#kyoshiwrites

wc:4.6k

warnings: misunderstandings, smut, mature themes (18+)

A/n: When I said this was a cliche I meant it lol. Part two for this will probably come before part two of the wilo fic because I’m in a sappy mood rn and that wilo fic is a lot more complex. Get ready for some angst (I can’t do straight fluff, I might have a problem lol).

Part two->

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Their gazes clash across the lawn through a sea of bodies. The eye contact holds a certain weight that only they are aware of: familiarity but in a way that’s private. Jordyn is quick to avert her gaze; she knows better than to greet him in public—especially on campus. He hasn’t done anything malicious; it’s just that they exist in different worlds. Hugo not only attracts attention, he basks in it. Everything about his tall, lithe frame, pretty brown eyes, plump pink lips and smooth caramel skin makes him attractive. Not only that, his personality is loud; he’s funny, he’s daring, he’s charming. His fashion is uniquely him and Hugo could make a potato sack look like high end designer clothes. He’s everything Jordyn isn’t. Jordyn walks with her head down, she doesn’t speak unless spoken to, she’s only 5”6. And though she has been told by her mother and close friends that she’s beautiful, with her even shade of cocoa brown skin and wide chocolate coloured eyes, she never stood out. Not unless she’d accidentally trip over her own feet, or ask the weird questions in class everyone else is too afraid to ask or their normal brains wouldn’t even think of. She’s neurodivergent, odd and prefers to blend into the background. It’s modern times, so though society isn’t as rigid as it was in the early 2000s romcoms she loves to indulge in, there are still some silent rules— visible cliques. Jordyn doesn’t fit into Hugo’s group and vice versa. What 99% of people on campus don’t know though, is that Jordyn and Hugo are basically neighbours since his family moved from France to the States almost five years ago. Hugo’s mom showed up at their door with freshly baked pastries and introduced herself as well as her son the summer before Jordyn’s sophomore year in high school. They lived two houses down and their moms grew super close. So Jordyn wouldn’t exactly call what they have a close knit friendship, just forced proximity with an extra sociable guy. Growing up, their dynamic mostly consisted of him teasing her too much, whether it was about her hyper fixation on butterflies, odd habits or just her lack of social skills; she’d get upset but he would immediately apologize while throwing a meaningful gift. In fact, most of her butterfly themed decorations in her room are from him. They didn’t attend the same high school and Jordyn thinks that was what made them closer in their teens. Things shifted when they both got accepted to the same university. Jordyn had a mountain of options, especially Ivy Leagues to choose from, but ultimately decided on the one closest to home. Not only would it be infinitely cheaper for her mother, but Jordyn also hates change. A big move away from home would’ve made her spiral. As soon as they stepped foot on campus, there was a sudden unspoken rule between them. Especially as Hugo’s popularity grew. They don’t see each other often on campus; Jordyn mostly stays close to the sciences building and Hugo sticks to his artsy side of campus. But during the first month, they crossed paths briefly. She had smiled and offered a tiny wave at him while he was with his group of friends. Hugo had shifted his gaze and pretended not to notice her. It hurt. It hurt so much that Jordyn had to make a quick detour to the bathroom to cry. That was a year ago, and it hasn’t been the same since. Hugo doesn’t come over anymore and their greetings are half hearted when they cross paths with their parents. Her mom used to inquire about their friendship often, until she finally understood that they’re simply just growing apart.

“Get out of your head.”

Jordyn startles at Miranda’s voice. With a smirk, Miranda adjusts her glasses before looping their arms together. It’s routine. The brown-eyed brunette, who’s also majoring in biochemistry, stuck to her like glue ever since she discovered they share mutual love (obsession) for butterflies.

“Oh, I was about to ask if you wanted to go to the butterfly sanctuary this weekend but I see you’re busy daydreaming about him.”

With wide eyes, Jordyn follows Miranda’s gaze and her heart stutters. Her best friend is staring in Hugo’s direction.

“W- what?!”

Miranda chuckles; “Denzel.”

Jordyn’s sigh of relief is subtle and her heart skips a beat for an entirely different reason. Denzel. One of the few guys that make up Hugo’s entourage. The dark skinned man is about the same height as Hugo, with low wavy hair and a smile that could make anybody melt. She isn’t sure of his major, but knows he plays for the school’s football team. Jordyn has been crushing hard for months.

“I think you should talk to him.” Miranda says with a shrug.

Jordyn stares at her friend as if she suddenly sprouted wings.

“Are you crazy? Let’s get to class.” Jordyn tugs her friend along before she has the chance to speak again.

*********

The hallway is practically empty by the time Jordyn stumbles out of the lab. Her eyes are half mast, heavy with exhaustion.

“Hey! Are the doors to the gym open?!”

The figure screaming at her from a few feet away turns her brain into absolute mush. Denzel’s pretty brown eyes stares at her expectantly. Later, when she’s screaming in her pillow, she’ll use her extreme exhaustion as the reason why she stands gawking like a fish in the middle of the hallway. Her eyes drift over Denzel’s broad shoulders to see Hugo staring at her with furrowed brows. A few seconds later, understanding dawns on his face then he shakes his head slightly.

“I don’t think so. It’s late, no?” Hugo’s deep voice cuts through the awkward silence.

“Uh, yeah, you’re right. Sorry for bothering you, it’s just that it was just behind you so I thought… nevermind!” Denzel says with an annoyed scrunch between his brows.

Jordyn’s face burns hot with humiliation. She wills her mouth to open, for her brain to form coherent words. But she can only continue gape like an idiot. It feels like hours until she finally regains control of her limbs again, and when she does, she bolts home with her eyes brimming with tears.

Hugo comes over to her house for the first time in months that evening. Jordyn moves to slam the front door shut in his face. Predicting her next move, Hugo shoots an arm to stop it.

“I’ll never understand how you’re that strong while being so skinny.” She mutters with an annoyed frown.

“Let me in, Jordyn.” He says solemnly.

Jordyn swallows at the intensity of his stare, eyes darting to his chest when it becomes too much.

“Why?”

“Because… I saw that today and what the fuck?”

Five years in America has improved his English, but even now, his accent sits heavily on every word. It always makes something in her belly flutter and she never understood why.

“So that’s it? You’re here to humiliate me further?” She mutters bitterly, a frown twisting her plump mouth.

“Non. I’ve been trying to apologize and you ignore me-”

“For good reason-”

“I know! I know… just… I can help.” Hugo quickly interrupts.

