn his face slightly with your hand, letting it linger on his jaw before you start drawing again.

mitch is still occupied, now just with john tavares and his kids instead of his skates. with that in mind, simon inches his hand over his thigh. once close enough, his index finger reaches out and gently strokes the outside of your leg. "welcome." he mumbles.

you tense from where you stand between his spread legs. his gentle touch has you feeling jittery in the best possible way. when he pulls away you try not to frown.

"all done," you mutter, pulling up the mask to its original spot. the black marks almost blend into the edge of the material and it has you biting back a giggle.

"thanks," he replied, standing to his full height, "how can I repay you?"

at first you just laugh off his flirty remark, but then you think of an opportunity for content do you look up at him all big and doe eyes. simon swallows harshly as he looks at you, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. "can you do me favour?"

"anything," he gulps immediately.

"I need you to do like a minute long live on the tiktok account," you stated. he looks a bit hesitant at first so you sigh, "please?" you notice a black smudge on his jersey from where he slapped it earlier, and you reach out and start rubbing the mark away. you don't know if it was your touch on him or you plea but he agrees.

Part Two:

"is it just us here today?" are the first words that come out of simon's mouth when he enters the blue room.

the sudden voice makes you jump, head spinning around like a swivel, but you relax when you see it's just him. simon is in his usual get up of a leaf branded sweatshirt, shorts and his compression socks.

"james is on his way." you answer, fiddling with the lighting off to the side of the room, trying to get the proper tone for the camera. "aren't you cold?"

he hums, "eh, i'll be okay."

you smile, "okay," you hum in a sing song tone. you finish with the lights and move to the gray couch in the center of the room. fluffing the rogers branded pillows, you can feel simon watching you. you straighten up and spin around to find him, in fact, admiring you.

"stop staring at me to distract me," you laugh through an exhale, moving back towards the camera.

"oh, I'm not staring at you to distract you." simon mumbles. just as he goes to take a step closer to you, james opens the door, balancing his open laptop on one arm and his coffee on the other.

simon moves away from you to seem less suspicious (even though james knows about every conversation you and him have shared ((unbeknownst to simon of course)).

you brush past to help james with his things, your knitted sweater brushing against simon's chest on the way.

james takes charge with the video, which you're glad about. you're not sure if you could control your crush enough to keep composed for a video your boss has to approve before james edits. although you don't ask any questions, simon always makes sure to look at you when answering. he even winks in your direction after he nails the milk game, which is just...too much.

the video wraps up after he does (not well) the 10 seconds challenge. james leaves the room after he claims he needs to run up to his office before the next player gets there, but you know he's just being sneaky and trying to give you both a second alone.

you grab your bag off the floor below one of the tables in the room. "si," you start, "i've, um, got something for you."

simon finishes folding up the blanket he'd pulled out from behind the couch. he smirks at your words and raises his brows. "yeah?"

you nod. it's too late to back down now, you think. you grab ahold of the maple leafs branded tin and wave it in his direction.

"what's this?" he questions. long fingers pull the lid off to reveal 6 chocolate chip cookies. the smell wafts through the air and he moans. "Did you make these?"

you flush at the sound of his groan. ever since you were little you've loved baking. it's your love language. your grandma has taught you one of her easiest cookie recipes and ever since you'd made them at any given opportunity. when james mentioned for simon's blue room video he was going to create some sort of milk related challenge - you didn't think twice about tossing a batch of cookies in the oven. "yeah, I thought because of the milk..." you stop as you watch him take a big bite. his face changes and you wince. "are they not good? I'm sorry."

simon shakes his head and swallows his mouthful, "no, no. they're good, fuck, they're great!"

"really?" you blush, "it's a simple recipe really, thought it be nice to go with the milk and-"

"I thought I was trying to win you over here, not the other way around." he takes another cookie and shoves the whole thing in his mouth.

you forget about his comment when the cookie starts falling out of his lips and you laugh, trying to catch the crumbs with your hands. "si!" you laugh gently when a chocolate chip falls to the carpet.

he flushes fondly at the use of the nickname, chewing slowly. "you gunna have one? or are you going to make me eat all alone?"

you roll your eyes and reach into the tin. you pause with the cookie by your lips, eyes meeting simon's once again. he nods and gestures to the cookie. so, you take a bite and fight the urge to groan.

as simon looks down to brush cookies off his chest, you take a moment to really admire him. you really think everything about him is perfect. his skin, his hair, his lips and even the damn cookie crumb on the corner of his mouth. suddenly, he catches you and you look away immediately.

you don't notice the way he smiles brightly at that.

the door is pushed open and you jump away from simon, your once close proximity now feet apart. william nylander is oblivious to the tension and smiles, "where'd you get the cookies from?" the swede tries to reach in the tin and grab one but simon smacks his hand.

"hey! get your own, these are my cookies."

willy laughs, "what! where'd you get them?"

"from someone special," simon sends you a quick wink while william is busy looking around the room.

Part Three (A):

filming the team playing keep up before warm-ups had always been your favourite content to get. it's the only part of a game day that wasn't super tense, and the players would crack jokes with you and each other all while having fun.

plus, it doesn't hurt when they loose the ball and simon gets lifted up or climbs to retrieve the ball and his shorts get all tight showing off his butt and thighs.

this away game was no different, and a small group of players gathered by one of the staircases and were kicking around the ball.

you'd been distracted by a member of the coaching staff sneaking behind you so you weren't looking and the ball had been kicked by simon. it had hit the wall infront of him, the force of his movement propelled the ball off the wall and right towards you.

thankfully, you didn't drop the team's phone when the soccer ball hit you in the face. you did wince though, your free hand coming up to clutch your nose. you can hear a few players concerning voices over the drumming in your ears.

you're too focused on not crying infront of the maple leaf team when simon jogs up the small flight of stairs to reach you. he grabs ahold of your face, tilting your head back.