Jordyn goes quiet as she tries to make sense of his words.

“What do you mean?”

“Denzel, I can help you talk to him. I know him, I know what he like-”

“Likes.” She interrupts on instinct, always used to gently correcting him to help him improve.

“Yes. Likes. You get to talk to your crush, and I’ll help as an apology for being an asshole.”

Jordyn plays with the hem of her shirt shyly. He seems sincere enough.

“And you’re… you’re serious? This isn’t you pulling another a-hole move?” She bites at her lower lip, staring up at him unsurly from behind the square frames on her face.

“I’m serious. I miss you..r company, Jordyn.” Hugo clears his throat loudly.

Jordyn ignores the warmth that floods her chest as she steps aside to allow him inside.

“Is um, is Aunt Barbara around?”

“No. She’s working night shifts for the month.”

Hugo nods at her reply, surveying the living room for anything he might’ve missed in the past couple of months.

“Okay, so where do we start?”

*************

“Hugo, I can’t wear that.”

Still stretching the outfit in her direction, he cocks a brow; “Why not?”

“We’re not all fashionistas like you! Speaking of which, you should’ve gone to fashion school. Why didn’t you?”

“I like art just as much, don’t change the subject and you’re being ridiculous. Like you said, I know fashion and I know this would look good on you.” He thrusts the clothes into her hands, signaling to the dressing room with his head.

Jordyn knew agreeing to his proposal last night was a bad idea. She should’ve backed out the moment he told her to meet him at the mall after classes.

“But the skirt is so… short.”

“And Denzel likes that. He likes… bold. In clothes and personality. But we work on personality later, yes? Go try them on.”

With a huff, Jordyn enters the dressing room without further complaint. Once inside, she gets dressed pretty quickly, that’s the easy part. Facing him with the clothes on though? That’s another thing entirely. Jordyn tugs at the top uneasily, the material on her skin feels heavy. She eyes herself in the mirror, resisting the urge to cover her legs with her hands. The denim skirt barely covers the swell of her ass and the long sleeved top shows a sliver of her lower belly. Hesitantly, Jordyn exits the dressing room with her hands hugging her midsection.

“Ta- da?”

Hugo looks up from his phone. Something passes over his face but it’s gone before she can decipher what it means.

“Well?” She asks, fidgeting under his gaze.

“How do you feel?”

“Huh?”

“How do you feel? You have to feel good in your clothes, Jordyn. Plus I know you sometimes don’t like…” he trails off trying to find the right words.

Her heart swells;

“Well, the material of the top is kinda… too much. It’s almost itchy.” She softly admits. And not for the first time in her life, Jordyn feels embarrassed by her sensitivities.

“Sorry I’m such a los-”

“No.” Hugo stands, striding over to her to feel at the material with a contemplative expression on his face.

“Okay, take it off. But you’re keeping the skirt.”

Hugo gets her almost an entire new wardrobe and pretzels just because he knows how much she loves them.

“Where did you get the money to pay for all this out of pocket?” She asks warily while he helps her take the bags to her room.

“Work.” He says in a matter of fact tone.

“You have a job? Doing what?”

“Modeling.” He makes himself comfortable on her bed.

“Wait, seriously?!”

“Yup, started a few months ago. Now, let’s work on your confidence, yes? Let’s do a fashion show.”

Jordyn rubs at the length of her arms nervously.

“But I-”

“Listen, you have to make the new look convincing. It’s just me and you, don’t be shy. I’ve seen in your awkward phase of pretending to be goth.”

Despite her nerves, Jordyn laughs, covering her face in embarrassment.

“Oh my God! You promised to never bring that up again!”

Hugo smirks; “Yea well, it’s our secret. Along with the entire student population at your high school.” He snorts.

“Now let your braids down and put on a show for me.”

Some of the tension trickle from her frame. Jordyn grabs a handful of clothes from her bed and shuffles into her bathroom. Minutes later, she emerges in a pair of low rise jeans and a cropped top that hugs her ample chest.

Hugo whistles cartoonishly with a grin. “Strut for me, Jordyn.”

Jordyn giggles, swinging her hips tentatively, feet unsure.

“I didn’t say walk like you have a dildo up your ass, Jordyn.”

She doubles over with a scandalized cackle.

“Hugo!”

“What? You are walking like an awkward giraffe. Strut, Jordyn.”

He suddenly rises to his feet to swing his hips dramatically as he moves across her room.

Jordyn laughs so much that tears spring to her eyes.

“Just like that? Okay!”

Jordyn rolls her shoulders back, and straightens her spine, then she moves across the room with an extra sway to her hips.

“Yes!” Hugo yells in encouragement.

Her cheeks hurt by the time she models all her new outfits for him in the privacy of her room. She can’t remember the last time she laughed so hard that she had to physically try to catch her breath.

“How do you feel?” Hugo asks with a smile still lingering on his lips while sitting a few inches away from her on her plush mattress.

Jordyn smiles shyly at her fingers;

“Good. I haven’t laughed like that since… since we last hung out a year ago.”

His eyes swim with a hint of sadness after she speaks.

“I… I’m sorry, Jordyn. You wouldn’t underst-”

“It’s okay.” She whispers softly. Because he’s here now.

Hugo clears his throat at an unnecessary volume;

“Well, back to project Denzel. There’s a party next weekend; now that you aren’t gonna be dressed like homeless person, they will let you in.”

Hugo laughs lightly as she rains playful slaps against his arm.

“I just like to be comfortable!”

“Okay, okay. But come to the party. We all be there. It’s the perfect place for a hook up.” Hugo wiggles his brows at her.

“We’ll.” She says softly instead.

Hugo stares at her in a way she can only describe as tender. Accidentally, her eyes drop to his lips. The temperature in the room suddenly rises, her breaths leave her lips in short little bursts. Hugo leaps from her bed like it burns.

“I should…” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

“Oh, um… of course. See you around?”

“Um, yeah. Later, Jordyn.”

Hugo is familiar enough with her house to let himself. Jordyn flops on her bed with an agonized groan the moment her front door is slammed shut.

*************

Jordyn debuts her new wardrobe the following day. Miranda is physically stunned at her stomach on display and the tight fit of her jeans.

“What?”

Her friend’s scrutiny makes her feel even more self conscious. Jordyn can physically feel people’s eyes on her. It feels weird being noticed.

“You don’t like it?”

“I mean… you look smoking hot but do you like it?” Miranda cocks a brow at her obvious fidgeting.

Jordyn hesitates for a second too long;

“I’m getting used to it.” She reaches to loop her arm through Miranda’s.

“Oh.” Miranda whispers in surprise.

“What?”

“Don’t look but Denzel is staring.” Miranda says urgently as they amble across campus.

Jordyn’s eyes go comically wide; “Say swear.”

“Swear.”

Hastily, she chances a glance in the direction her friend is looking. True to Miranda’s word, Denzel is staring. When they make brief eye contact, recognition passes over his gaze then he offers a subtle smile. Shyly, Jordyn returns it. Her eyes flit to Hugo standing to Denzel’s right who has an unreadable expression on his face. She glances away quickly.

“Oh my God, he smiled at me. Did you see?” She feels ridiculous for being so giddy but she can’t help it. Finally being noticed by him after months feels surreal.

“Uh huh.”

“Hey, um, what do you think about going to a party next weekend?”

Miranda twists her neck at a pace that seems almost humanly impossible.

“A what?”

Jordyn pretends to adjust her glasses so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with Miranda.

“A party. Nothing too loud-”

“Nope. It could only be 10 people in attendance. You know parties have never been my thing and last I checked, they weren’t yours either.” Miranda eyes her skeptically.

“Are you a skin walker impersonating my friend? What’s her favourite colour? What’s her-”

“Miranda please… I just want to try something different. This is our second year in uni and we haven’t actually experienced anything. We just go to classes and go home.”

Her friend sighs; “Look, I’m happy that you want to try new things and you’re putting yourself out there. But parties aren’t for me and that won’t change, I’m sorry.” Miranda says with an air of finality.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“Good. And I hope you’re not doing this for all the wrong reasons, Jordyn.”

Jordyn can only swallow around the lump in her throat as they filter into the lecture hall.

**********

Hugo shoots her a text with the address of the party half an hour after she’s done getting ready. It’s just a little past 10:30 pm, and Jordyn realizes she doesn’t know the appropriate time to arrive at a party.

Jordyn[10:36 pm]: Is 11:00 pm an appropriate time to arrive at a party?

Miranda[10:37 pm]: Isn’t that a little late, actually?

With that, she gathers her purse and does one last perusal of herself in the mirror. The mini denim skirt seemed suited for the occasion; she pairs it with a cropped button down. Jordyn decided to listen to Hugo and wear her box braids down the length of her back instead of the tight low bun she usually wraps it in. Her makeup is light but noticeable. She looks good, but she feels like a poser. With a shake of her head, she orders a cab ignoring the queasy feeling in her stomach.

***********

Nobody prepared her for how awkward it would be going to her first party alone. The bass alone is overstimulating. Jordyn tries not to get teary eyed as she’s pushed around in the swarm of sweaty bodies. The house is packed tighter than a can of sardines. The mixture of scents creates an obnoxious concoction that’s too much for her sensitive brain to handle. Someone stumbles into her back causing her to fall forward into someone else’s. He stumbles, liquor swishing over the rim of his cup.

“I’m so sorry!” Jordyn tries to yell over the deafening music.

The man turns to face her, his annoyed scowl immediately transforming into a pleasant smile. Her heart freezes. Denzel.

“Hey you.”

Jordyn smiles shyly, and thankfully, she’s able to form words;

“Hi.”

“I see you’re able to speak.” His smile is now teasing.

Her face burns hot.

“Sorry about that, I had the longest day and I just…” she shrugs.

“Whew, and I thought you just hated me in particular.” Denzel jokes.

Jordyn giggles; “No! I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I understand. By the way…” he steps aside and his friends come into view. Jordyn tries not to react to Hugo.

“These are my friends: Hugo, Brandon and Jackson and I’m Denzel.”

Jordyn returns their waves. Well, all except Hugo who hurries to look away with a clench to his jaw. Denzel doesn’t give her enough time to ruminate over it.

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Jordyn.”

“Can I get you something to drink, Jordyn?”

She nods dumbly in reply.

Denzel carefully takes her hand in his and leads her into the less crowded kitchen. There he pours a mixture of vodka and cranberry juice into a cup before handing it to her. Jordyn accepts it gratefully, choosing to keep the fact that she has never had alcohol to herself.

“Want to go somewhere quiet so we can get to know each other a bit?”

Her heart gallops in her chest almost painfully, but she nods anyway. Denzel leads her through the door in the kitchen and into what appears to be the backyard. She counts just about a handful of people scattered about, who already look to be trying to sober up.

“So, hey again.”

Jordyn giggles airily; “Hi again, Denzel.”

His eyes do a scan of her from head to toe, stare lingering a little longer on her chest area. Jordyn clears her throat loudly.

“So, what are you majoring in?”

“Biochemistry, you?”

He raises his brows, clearly impressed;

“Kinesiology.”

Jordyn nods; “Cool, cool.”

Their conversation goes on for what feels like hours. Denzel manages to pull a few laughs from her here and there, all the while the cup sweats in her hand. Untouched.

“You don’t drink?” He gestures towards the red cup in her hand.

“Um… just not in the mood for it, really.”

Denzel nods.

“I just can’t believe I hadn’t seen you around until recently. Where have you been hiding, Jordyn?”

It’s obviously meant as a joke but she finds it hard to share in his amusement. Because she has noticed him; she noticed him her very first month on campus. Him saying that not only makes her feel pathetic, but it makes her realize exactly what’s going on. Denzel only cares enough to have a conversation with her because he can now see what her baggy clothes were once concealing. He doesn’t care about her as a person at all. Lost in her thoughts, Jordyn doesn’t realize what his intentions are until a big, firm hand grips at her jaw and forces her face upward. With a squeak, Jordyn leaps backwards just before his lips find hers. Denzel opens his eyes, staring in confusion.

“What?” He frowns.

“You’re acting like you’ve never kissed someone before.”

“I… I just… I’m sorry!” Jordyn bolts back inside the house, shoving through the sea of bodies with tears blurring her vision. She finds Hugo in the same place she left him with his friends, except he’s with a beautiful caramel skinned woman instead of the other two. Tentatively, she tugs at the hem of his shirt from behind. Hugo lifts his head from the crook of the girl’s neck to stare down at her in confusion. His expression shifts the second he notices her tears.