"i'm so sorry," he rushes, "are you hurting bad?"

"i'll be fine," you insist. you take your hand away from your nose and thankfully it doesn't feel broken. "am I bleeding?" you question him. you flare your nostrils at him the best you can with the dull pain.

simon's ocean eyes dance over your entire face, checking for any injuries. "no," he mumbles, "not bleeding." he knaws on his lip and his thumb strokes against your cheek, "I didn't think the ball would come back and hit you, i swear. i'm so sorry."

"anything to get my attention, huh si?" you tease him. finally his eyes leave your beat red nose and find your eyes. a smile overtakes his lips and he breaths loudly.

"anything." he insists.

"is she okay?" tyler bertuzzi says behind you both.

"y/n?" somebody who sounds like mitch marner ask's in concern.

"i'm okay!" you call out. nobody can see you past their defenceman's broad back. which is good, because they'd probably ask questions about the way he was holding you and looking at you...and the way you looked back. "you should probably let go of me," you whisper.

simon notices how there's no tone of willingness in what you tell him, but he nods regardless. he releases your face and turns back to his teammates. "she's all good."

Part Three (B):

you're already set up on the ice with james when the players start making their way onto the rink. james has taken on getting the more aesthetically pleasing content for the blueprint series on the youtube channel, where as you get to do what you do best and make the players do stupid things for the fans (and your own) enjoyment.

"here comes lover boy," james whispers out of the side of his mouth. he's looking through the lense of the camera when he says it, so even though you know who he's referring to, you follow his eye sight.

simon looks so good. he looks like he's just got a fresh hair cut and recently trimmed his facial hair. he's laughing at something jake mccabe said as he steps into the ice. his tattoos are peeking out his jersey sleeve and he's not wearing his guard so you can see all the muscles in his neck.

he doesn't see you, him and his defensive partner too busy skating over to the benches set up for the team photo. you're upset momentarily, but then matthew knies skates over so you can mic him up and you get distracted.

the last of the team finally makes it onto the ice a few minutes later, and the staff starts to make their way down.

simon hears your laugh before he even sees you. he spins on his skates and searches through the small crowd of his teammates and staff until he can locate you. the first thing he notices is how you're wearing your hair slicked back into a ponytail. he likes that style the most out of anything he's seen you do because he can really see your face this way. you've got on a nice pair of jeans on and a cropped blazer that sits right against the waist band of your pants. gold jewelry shimmering under the lights and you're probably wearing your usual scent and -

"dude, what are you staring at? it's been five minutes" bobby mcmann breaks simon out of his trance.

he spins to his left and shrugs, "um, what?" simon hopes he doesn't look too flustered - no doubt flushing from the embarrassment of being caught.

just as bobby goes to speak again, you interrupt. "hey guys," you call, shuffling over in your sneakers until you're close enough, "I need to get some .5 pictures. si, can you help me out?"

"of course," he mutters. simon reaches to grab onto the phone, and his fingers brush against yours at the exchange. at the touch, he frowns slightly, "your hands are freezing," he states, "I'm not that cold, I can give you my gloves if you want."

"i won't be able to hold the phone, si."

"well, technically i'm the one holding the phone." he teases.

you laugh once, "ill pass on the sweaty stinky gloves."

simon scoffs and sends bobby a wide look, the ladder laughing at your banter. "they're not stinky or sweaty!"

"just...come here," you hiss and he makes his way over. you start instruct him how to take the photo of bobby in a way to get the most humorous angle. then you repeat the process with bobby when he reaches up to take simon's photo. then when bobby hands the phone back - to simon - the french man makes sure to take a photo of you with the lense and you immediately push his arm.

laughing, bobby skates away and leaves you and simon by yourselves. once he notices nobody within the general vicinity, simon takes no time leaning in close to you with that smirk you know all too well. "you look so beautiful today."

at first, you're too distracted by how good he smells, but once his words register you can't help but smile. with a playful roll of your eyes, you tug the wrist of his jersey, "c'mon flirty pants, we got pictures to take."

he starts to skate away slowly. it's rather pathetic the way you're shuffling along the ice after him, and the sight has simon chuckling breathy. he spins back to you and offers his arm. "c'mon slow poke, we have pictures to take." he mimics your earlier words teasingly.

"ha ha," you huff sarcastically, reaching out until you can wrap your small hands around his large bicep. once you're holding tight, simon starts guiding you both along."there's knies," you state, nodding towards the winger. matthew knies perks up when you call his name, slowly making his way over to you both.

while he's still out of earshot, you send a firm squeeze to simon's bicep to grab his attention. without looking, you mutter "don't say anything that will get us in trouble, matthew is mic'ed up."

with a quick nod, simon looks down at you, "i'd never."

the small time spent before the group photos is the most fun either you or simon have had in a long time. simon doesn't leave your side until it's time for the picture to be taken. he's upset when he's ushered away to the benches and he's even more upset that you're sitting nowhere near him for the photo.

after the pictures, it's a mess of bodies leaving the ice, and simon doesn't catch you before you leave the rink. he watches the back of your head as you leave the rink and move back towards the hallways. he immediately follows to try and get to you.

instead of taking the tunnel down to the locker room, simon turns the opposite direction. his skates hit the concrete flooring and in that moment he doesn't care that he will have to sharpen them extra before next game - too busy calling out for you.

at the sound of your name, you stop your conversation with james and turn around to watch simon hobble his way over to you, the anti-skate flooring, limiting his strides. your brows furrow and you stop moving. "hey...everything okay?"

simon is glad james didn't stop to wait with you and that nobody else is in earshot. he comes to a towering stop before you and exhales, "I want to take you on a date."