“What did he do? I’ll ki-”

“No! Could you just… I want to go home and I don’t want to take a taxi by myself so lat-”

“Come.” One of his hands finds her waist while he leans down to whisper something in the girl’s ear. She pouts but nods just as Hugo whisks her away. Jordyn follows his lead, clinging to him as he maneuvers people out the way using a lot more force than necessary. He’s parked along the curb a few feet away from the front yard. Hugo opens the door to the passenger side for her, helping her into the vehicle before he walks to the opposite side to take his place behind the wheel. The ride back to her house is silent. Jordyn is still sorting through her feelings and Hugo doesn’t pry. He follows her inside the house without an invitation and sits patiently while she removes her makeup and changes into lounge clothes.

“Did Denzel hurt you?” He inquires in a somber tone.

“No. He just… he tried to kiss me.” Jordyn whispers.

“Oh… I thought that’s what you want?”

“Wanted, and yes? But it’s just…”

“Just?” Hugo cocks a brow, waiting for her to continue.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” She curls in on herself after her pathetic confession.

If he’s surprised, he’s good at keeping a poker face.

“You know I slipped in the bathtub the other day?”

Jordyn laughs softly; “did you now?”

“Yup. Right on my flat ass.”

Her laugh is more unrestrained; he smirks in satisfaction.

“Remember when you stole those chocolate croissants your mom baked and took them here without telling me they were stolen?”

Hugo chuckles; “I got in so much trouble. That’s what I get for trying to impr-” he cuts himself with a cough, rubbing along the length of his neck bashfully.

Jordyn shifts in place;

“Um, thank you for taking me home, Hugo. Sorry if I ruined your night.” She mumbles with a pathetic hunch to her shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. I’d do anything for you, Jordyn.”

She blinks at him in surprise as something flutters in her lower belly. That familiar tension returns. The same one that had him bolting from her room days ago.

“Hugo?” She calls tentatively.

“Hm?” His eyes stray to her lips long enough for her to notice.

“You said Denzel likes bold girls right?”

His brows furrow but he nods.

“And you said you’d teach me to become bolder.”

Hugo nods again.

“So if you taught me how to perhaps kiss… that would be better for me, right?”

Time seems to stand still. Her pulse flutters wildly in her throat; as the seconds tick by, Jordyn starts to feel the embarrassment building.

“I… I’m sorry, that’s stup-”

Hugo cups her face in his hands gently, then presses their mouths together before she can properly make sense of what’s happening. Jordyn whimpers at the feel of his lips: plump, warm and moisturized. She pushes into him eagerly causing her glasses to bump against his face. Hugo pulls away, movements jerky and urgent as he removes the frames from her face. He dives right back in before she can complain about her blurry vision. Her entire body quakes when he gently nibbles on her lower lip, she gasps in response. Hugo slithers his tongue in her mouth the second she does. She grips at him in surprise, moaning as her lower belly clenches. He’s meticulous with every lick, with every soft suck of her tongue in his mouth. Tears prick at her eyes at how good it feels, at how intense the pulsing between her legs grows.

“Huu-” her moan of his name is muffled by his lips.

With a throaty groan, Hugo grasps her around the waist and tugs her into his lap. Slowly, he eases her into rocking back and forth on his lap. Jordyn grips at his shoulders at the stimulation it provides, exactly where she’s throbbing and needs it. She rips her mouth away to pant desperately against his face, grinding down harder against him.

“Hugo, feels… feels-”

“I know, mon papillon.”

She doesn’t know what it means, but the baritone of his voice is such an erotic addendum to his native tongue. Jordyn buries her face in the crook of his neck as she chases the wonderful tingly feeling that she knows is an orgasm. Hugo hardens beneath her on every downward grind of her hips.

“Hugo, ‘s so big?”

His moan rattles his chest beneath her own.

“Want to… wish I was inside, Jordyn. Bet you feel so good.” Hugo presses harder against her. He’s so hard he fears he might spill in his jeans.

“You gotta- need you to come for me, Jordyn.”

Her moan stutters, eyes squeezed shut; her body locks tight until she visibly trembles and then she comes crashing down. Jordyn muffles her scream in the crook of his neck as she undulates wildly in his lap. Her pussy spasms around nothing, tears spring to her eyes and all she hears is whistling in her ears.

“Hugo! Huhnn…”

“Fuck, Jordyn.” His grip on her waist will bruise later, but he locks in her place preventing her from grinding against him further. Any more stimulation and he’d come in his jeans like an amateur. But this is what she does to him, and the worst part is she doesn’t even know it.

Jordyn sags against him after minutes of sobbing and jerking. She pants against his skin, sweat sticking her shirt to her back. She enjoys the dopamine rush, the scent of his skin. She enjoys being in his arms because… she likes it. Jordyn tries not to panic as the realization dawns on her.

“Jordyn?”

“Huh?” She doesn’t move; she can’t face him.

“How do you feel?”

“Good. So good.”

Hugo clears his throat loudly; “Good. That was uh… good practice, yes?”

Her heart sinks to her stomach. Suddenly, the high is gone, replaced by something that feels empty- numb.

“Oh… of course, yes. Good practice.”

wc: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of blood, smut, mature themes (18+)

A/n: This chapter feels a little bleh, so I might make it up to you guys with a bonus chapter of them trying bdsm/ butt stuff (lmaoo idk yet). But this is the end of Una Corda🥹. I had no idea this fic would’ve been so well received, so once again, thanks for giving it a try and supporting🫶🏾 Enjoy?

<-previous chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kylian blinks repeatedly, staring at his crimson soaked palm in confusion. With a huffed breath, he backs up until he’s bracing against the wall. Deandra knows the rush of adrenaline is what kept him upright for so long, but the shock of it is starting to settle. She can tell by the way his knees buckle, causing him to slide to the floor using the wall as support. He sits and stares blankly at the blood gushing from his side.

Her limbs feel like they are being weighed down by cement, but she crawls anyway.

“Shit. Shit- fucking!” Lionel curses, hands tangled in his hair as he paces in her peripheral vision.

The doorway is suddenly occupied by a familiar face; Pelosi barely gets a second to aim before two, muted whistles go off. The man drops to the floor with a wheeze. Michael keeps his gun aimed at Pelosi while he moves over in his direction.

“Kylian?”

She uses all her strength to haul her body in a kneeling position beside him. Belatedly, he looks up at her face, eyes focused on her chin.

“Michael, he needs help!”

She rips her sweater off, hurrying to roll it haphazardly in a bundle. Kylian grunts when she presses down against the wound.

“I- I don’t like that.” He says with a deep furrow between his brow.

“I know but we have to stem the bleeding.”

“But it doesn’t hurt, you’re making it hurt.” His fingers drum against her hands restlessly.