"what?" you whisper.

he smiles slightly, "y/n, i'm tired of only seeing you at our job and I want to, fuck, I don't know, go out with you."

you take a deep breath and look around to make sure body has come close. "si, i'm not sure..."

"just," he sighs, "one date. just one and if after that you're still unsure then...we can stop."

you knaw on your lip and briefly weigh your pros and cons. on one hand, all your earlier worries could still be the case. a slot in his schedule he's just looking to fill -or a task to conquer, possibly only fun to have. on the other hand...it might not be any of that.

"okay," you smile, "one date."

Part Four (A):

you get a text from simon the night of the team picture day: just hours after he asked you out and enchanted numbers.

what are you doing tomorrow night?

you resist the urge to scream into a pillow and kick your feet with excitement.

y/n

tomorrow, like you, i'll be at the arena doing my job

babe 😐

AFTER that

y/n

nothing

wait for me after the game and we're going out

so sure, maybe you dressed a tad nicer than you usually would for work. the march air was still chilly in toronto, but that stop you from slipping on your favourite black pencil skirt. you paired it with some nice booties and high necked black top with your trusty oversized denim jacket.

you regret the choice of not wearing tights as you wait by simon's car in the parking garage. the chill tickling up your legs and making you shutter. it isn't long before he comes out the elevator, hair slightly damp. you're surprised he showered that quickly and got dressed again. he's wearing the striped burgundy suit that you love on him and you feel yourself smile at him.

"hey," he greets happily once he approaches, "weren't waiting long, were you?"

you shake your head, "not long at all." he throws his things in his backseat and then stands infront of you. slowly, he looks you up and down once and licks his bottom lip. you gulp gently, "am I dressed okay? I didn't know where we were going so I thought-"

"you look amazing." simon interrupts. he reaches past you and opens the passenger door. "ready to go?"

you blink, "yeah."

once simon starts driving, the nerves you thought would come along with the date never started. in fact, you feel more comfortable than you ever have with a man. there's a taylor swift song playing quietly through the speakers, and if that wasn't a sign you were in the right spot - you weren't sure what else could be.

simon flicks his signal on, his blinker flashing on the dark pavement. he looks over at you just as you do him, and he smirks. "are you not going to ask where we are going?"

you let your head fall against the head rest and you shrug your shoulders softly. "maybe I like surprises."

he exhales a laugh, "alright." he makes a right turn and says, "we are almost there."

you look out your window just as you pass trinity bellwood park. you fight the urge to smile and look back over to simon. he's smiling while he looks out to the road ahead, no doubt remembering the same conversation shared between you as you did too.

moments later he pulls up to a small cafe. the sign in the window says there open until 11, and it's just past 10 as he parks. "I deal coffee & wine," you state, "are we getting coffee or wine?"

simon unbuckles his seat belt, "whatever you want."

as soon as simon pulls open the glass door of the cafe, you're hit with the bitter scent of coffee and grape wine. the warmth of the eatery enveloped your skin and you sigh happily. "smells so good."

simon laughs in agreement. "wanna look at the menu?" he whispers into your ear.

you flush and nod. he places a hand on the small of your back and pushes you closer to the counter. a young woman behind the long counter top greets you both and waits at the till for you.

"what do you recommend?" you ask quietly, slightly leaning back into simon's chest as you look up at him.

his thumb moves against your back. "you like sweet things, so probably the hot chocolate or chai tea. they're nice and sweet."

you don't question how he knows your taste, because you aren't suprised. instead you smile, "mhmm i could definitely go for a hot chocolate."

you move towards the cash and order the drink. simon adds his own drink: an americano coffee. you see one more butter croissant in the display case and your eyes light up. "ou, can we also have that croissant?"

the woman laughs gently at your enthusiasm and adds it to your order. simon pays wordlessly and moves you both over to the side as they make your fresh drinks. you groan as the barista adds a pile of whipped cream on your drink and simon smiles down at you.

a moment later you two are making your way to the back of the eatery. you notice there's only one another person sitting in, but that makes sense for the time.

"thanks for this," you smile once he takes a seat across from you, holding up your steaming white mug.

"of course," he smiles, immediately taking a sip of his coffee. "thank you for coming out with me, I know it's late."

"trust me," you hum, "I understand the late schedule and busy day. we work together, remember?"

you tease gently. simon is tonguing his cheek, leaning forward on his elbows to get closer. "okay cheeky."

you laugh behind your hand, eyes twinkling as you look over at him.

"I never would've thought when we first met you would've been this quippy."

you shrug, "i'm full of suprises."

simon laughs gently, "yes, i've realized that," you laugh quietly at his statement. "it's one of my favourite things about you."

"oh really?" you raise a brow at him, reaching into the branded paper bag to pull out the flakey pastry. you rip it in half and set the second half back on top of the bag. "what else is there?"

"mhmm," simon rest's his head in his palm, "obviously when you're bossy."

"obviously," you tease, taking a bite of your croissant.

"also when you blush - but that's another obvious one." your raise one brow at him with a small smile. his face falls ever so slightly, "my absolute favourite thing about you though is how dedicated you are. how even when i'm annoying and distracting you, you're always focusing on yourself and your job. you're also really sweet and beautiful and nice..."

your face changes into a soft delicate expression and simon clears his throat, "or maybe the cookies, i'm not sure yet."

you scrunch your nose and nudge his knee under the table. "you're ridiculous." he grabs your ankle before you can pull your leg away, his palm warm as it encloses on your skin, holding you to him.

softly, he strokes along the back of your calf with his thumb and you swallow your food gently.

"you love it through," simon teases.

you hum, "to be decided."

he laughs loudly and the one barista looks over to your table. you send her an apologetic smile but she just smirks like she understands.

"are you going to eat your part of the croissant?" you ask him, brows raised as you push the paper closer to him.

"that's for me?" he smiles.

"yeahhhh," you smile, "i'm a giver, si. I also wasn't going to make you pay for food you don't get to at least try."

his long fingers grab the pastry and bring it up to his mouth. "well, i'm a taker." he takes a big bite and moans at the buttery flavour. you shush him through a laugh.

"we're in public, don't moan!"

"why?" he teases after swallowing, "it turning you on?"

"stop!" you laugh. he joins in your laughter, finishing off the croissant with only one more bite. he dusts his hands off by sliding them together and you try not to frown when he lets go of your ankle. you bring your foot back to your own side of the table and simon frowns. instead of saying something, his dress shoes slide over to you and he locks his own ankles around your one leg.

"can I ask you something serious?" he questions.

you flip your straight hair over your shoulder and nod, "course."

"what's the real reason you didn't want me flirting with you. when we first talked about this back in january, you seemed so scared of my affection."

you clear your throat and look down into your mug.

"you don't have to answer if you really don't want to," simon hums, "I just want to make sure i wasn't making you uncomfortable."

"you never have," you say immediately, eyes meeting his again. he's looking at you so gently you sigh, "it's just...I didn't know how to act around you. until about 10 months ago, I was in a relationship and...obviously lost my touch at flirting and that feeling of being around somebody new as a single person."

"I understand," he nods, "how long were you together?"

you laugh bitterly, "almost four years," you look down at your half empty mug again, "but it wasn't healthy. he wasn't very nice and we were always arguing. he cheated on me with our friend."

"fuck," he curses, "i'm sorry to hear that."

you just shrug, "even with all that, I really thought we were soulmates or something, I don't know, it sounds silly."

"no it doesn't," simon hums, "you probably learned a lot from that relationship, and that's what's important."

"you're right." you take another sip of your now luke warm drink.

after a moment he says, "if it's any consolation, your flirting worked on me. I was smitten as soon as you opened your mouth."

you blush, "is that right?"

"oh yeah."

he catches sight of the clock behind you and hisses, "they're gunna close soon, we should probably head home."

you try not to sound disappointed as you agree. he leads you out the restaurant and into his car soon after, and the conversation doesn't stop the entire ride back to the scotiabank arena parking garage. simon scans his badge as you approach the gates, driving slowly until he reaches you car.

"here's me," you hum.

"here's you," he muses. the car keeps running as he gets out of his vehicle and rounds to your side of the car. he pulls open the door and you climb out with a smile.

"well," you say, "thank you again for tonight, si, seriously i had a really good time."

"yeah?" he mutters gently. "what was your favourite part?"

you lick your lips as you catch a whiff of his cologne, "I can't say..."

simon laughs gently, "what? c'mon."

shrugging up at him, you try and contain your smile. "not telling."

simon breaths that laugh once again, blue eyes not once starting from yours. "you're killing me here, jolie fille."

the native tongue has you feeling tingly. it sounds so beautiful coming from his lips and you gently sway towards him. "what's that mean?"

he bites his bottom lip ever so slightly, "pretty girl."

immediately, you feel hot from his compliment. you giggle gently, hands flying up to cover your face and press against your burning red cheeks.

"nuh uh," simon teases, "no hiding," he continues as he grabs onto your wrists delicately, prying your hands away to uncover your face. "I wanna see you."

your lips go tight, and you stare up at him. he's now standing chest to chest with you, staring down at you with a soft smile. he lets go of your wrists and slowly, he brings one of his hands back up to your face. gently, he runs a finger over your cheekbone, no doubt a trial of pink following his touch.

you watch his face in anticipation. just as he reaches your hairline, his entire hand moves and caresses the side of your face as he holds you in his palm. the sounds of traffic outside seem to no longer exist, you can't hear anything besides the thumping of your heart and the soft breathing from simon.

you watch as his eyes wander down from your eyes, to then your cheeks and then finally your lips. simon swallows harshly and licks onto his bottom lip. his other hand finds the other side of your face, and he is holding onto you gently.

your heart is racing as you stare up at him. you feel so small in his hold and nothing short of beautiful. his palms are warm against your face, and you wonder is his heart is racing just like yours is.

he finally meets your gaze again, and you notice how wide his pulls are blown. the small rim of blue that surrounds them are an even darker shade than normal, the colour resembling the deepest part of the ocean - and you wanted to dive right in.

simon wets his lips again, thumbs gently stroking the patch of skin right before your ears. standing in the middle of the parking garage is never a place you thought your body would feel tingly and pulse with nerves and excitement- but here you were.

"what?" you asks you gently, breaking the tension between you.