“That’s the adrenaline that’s making you numb. But you’re bleeding a lot.” She can’t keep the tremors out of her voice. Michael is in the background shouting something on his phone but she can’t make sense of it.

“Fuck, Kylian why did you do that?” Her voice breaks with a tiny cry.

“What do you mean? You told me how to… immobilize someone. You needed help.”

Guilt weighs her stomach down like a boulder. “That was just to make conversation. It’s my job to protect you, Kylian.”

“But… but I want to protect you too.”

She cries harder; “You’re such an idiot.”

Deandra rests her forehead against his gently, needing to touch him in whatever way she can. Kylian’s eyes flutter shut, pressing his face closer.

“It’s… I’m getting cold.” He mutters with an exhale.

Her heartbeat spikes in panic. He’s bleeding too much.

“Stay awake, do you hear me?”

Inés’ gasp in the doorway forces her shoulders to curl with more shame. She failed. Before the woman can move further into the room, Mr. Grandison and the agent who was posing as their driver, come barging in. She didn’t even know the man was in London too. Deandra’s eyes drop to her hands to avoid her boss’s glare at their intimate embrace.

“We’ll get him to the hospital faster than an ambulance can get here. Michael, help me move him. Williams, call for clean up.” He gestures towards Pelosi’s body with a sneer.

Deandra backs away, allowing the men to haul Kylian to his feet. They support him on either side as they move urgently out the room. Deandra ignores the pounding in her head and her left eye that she can already feel beginning to swell shut.

“We should go with them.” The other agent, Williams, suggests urgently.

Inés who was frozen in shock, shivers as if her brain is suddenly flipped on again.

“They’re probably taking him to George’s Memorial, it’s the closest hospital.” Inés strides into the room to help her to her feet.

It’s a struggle for the older woman to support her weight while they shuffle out of the theatre. Williams notices and takes over from Inés. One of her hands shoots up to shield her sensitive eye from the sudden brightness outside.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s a pathetic whisper to a stunned Inés as they sit in the backseat watching buildings blur by.

“I… he shouldn’t have come. He wasn’t meant to-” she sucks in a shuddering breath.

“Hush. I could never blame you for that. I begged him to stay because I figured something might be going on but he’s all kinds of stubborn… especially when it comes to the people he loves. He said he needed to make sure you were safe. He never liked Lionel.”

Her heart stutters to a stop. She blinks up at the woman whose hands shake uncontrollably in her lap.

“I… still. We had a conversation and I told him about techniques and… maybe if I hadn’t he wouldn’t have-”

Inés scoffs lightly; “Are you kidding? He would’ve thrown himself in anyway. I know my son. I wasn’t lying about impulse control. He has a strong sense of justice and he…. He just wants the world to be fair.”

A moment of palpable silence passes.

“Still… I was supposed to protect him. I failed.”

“You found and took care of the man who had been threatening my son for months. You didn’t put him in harm’s way. You did your job. I can’t fault you for what happened in between.”

Inés reaches over to squeeze her right hand to offer some comfort— both ignoring each other’s sweaty palms and heavy tremors.

***************

The tension in the waiting room is so thick that it’s hard to breathe. Mr. Grandison’s stare burns her skin, but she refuses to look in his direction. Three hours. It has been three hours since Kylian had gone into surgery; a doctor reassured them that he’d be fine, the bullet didn’t hit anything vital, but Deandra saw how much he was bleeding. She won’t be able to sit still until she sees him being okay with her own eyes. Finally, the doctor returns to them. Deandra is up on her feet before he has the chance to speak.

“Is he okay?”

The man chuckles; “Yes. He’s okay-”

“Where is he?” Inés interrupts impatiently.

The man gestures for them to follow him quietly. Inés rushes in the room first and Deandra moves to follow but she’s thwarted by her boss’s firm hand on her upper arm.

She swallows thickly, dread pitting her stomach.

He’s quiet for a second as they both peer into the room through the glass. Kylian hasn’t woken up yet, but Inés doesn’t mind. She peppers kisses along his face, whispering to him all the while.

“Are you okay? Need to get those wounds checked out?”

“Um… I don’t think so.”

Her blinding headache suggests otherwise but she keeps that to herself.

“Good. Now, explain to me what happened.”

Wincing on an inhale, Deandra wets her split lip. She cringes at the metallic taste.

“I… Pelosi caught on to the fact that I was onto him. He confessed. The theatre is bleeding him dry and he wanted to get rid of it. He took me to that room— tried to scare me into forcing Inés to write him a cheque. I took out most of the men but… He wasn’t supposed to come. I knew it’d only be a matter of time before backup arrived. But Kylian came rushing in and…”

Grandison nods solemnly; “Okay. Now tell me why the client felt so inclined to put himself in danger to ensure the safety of his security personnel?”

Deandra curses silently.

“I… we…”

He shakes his head in clear disappointment.

“You know what this means, right? Especially since other agents caught that intimate moment you were sharing?”

“Yes.” It’s barely above a whisper. Her vision blurs with tears. But she fucked up. She put the client in a risky situation because she complicated things by sleeping with him. She can list at least five codes she breached just off the top of her jumbled brain.

“I’ll give you a week to turn in your badge. Now that the threat is subdued, if Inés needs another agent assigned to him, tell her to give me a call.” Grandison doesn’t spare her another glance as he turns to leave.

She makes eye contact with Inés through the glass and the older woman must notice the anguish on her face because she waves her inside. Stooping to her level, Deandra buries her face in the crook of Inés’ neck without thinking twice. The hug is so warm, so motherly, that it makes her sob.

“It will be okay, dear. I promise.”

************

Mr. Grandison keeps his eyes glued to his laptop screen even after she tosses her badge on his desk. Deandra doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge her presence either. Spinning on her heels, she strides toward the door ready to make her exit.

“For what it’s worth… You were an excellent agent. If your next employer asks, you resigned respectfully. Heard through the grapevine that a post opened over at P.R.O; one of their agents retired. I’d be willing to write you a recommendation if you need it. Good luck, Smith.”

Deandra doesn’t spare him a glance, but she smiles softly.

“So… you’re fired.”

“Resigned.” She eyes him intently.

“Right… point is, you fucked the pianist and you got caught.” Michael says with a devilish smirk.

“Yup.” Her fingers toy with a stack of papers on his desk.

“So… was it worth it?” He wiggles his brows teasingly.

“Why? Wanna give it a try?”

“Hell yeah.”