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you," simon mumbles in a low tone.

you could feel yourself go weak, and your tongue slips out between your lips to wet your mouth slowly. "and what are you going to do about it?"

there's a ghost of a smile on his lips right before simon leans down into your space. his nose nudges against yours twice and you take a deep breath. slowly, your hand finds his abdomen and slips under his suit jacket - keeping yourself grounded with the touch.

then finally, he leans in the last centimetre and connects your mouths together. his lips expertly move against your own and when his tongue prods for entrance, you let him in. you can taste the lingering americano coffee in his mouth and you whine against him.

simon's brows pull together at the sounds, one of his hands sliding into your hair and pulling you even tighter against his body.

your free hand finds his face, and you press your palm softly against his skin as you hold him to you.

when you separate, you're both breathless, chests heaving as you stand together and clam down. then, simon smiles brightly, thumb coming down to rub against your swollen lips. the action has you grinning.

"your cars still running," you whisper through your smile.

he laughs shakily and that tickles against your skin. "I know," simon mumbles. he reluctantly pulls his forehead away from where it rested against yours, straightening his back to his full height. your hand falls from his face and rests against his chest.

once he can finally look at your entire face again - all rose tinted lips, flushed cheeks, glimmering eyes and messy hair from where he was holding, he smirks. "i've got to be here early tomorrow...you work tomorrow?"

you nod just as you pull your hand away from his chest, "I do."

"good," simon whispers. he leans in once more and places another heavy kiss against your lips. when he pulls away and you've become even more flustered, he slowly releases your face."i'll see you tomorrow then."

"yeah," your teeth push into your wet swollen bottom lip in a way to contain the embarrassingly large grin you're about to get, "see you tomorrow."

Part Four (B):

the jet was quiet. although, that was expected with a late night flight after a time zone change. this short road trip was especially hard, considering it was three hours behind toronto time and the games had been rough ones.

most of the team was sleeping, or keeping to themselves quietly. just the occasional person engaging in conversation with their seat mate, or somebody getting up to use the bathroom.

beside you, james was sleeping. his head tilted down, and mouth slightly open. his active facial expressions were keeping you rather entertained- it was much more amusing that watching dylan, your boss, across from you edit on his computer.

on your leg, your personal phone vibrates, indicating a text message. the bright light is momentarily blinding, and you squint harshly until you can swipe your brigtness all the way down.

your eyes read the message quickly, and the words have you shifting in your seat. thankfully, dylan is still engrossed in his work so he doesn't see the way you've flushed red.

you peek down the isle of the jet as best you can without drawing too much attention. you catch simon's eyes almost instantly, clearly he was doing the same thing.

he smirks all hot and syrupy at you. he waves his phone in your direction once and then starts to type. a moment later, your phone buzzes again and you're met with his previous message as well as his new one.

i'm thinking about your lips right now

you look so pretty

you smile at your screen.

y/n

such a flirt. you're being obvious, you know?

you watch him shrug to himself, eyes still on his phone.

you're the one who was leaning out of your seat like a mad woman to try and get a glance at me

you roll your eyes playfully.

y/n

and I found you already looking at me

touché

you find each others eyes again. to keep his smile contained, he bites onto his bottom lip, unashamedly admiring you from across the plane.

you send him a gentle smirk, resting your head against your palm as you stare back. although you don't want to get called out from staring at simon, the rush of it all has it feeling extra dangerous. you mind flashes back to your first kiss with simon only a few days ago, and your body flushes again. although you've shared many kisses since then - it didn't stop you or him from wanting to do it over and over again.

as if he can read your mind, your phone vibrates again.

can we sneak off to the bathroom and make out?

you bite your lip.

y/n

definitely not. but when we get home...

Part Four (C):

simon's hands are warm against your exposed legs. his finger tips dip underneath the edge of your pyjama shorts as you straddle his thighs.

his lips pull away from your kiss, wet as they trial down your neck. he sucks onto your sweet spot and nibbles the skin there. the sensation has you whimpering, grinding down onto his jean covered crotch.

after your date a few days back, you went home and screamed happily into your pillow. never in your 23 years of life have you been kissed and held so perfectly. simon knew exactly how to kiss you in a way that was everything you craved and more. the following morning when you saw him, it took everything in your willpower to not pull him into a storage closet and do it all again.

so after a few excruciating hours of working, simon had the evening off as a healthy scratch. which would usually bum him out, but as you say on top of him half naked, he couldn't care less.

underneath your shorts, he grabs your ass, pulling you over his hardening dick in a way that has you both breathless.

"fuck," you whimper, "I need you so bad."

he smirks slightly. his eyes dart down to his crotch, small streak of arousal left from your grinding. "yeah, I can tell."

you're not even embarrassed about it, and if anything, it turns you on more.

"I need you too," simon mumbles, lips touching yours as he speaks before pulling you in for another hot kiss. the hand that was once squeezing your bottom slips back down until he rounds it to the front of your body.

delicately, his hand slips past your shorts to find your lacey underwear. expertly, his fingers manoeuvre the material out of the way, leaving you exposed under your shorts.

you moan in unison and you pull away from the kiss. simon slides two fingers through your wetness, the sticky arousal coating his fingers. "fuck, you're so wet."

the words have you moaning quietly. then, using the same two fingers now coated with your slick, he prods them into your dripping hole. your quiet moans turns into one of pornographic level, walls clenching down on his long digits.

"si, I need you in me so bad."

"fuck, yeah," he agrees in a mumble. his fingers don't stop their skillful pace, and if he keeps going you'll surely cum. "wanna take you to the bed though, bébé."

"mhmm okay." unfortunately, simon's fingers slip out of your cunt. "let's go before I combust."

he chuckles gently at your exaggeration but doesn't hesitate in picking you up. your legs wrap around his strong torso and you can feel his dick hit your ass cheek.

you bite your lip at the feeling of him poking into you. thankfully you're in a studio apartment and you two skip the awkward stumble down a hallway to a bedrooom. within 10 steps, simon is dropping you down on your mattress.

you reach forward and unbuckle his belt looped through his jeans. you're still flat on your back as you work, and simon leans over to kiss your lips messily. the hand he isn't using to hold himself up, comes down to the waistband of your sleep shorts and effortlessly pulls them down.

he pulls away from the kiss in favour of sitting back on his knees. smirking, he begins to pull down your shorts and panties. once you're naked from the waist down, simon grabs your hips, pulling you until your wet core is flush against his clothed crotch. you both grunt at the friction.

"get naked si, before I start touching myself."

he smirks, "bossy."

you don't have time to bite back because he pulls off his shirt, revealing his toned stomach and arms, skin littered with tattoos that have you drooling.

"fuck," you moan. as you take off your shirt, simon discards his jeans and boxers, leaving him completely naked before you. your nipples tighten at the sight of his hard and heavy dick - his tip an angry red with a smear of precum on the slit. he pumps it a few times.

simon feels like he could cum already at the sight of your hazy eyes and flush face. "you ready?" he questions gently, slowly crawling back over your body.

"shit, yes," you moan. "please, si."

with your go ahead, he begins by nudging the tip of his dick against your puffy throbbing clit. the sensation is heavenly and your head pushes further into your bedding, a mewl leaving your mouth.

then he guides his member to your dripping entrance. the feeling of your warm hole and sticky juices on his tip have him shuddering and he doesn't waste anymore time - fully sliding into you.

"fuck," you moan loudly at the full feeling.

simon hisses at the sensation of your walls hugging him so sweetly. he curses and grabs your leg with one of his hands, manoeuvring it up and over his shoulder. the new angle allows him to push his dick even deeper into your pusssy.

you mewl even louder at the feeling. your positive reaction has simon smirking and he finally starts thrusting into you. slowly at first, pulling the entire way out before pushing back in. but then he starts pushing into you harder, not fully leaving before he pounds back into you.

"you feel so good," he mutters through his grunts, his large hand squeezing your hip. "fuck, can you feel that? your walls pulling me back in everytime baby? it's like you're made for me."

you moan loudly at his words, the sound of his dick sliding in and out of you is so gushy and hot that it's overwhelming - the coil in your belly already tightening. using the hand that wasn't griping his bicep, you bring him down to meet for a kiss. it's all teeth and panting but it's just what you needed. "i'm gunna cum," you mumble on his mouth.

"yeah," he encourages, "c'mon." simon bring his thumb down to your clit and with two full circles on the bundle of nerves, you're cumming with a shout, walls clamping down on his thick cock as he continues his pumping.

it's just a few thrust later, simon's hips and thrusting come to a halt buried deep inside you. he moans into your neck - hot ropes of cum coating your insides as he finishes.

"fuck," he moans, looking down to where your bodies connect. it's a mess between you, all glistening skin and wet hair flat to skin. he thinks he's never seen anything sexier.

you smirk as he lifts his head and meets your eyes. finding your lips, he brings you in for a chaste kiss.

"i'm gunna have to shower," you whisper against his lips. "wanna join me?"

simon smirks breathlessly, "lead the way."

after another round in the shower, simon can't help but admire you. you both have wet hair, and your skin is all dewey from the water and your eyelashes look extra long. you're so beautiful.

there was a time where simon wondered if you would ever properly relax in his presence. like, truly be relaxed.

sure, he loved watching you flush from his nicknames and flirty remarks. he didn't mind the way you stuttered sometimes when he said things, or the way you nervously advert his gaze. simon loved it all. he knows it means you're making progress and you like him - which is all he wants.

currently, simon can only think about that as you both brush your teeth in the mirror - making eye contact every couple seconds and grinning like you've been together for your whole lives.

you're both only half dressed, you without pants and simon without his shirt. you've opted for stealing his shirt though, which simon thinks is even sexier than you naked.

in this moment, after the sex and the kissing - this moment, simon knows that you're truly comfortable with him. looking at you as you lean over and spit out your toothpaste, simon can't believe there was a time you weren't.

Part Five:

you're pretty sure you're skipping. which, yeah, in theory is embarrassing - but you can't help it. thoughts of the night before run freely through your head, phantom touches and kisses currently grazing your skin.

simon spent the night at your place, and he even drove you both to the leafs facility together. like usual, you had some editing to do up in your office, but this time before packing up, you had printed out all the proper paperwork for a workplace relationship. you were planning on bringing it up to simon when you both got back to his car, so you thought you'd just head down and wait for him at the locker room.

quietly, you near the open doors of the locker room - careful not to draw too much attention to your presence. thankfully the halls are empty, and it's not too loud. you slow in your steps right outside and you can hear a few voices inside the room. smiling, you hear simon's distinctive accent and laughter.

stopping fully, you hear a different voice. "-finally happened then?" they ask. you can't recognize the voice and don't catch the full scentence.

suddenly, simon laughs just once, "I don't kiss and tell."