With a roll of her eyes, she speaks; “I’m telling your wife.”

“Pshh. She knew I swung both ways before she agreed to marry me.”

Deandra throws her head back to cackle like a crow.

“I’ll fucking miss you. You better stay in touch.” She tries to sound threatening but her voice is softened by melancholy.

Michael’s smirk melts into a small smile. “I’ll keep in touch. I found a new brunch spot that serves bottomless mimosas until 3.”

“Of course you would.”

Micheal shrugs carelessly.

“What’s next?”

“Well… Mr. Grandison just happened to tell me that our competitors have an open spot and that he’d be willing to sing my praises if necessary.”

Michael’s eyes bulge from his sockets.

“As in… that grand asshole down the hall, Mr. Grandison?”

Deandra nods with a snicker. Micheal nods even though the disbelief doesn’t leave his expression.

“And piano guy?”

Her heart skips a few beats.

“I… I don’t know. Last time I saw him was four days ago. He was barely coherent after waking up from anesthesia. I said my goodbyes and left. He doesn’t need me anymore.” She tries to sound nonchalant.

“Uh oh. You’re doing that thing…”

She frowns at him; “What thing?”

“Assuming everyone hates you because you think you fucked up. You used to love avoiding everyone after you made a mistake when we were trainees.”

She opens her mouth to deny it but snaps it shut.

Micheal rolls his eyes in exasperation; “You can’t be perfect all the time, Smith. Get over it and go secure that millionaire dick. You’re jobless.”

And despite her inner turmoil, Deandra cackles until her sore sides hurt.

******************

Samuel waves in greeting as she rolls onto the property. Suddenly, the house that she had grown used to staying in feels intimidating. Deandra sits in her car for almost an hour before she swallows around the fist sized rock in her throat and exits the vehicle. It feels like deja vu— the door swings open before she even raises a fist to knock. Inés smiles at her warmly just like she did the first day she arrived.

“I was hoping you’d come back.”

She melts into her embrace. Deandra didn’t even realize how much she missed affection until Inés started giving it.

“I… is he mad at me?”

“Yes. But he can’t ever hold grudges for too long.”

The soft melody that greets her in the hallway makes her teary eyed immediately. It feels like ages since she last heard him play. This one is a heavy one— she hears the melancholy on every note. Her inhale rattles her chest as her fist pounds firmly against the door. Unsurprisingly, the melody doesn’t cease, neither does he respond. Deandra opens the door slowly to find him just how she has him pictured in her mind. Facing the window, demeanor relaxed, fingers gliding over the keys.

“Kylian?”

He plays a messy key before he freezes altogether. Slowly, he turns to face her.

“Oh, you’re actually here.” A bitter frown twists his handsome features.

Deandra twists her hands together at his flat tone and blank expression.

“Hi.”

“You left… I… I woke up from taking a bullet for you and you were gone.”

Her heart squeezes, face burning hot. She tries to blink the tears away but they fall anyway.

“I’m so sorry. I swear… Kylian I felt guilty— I still do. I feel like a useless failure and… and I’m a coward.” She wipes furiously at the tears on her face.

Kylian slowly stands with a slight wince, hand reaching to grip at his side; “Would you have done the same?”

She blinks in confusion; “What?”

“If I was in danger… would you have tried to help even if you knew that you could get hurt?”

“Of course, that was my job.” She hiccups, staring after him desperately.

“No… even if it wasn’t your job. Would you?”

“Yes.” Without a hint of hesitation. And she means it.

He exhales a relieved breath. “Okay and now you know I’d do the same for you. Is that enough to make you believe I won’t break your heart?”

When she makes the connection, she laughs softly through her tears. That conversation in his hotel room already feels like it happened a lifetime ago.

“Yes.”

Kylian strides closer to tower over her smaller frame. Deandra looks up at him affectionately; his index finger roams her face with feather light touches. Almost as if he needed physical proof to confirm she isn’t a figment of his imagination.

“So does that mean I can take you to dinner?”

Deandra giggles through sniffles; “I’d love that, Kyky.”

His mouth tilts in a small smile. “Kiss me?”

Deandra almost knocks him over when she launches herself at him. Kylian grunts but keeps her close with a harsh grip to her waist as their lips meet. Soft. Warm. Longingly. This one feels different: it feels like a fresh start. New beginnings are scary, but Deandra embraces it. She embraces it because she’s not alone—she embraces it because she’s in love.

***************

“It has been a year and a half and it hasn’t flowered yet.” Deandra says with a pout.

“We read about it, remember? It can take years.” Kylian mutters while toying with her fingers aimlessly.

“Yeah but it’s a grafted tree. They should start flowering and bearing faster.”

“A year and a half is still less than 5 years, Deandra.” His mouth tilts in amusement.

This interaction is definitely what their dynamic has been like since they started dating a year and some months ago. She is impatient, bold and physical; Kylian levelheaded, armed with facts, problem solving and patient… for the most part. Deandra considered applying to P.R.O., but after much consideration and conversations with her boyfriend, she realized that she didn’t want to do that anymore. It was too risky, and now, Deandra felt like she had something to live for. Someone. She loves martial arts though— always have; so Kylian suggested she open a studio and offer classes. As soon as her eyes lit up after his suggestion, he got to work. He found and bought her a building and furnished it all within a month. Inés might have also promoted it on Kylian’s social media accounts that she manages and the rest was history. Deandra moved in with him after a month of officially dating. She felt waiting was unnecessary when she was already living with him before, plus Kylian wouldn’t stop nagging her. Immediately, she got to work with adding her own touches to his— their home. A few potted plants here and there; replacing a few furniture and transforming some of his backyard into a garden.

“The flowers are beautiful. You did a great job with those.”

She almost preens at his praise. “Yeah? Are you proud of me?” She whispers coyly.

His breath hitches. A few months ago, while Kylian was railing her within an inch of her life, despite her whimpers and sobs, Deandra curled her toes and took everything he had to give. Kylian had told her he was proud of her, the words seemed to have left his mouth without permission but Deandra loved it so much she came long and hard while actually bawling. Now, it’s somewhat of a naughty little secret between them. Over the months, Kylian’s confidence had grown. She loves it so much.

His eyes flit down to hers briefly, nostrils flared like a taunted bull’s. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

Deandra squeals as she’s lifted off her feet and thrown over his shoulder.

“Kylian!”

*********

Deandra goes cross eyed watching her lower bulge with every forward thrust of his hips. Her grip on her thighs slips, skin slick with too much sweat.

“Uhhhn, Kylian…”

His hands replace her own, digging into the flesh of her thighs to fold her knees by her ears. The new position opens her up for him to sink even deeper. His concentrated gaze is fixed between her legs, watching his length disappear and reappear over and over. Deandra’s ears ring— the leather material of the couch clings to her skin. He drags along her walls purposefully, not just fucking for his pleasure, but to make her feel good.

“Kylian, fuck. It’s— you’re so deep.” Her sob is from the pit of her stomach.

He sinks downward and stays there. Pressing deep into her body while her legs quiver in his hold. He fucks into that spot he discovered that makes her beg for mercy every time. He hasn’t said it, but Deandra thinks he loves to see her overwhelmed. The muscles in her belly clench when he keeps pressing deep; she grows even wetter. The squelching gets more obscene as the seconds tick by.

“Kylian you’re gonna make me come.” She whines, tears springing to her eyes.

“Putain, Deandra.” He chokes on his next inhale. This close, she smells her heady scent on his breath. Kylian asked to put his mouth on her pussy for the first time six months ago and hasn’t looked back since. It took him time and practice to get it right, but once he did, Deandra would often have to beg him to stop before she blacked out.

Her feet stiffen in his hold when he pulls all the way out to plunge back in. Deandra’s eyes roll to the back of her head.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t— make me come.” She begs as her muscles start tensing. Her toes curl by his ears.

He grunts; “Fuck… touch yourself.”

Deandra moans wantonly. She sneaks a hand between their bodies at his command to rub her engorged clit in tight little circles. Kylian sinks deep again, digging into her pussy with punishing thrusts of his hips. Her vision blurs, pussy fluttering wildly before she clenches up with a short, sharp scream. Her belly spasms, then the dam breaks. The orgasm feels like it’s being wrung from her body. She tries to contain herself, but the grunts and strangled noises that leave her throat sound animalistic. It takes her a second to realize she’s squirting. Kylian moans in surprise, fascinated by her body’s response to every thrust of his hips. She wets his lower belly, toes wriggling desperately by his head.

“Kylian!” She screams his name as the sensation stretches until her quivering legs grow numb.

Kylian’s own hips grow erratic, movements sloppy. His moans pitch in volume until he’s stuttering in her body. Deandra feels like another orgasm builds onto the one still wreaking havoc on her body.

“Kylian, too much, I- hah-”

Kylian collapses onto her, crushing her body into his until she finds it hard to breathe. He buries his face into the crook of her neck to muffle his cries. Finally, his hips still. Deandra feels like she’s finally able to properly catch her breath. As clarity slowly returns, she wonders how sex with him feels better every fucking time. Maybe because she loves him. When their breaths slow from heavy panting, Kylian gingerly pulls out and separates their bodies quickly. He moves to lie behind her on the couch. He puts a few inches of space between them but reaches to loosely grasp her fingers to play with them in that absentminded way he loves to.

“Your mother is coming to visit in two days for your show in Washington. We’ll have to clean this couch thoroughly.” Deandra breaks the silence first, giggling when he snorts from behind.

Comfortable silence settles again.

“You make me so happy, Deandra.”

Turning to face him, Deandra smiles at his serene expression while he stares at the ceiling. She presses a small kiss to his jaw.

“You make me happy too, Kylian.”

“Okay.”

She chokes on a laugh at his matter of fact tone. Silence again. Deandra knows he’ll soon demand they get up to shower, but for now, she basks in the warmth of his presence. Body still buzzing from the effects of the intense orgasm he just gave her.

“I love you.”

Deandra almost gasps out loud. She tries not to make a big deal of it, but embarrassingly, she feels herself start to choke up. They’ve been together for over a year, and Deandra is always the one saying that, never him. Sure, he expresses his feelings in different ways: gifts, attention, time, but never has he ever said those words to her.

“I love you too, Kylian. Always.”

Kylian lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist, before he goes back to toying with her fingers and staring off at nothing in particular.

wc: 2.9k or so.

Warnings: smut, violence, mature themes (18+)

A/n: And can you tell I’m trying to wrap this up? Lmaoo one more chapter left. Again, thanks for the immense support 🥹. Enjoy this mess I guess (I also apologize in advance 😭).

<-previous chapter. Next chapter->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t say anything.”

Kylian’s gruff voice suddenly sounds over the historical documentary playing at low volume on the tv. They’re lying on his bed—close enough to touch without the contact being too overbearing, just as Kylian likes it.

“Say anything about what?” Deandra twists her head just enough to eye his side profile.

They just finished the food they ordered in comfortable silence. But Kylian has looked a little restless since the moment she re- entered his hotel room after a shower.

“A few days ago. I said I… I liked you. You never said anything.” He keeps his stare fixed on the television.

Deandra’s heart feels like it stutters to a stop then kickstarts into a series of palpitations. She coughs awkwardly, trying to ease the discomfort.

“Uh… I just thought… I mean, of course we like each other. We share jokes, have interesting convers-”

His frown deepens; “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You’re doing that thing agai-”

“No! No! I swear I’m not belittling you because of your disorder. I- I’m deflecting.” She admits on a heavy sigh.

“Deflecting?”

“Yes. I’m avoiding…because, well… I’m avoidant. You have your own reasons why intimacy is hard, right?”

He nods.

“And I have my reasons why feelings and all that is difficult as well.” She hopes that’s enough, but Deandra knows better by now.

“Why?”

She almost sighs in exasperation; “I’m… I’m scared of getting my heart broken, I’m afraid of breaking someone’s heart unintentionally. I don’t think I’d make a good partner because this is something I’ve never done.”

“I’m always scared before a performance. Does that mean I shouldn’t go on stage?”

Deandra almost gives herself whiplash with the speed at which she twists her neck fully in his direction. Her eyes are wide saucers. It’s not only his response but his nonchalant expression while he continues looking straight ahead. She’s rendered speechless.

“Uh…”

“If you don’t like me, just say it.” He responds curtly.

“Fuck, Kylian. It’s not even about that but do you realize you’re my client? Everything about this is a lot more complicated than you think.”

“It wasn’t complicated by sex but it would be if I start taking you on dates in between?”

Deandra snorts helplessly; “You’ve got sass today, huh?”

Kylian just shrugs.

“Kylian, I like you. I like you a lot too and that’s what I’m scared of. I hate that you made us have this conversation too because it makes it real.” She says with a petulant pout.

His mouth tilts slightly in amusement; “Kiss me?”