"look at his face!" somebody different cheers, "you sly bastard. you did it...I knew you had an extra pep in your game today."

slowly, your expression changed to one of confusion to one of displeasure. you blink hard as tears begin to sting your eyes.

the original voice you heard cheers, "we've only been waiting since you brought her up in january-"

the frantic beating of your heart increases- they had to be talking about you. you and simon and what happened - not only last night but everything since january. your stomach plummets to the ground. all your original doubts about getting involved with simon start rushing back and now they don't sound so stupid.

you don't stick around any longer and turn on your heels. you don't have it in you yet to feel angry, all you can focus on is getting the hell out of the arena before you breakdown.

shakily, you pull out your personal phone and order an uber - exiting the arena.

simon pulls his sweatshirt over his head, momentarily hiding his flushed cheeks from his teammates.

jake mccabe sends him a knowing grin at the sight of his blush. jake cheers at the sight, in the midst of removing his elbow pads. "we've only been waiting since you brought her up in january. you're obsessed with her."

simon laughs gently, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly."obsessed is crazy." it's not crazy and he knows that. because simon has been obsessed with you since he's first seen you. at first, he thought he was being subtle with his longing glances and flirting - but then joseph woll picked up on it, then bobby and then jake and now it's not a secret.

bobby snickers and tosses his sweaty jersey into the team branded laundry bin sitting in the middle of the room, "fitting for somebody who's crazy in loveeeee." he sings.

"she's a nice girl benny," jake says to his defensive partner, "im glad things are progressing between the two of you. you just need to sit her down and really tell her how you feel. none of that 'just flirting' casual stuff from the beginning- because we both know that was never what you wanted - you don't want to give her mixed signals."

in the few months simon has been with the leafs, he's always admired jake on and off the ice. he was an amazing teammate, an outstanding defence man and always knew the right thing to say. this time was no exception and simon hummed in agreement, "you're right," he states, "she's probably waiting for me at my car right now...I should go and drive us back to one of our places and just...confess how much I like her...because i really fucking like her."

"you sappy piece of shit," bobby mutters with a grin, "go before she gets sick of waiting for you and walks home."

simon laughs gently, "if I bring up that 15 page document I want us to fill out she probably will walk home." he tosses his hat over his damp hair. "i'll see you guys later"

when simon doesn't see you waiting against or in his car, he frowns. then he panics, spinning around to look at his surroundings for any sight of you.

confused and worried, he quickly retrieves his phone out of his small duffle bag, immediately pulling up your contact.

simon

hey, I thought you were going to wait for me? did you get a ride home? everything okay?

it's five long minutes of watching the screen in search of your reply. he knaws on his lip anxiously as he looks and waits. then his phone dings, your nickname appearing.

y/n/n 🤍

didn't feel well.

simon

want me to come over with anything?

y/n/n 🤍

I need space for a little bit, simon.

his heart comes to what feels like a halting stop. something is definitely up. your last text message was staring at him tauntingly, and the urge to go comfort you was overwhelming him. at first, he types another message but reluctantly deletes it.

after all, if you're really not feeling well, you're probably trying to rest and the last thing he wants is to annoy you or disturb your sleep before your shift at the game.

but then james is the one recording all the pre-game content - you nowhere to be found.

the following morning, you don't reach out. when he catches sight of you during early morning drills, you don't look like you've been off sick. you also don't look at him. simon watches as you ignore him completely.

jake sends him a sympathetic look once he sees your face in comparison to simon's but simon can't even decipher what's happening. his heart breaks and he feels confused and defeated.

Epilogue:

7 days. an entire week since you left the arena and simon in a frenzy of tears and heartbreak. an entire week of ignoring the french man you've fallen for. paying no mind to him, or filming him for content, avoiding even his closest friends. you've ignored all of it.

after overhearing simon and a few teammates discussing you and your relationship in the locker room, you called james. in the back of an uber as you sobbed, james listened as you told him everything. how it sounded like you were nothing more than a lay: another girl who he set his sights on.

"look at his face"

"it definitely happened"

"talking about it since january"

his teammates chimes danced in echoed around your head, taunting you and your stupidity. you had finally opened yourself up to a man again since your previous relationship - finally let your guard down enough and finally feel completely free with simon and for what.

you weren't more to him than just a fucking notch on his belt. you're glad you didn't stick around to hear the rest of the conversation because you didn't even want to think about what else could've been said.

that night you had james cover your shift. you couldn't even fathom being in the same arena as simon after the wound was still so fresh. the next morning you avoided him completely - you didn't even crack when you felt his ocean eyes burning into your figure - you couldn't look: wouldn't look.

that first morning, you cried in your car after clocking out for the day. james had offered to handle the parts of your job that required up close content with the team, while you opted to stay up in the offices to edit.

the off chances you were around the team, it was never without james. you avoided one on one interaction with most of the players, and avoided even glancing towards simon.

the first two days, he tried to make his way towards you. but both times you left before he could reach you. he didn't deserve your time and you definitely didn't want to hear whatever pity excuse he would come up with.

on the 7th day of ignoring simon, your heart was still broken. you didn't work, so you sat on your apartment couch. your tv is on mute, some home renovation show is the only thing illuminating your dark living space.

the leafs game ended an hour before, but you didn't watch. you only knew because james asked if you wanted company - which you declined in favour of finishing up some editing for tomorrows uploads.

you're mid audio adjustment when there's two quiet knocks echoing through your apartment. you pause and wait for a moment. but then two more knocks follow and you sigh.

tossing your throw blanket off, you're already prepared to lend mrs. tomlinson, your elderly neighbour, some milk for her nightly tea. it was often her husband forget to pick up diary when he went grocery shopping, and she ended up on your doorstep everytime.

"milk again, mrs. tom-" you freeze with the door half open.

simon looks up from the floor at the sound of your voice. he is still in his suit, hair washed and damp as the scent of apple shampoo floods your senses.

the sight of him then has you panicking and you try to shut the door. you're not quick enough and he reaches out, palm flat against the door to stop it from completely closing. "y/n," he mumbles softly, "what is wrong?"

the sound of his voice is too much. all traces of anger, sadness, guilt, disappointment and love come flooding back in. "please leave," you whimper.

he looks heartbroken at your request, shoulders dropping in defeat as he stands in front of you. "did I do something wrong?" simon asks, "I mean- why are you avoiding me? I don't know what happened but it's killing me - you're killing me here."

"i'm killing you?" your voice is strained as you cry.

he exhales a hard breath and runs a hand through his hair frantically. the action leaves his strands messy. "i've been racking my brain for a week trying to figure out what I could've done wrong, and i've come up with nothing." he laughs once in something similar to disbelief, "I thought maybe at first you really were sick and trying to keep distance for my sake. but I quickly realized you were actively ignoring me."

you sigh, eyes shutting momentarily as you beg your emotions to hold on for a little big longer.

finally, you meet simon's eyes properly for the first time in 7 damn days. his are swimming with emotions and you try not to scoff - what could he possibly be emotional about - he should be guilty. he should be on his knees, begging for your forgiveness-

"please, y/n, just tell me what happened and let me fix it."

irritation bubbles into your chest and you subconsciously move closer to him. "I heard you," you state, "in the locker room last week." you're suprised that your voice doesn't waiver or change as you finally admit to him what you know.

instead of the guilty look you expect to take over his sharp features, simon looks at you with confusion. "okay...what did I say?"

you scoff. a tear falls from your eyes and you angrily wipe it away, "you seriously don't remember? 'I don't kiss and tell'," you mimick his words from a week ago. his face changes then, a look of something like embarrassment taking over. angrily, you continue "was I seriously nothing more to you than somebody new to get with?"

his brows pull together, "what-"

"I mean, fuck, simon," you interrupt him, "I opened up to you! I told you about my ex and my doubts about getting into a relationship. I risked my fucking job for you by breaking the rules ! I was ready for that absurdly long conversation with HR for this to work out! I really like you and you didn't even care about me for more than one night?"

simon jumps in quickly, stepping closer to you and past the threshold of your apartment and the hallway. "there has never been a time where you were just a casual thing. especially after you opened up to me, the last thing I would do is switch up on you and abandon what we have."

you shake your head, arms crossing against your chest defensively. "I heard you and your teammates talking about me!"

"then you didn't hear everything!" he interrupts, "in the locker room I was talking about how much I like you and how much progress we've made together! jake and bobby were bugging me about how crazy obsessed I am with you."

"oh? and, what? i'm just supposed to believe you?"

"yes," he replies, "yes! because why would I go through months and months of trying to get you agree to go on one date, if all I wanted was a one time hook up?"

his words have you pausing. sure, if you thought long and hard you probably could come up with a reason why he tried so hard to just fuck you...but then again, maybe you can't come up with a reason. maybe he was telling you the truth. you swallow gently, "I don't know."

"well I do know," he laughs gently, eyes downcast and runs a hand over his head. once he looks up again, your face is wearing a much softer expression than before and simon feels himself becoming slightly breathless. "it's because i'm falling in love with you, y/n."

at his words you body covers itself in goosebumps. your arms fall to your sides, limp and heavy. "you're what?" you mumble. all traces of negative emotions you once felt have disappeared. you can't tell if you want to cry or kiss him.

oblivious to your new emotions, simon continues. "god, it's never just been about flirting with you or just trying to make you blush - those were just the extras that I got the pleasure of having. i've had a crush on since the moment I first saw you back during the pre-season - when you were recording the walk out. when I found out you were the regular social admin for the team, I've never been so excited to be around somebody or spend time with someone. and spending time with you, y/n has been my absolute favourite thing.

I really like you, y/n. hell, like I said, i'm falling in love. and if you're not ready for this right now, then i can wait–"

his words are muffled as you push up onto your tippy toes and press your lips against his. it takes a moment for it to register that you're kissing him, but then he sighs gently against your mouth.

you hold his face in your small hands, tenderly caressing your lips together. simon wraps one of his forearms around you waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body as his other hand moves to caress the side of your head.

slowly, you pull away breathlessly, "you saw me? at that pre-season game?"

simon nods just as delicately as your breathing, "you were impossible not to notice, y/n." he gives you another kiss, this one quicker than the last. "i'm sorry that I made you believe anything different than my true feelings, I never wanted to hurt you."

you shake your head gently, "i'm sorry for ignoring you. I should've just asked you about what I heard, instead of assuming the worst possible scenario. I feel so silly," you admit, "it's just after everything that happened with my last relationship, god, I had so many doubts about you and your intentions so that one little thing pushed me over the edge."

"don't feel silly," he hums, leaning down for another kiss. simon pulls away slowly and you slightly chase his lips."if I told you about my actual feelings before today, none of this would've happened."

"don't dwell on that," you mumble, "and after this, i'll never assume again. there's no more doubts and i'm leaving my baggage at the door."

"I'll take your baggage always, jolie fille."

the french term of endearment is not forgotten and you smile, leaning back up to re connect your mouths for another euphoric kiss. in that moment you decide you'll never get tired of the way simon kisses you.

you both part to catch your breath.

"so..." you hum after a beat, chest still pounding as you start to regain normal breathing patterns.

"so." simon replies breathless, a grin tugging on his lips.

"you're falling in love with me?" you tease.

"I thought I was pretty obvious about that part," he mumbles sheepishly, the hand that was once on your face coming to rub the back of his neck.

you smile gently up at him, thumbs rubbing against the warm skin of his jawline. "you ready to fill out those 15 pages of paperwork ive been talking about?"

simon's hand lowers slightly from your lower back and down to your ass, affectionately rubbing over the flesh. that flirtatious smirk you love so much appears his face, "i'm always ready."

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