Deandra rolls her eyes in faux exasperation before moving to hover over him. Kylian keeps his hungry gaze on her lips when she blocks his view from the tv. He meets her halfway eagerly; lips soft and warm. She never asked if he kissed anyone before, but if he hadn’t, he’s a fast learner. Ignoring his grunts in protest, Deandra pulls away a fraction.

“Have you ever tried… French kissing?”

“No.”

She breathes in his every harsh exhale.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

Deandra lowers her head to press their mouths together again. She eases him into it, gentle pecks until she nips at his lower lip. He makes a questioning sound of confusion and she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue inside his mouth. His hands squeeze her hips in response. She flicks her tongue against the roof of his mouth and Kylian pulls away with a small whine.

“Are you okay? You don’t like it?” She inquires through heavy breathing.

Kylian squeezes his eyes shut, fingers tapping against her hips; “I don’t know. It feels… overwhelming but it also…”

He pulls her hips down against his lap so she can feel how hard he is. She moans helplessly.

“It’s okay, no more French kissing. Could I… may I try something else though?”

It’s something she wanted to do the minute she saw his dick for the first time looking perfect and pretty.

Kylian’s eyes are cracked open a fraction. He nods firmly. Deandra slides down the length of his body, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his sweats and boxers. Noticing her intentions, he lifts his hips which allows her to pull them both down in one go. Kylian is so responsive and it always makes her pussy clench. He gets hard the moment she touches him, always ready. Her mouth goes dry watching his length bob, tip already glistening. Wetting her lips, Deandra grasps him in a loose fist. His entire body tenses, eyes widening when he notices what she intends to do.

“Dean- are you su—” Kylian cuts himself off with a strangled sound the second Deandra flicks her tongue against the prominent vein on the underside of his dick.

Pressing her nose against his silky skin, Deandra inhales greedily. Her eyes roll at his intoxicating musk. She licks all the way from base to his thick, angry red tip then closes her lips around it. With a soft little hum, she suckles on him candy. Kylian’s fingers flex repeatedly in her peripheral vision, hips twitching like it’s out of his control.

“Deandra…” he calls her name unsurely around a heavy moan.

“Hm?” She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, mouth still occupied.

Kylian’s mouth pops open, lips trembling.

She pulls off him with an audible pop before puckering her lips and allowing spit to dribble down the length of him. He squeezes his eyes shut and goes off in a quiet ramble in French. To her, it almost sounds like a prayer with how desperate the words fall from his lips. Feeling emboldened, Deandra holds him with just enough force to keep him steady. A deep breath to relax her throat, then she takes him into her mouth again. Deandra doesn’t stop; she fights against her gag reflex until his soft thatch of hair tickles her nose. It’s not all of it, but it’s a lot. She feels proud. Kylian’s groan is loud, unrestrained. Animalistic. She presses down hard against his knee to get some friction on her throbbing bud. She rocks her hips against him while she swallows around his dick. His hips jerk up causing her to gag. The sound obscene and arousing.

“Déso- sorry. ‘M sorry.” He sounds just as wrecked as he looks.

Deandra finally pulls off him to take deep, heaving breaths. She coughs at the soreness in her throat. The size of him is no joke. She has made a mess on him.

“S’ okay. How do you feel?”

“Good. So good. Please don’t stop.” He begs, rutting his hips desperately.

She takes him back in her mouth, not as deep because of the telltale signs of how close he is. His legs keep twitching, the muscles in his lower stomach keep clenching. She isn’t particularly in the mood to be a come-breathing dragon. Her other hand works the rest of him— slow, loose strokes until he physically grows hard enough to cut marble. His groans and grunts grow in pitch and volume. Her hips roll harder against him in response, her pussy clenching rhythmically.

“Deandra.” He whines her name like a warning. But she’s prepared; he throbs once, twice and on the third one, he fills her mouth. It’s warm, potent and just a little salty. Clean— so she swallows. Deandra’s moans are muffled as she peaks, hips rutting wildly against him. Kylian grips her jaw a little too firmly as he releases spurt after spurt in her mouth. He’s reduced to breathless little wheezes while Deandra keeps sucking on his sensitive tip.

“Deandra… please— too much.” He sounds agonized, so she takes pity.

She releases him gently from her mouth. Her eyes focus to find his closed while he pets her face with random movements. He takes a few seconds to gather his bearings then tugs her face up, folding his body almost in half to press their lips together. Deandra is momentarily stunned but takes it all in stride. They kiss until their breaths settle. Kylian finally opens his eyes, staring at her for longer than what she’s used to. It makes her heart flutter softly. His eyes flit away from her eyes to her chin before he speaks;

“Do you want my card to go shopping?”

Deandra stares at him blankly before she dissolves into uncontrollable laughter.

*************

It’s hard to ignore Inés’ knowing little looks and teasing little comments, but Deandra does her best anyway. Lionel wanted to meet at the theatre, a fact Deandra found odd since it's 1 pm and only opens around 6 or 7 in the evenings. She hadn’t planned for that— she packed evening wear and she loves it because it’s easier to conceal her weapons under floor length dresses. For now, the small daggers concealed in her leather boots and the pistol tucked into the back of her high-waisted jeans and hidden by her sweater. Inés chatters away with the agent posing as their driver the entire ride while Deandra and Kylian sit in comfortable silence around back. Deandra doesn’t comment or mind him playing softly with her fingers— he seems to enjoy contact but only little and when he initiates. She takes it all in stride.

“I’m serious. I’d buy you anything you want.”

Deandra is starting to realize Kylian continues conversations they’ve had hours or even days before randomly without context or reminder.

“And what if I want a house?” She throws back at him in a playful whisper. After his offer last night, she figured he was just high off endorphins or whatever else ‘feel good’ hormones.

“Where?”

She turns to balk at him. He sounds serious. Deadly serious.

“That was a joke.”

He frowns; “Oh. You own your own house?”

“Uh… not quite. Not yet.” She sputters.

“So you don’t want a house?”

“Kylian… I was joking, you don’t have to-”

“I know but I would if you wanted one. Or you could just move in with me.”

Deandra makes eye contact with an amused looking Inés in the overhead mirror. She nervously looks at the driver who’s pretending to pay attention to the road. But she knows better; she’s hoping he hasn’t picked up on their dynamic.

“You’re so silly, I know I’m great company but let’s slow down.” She forces a laugh.

“Bu-”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Her smile feels too wide on her face but she’s panicked. Fortunately, Kylian nods and grows quiet again.

Lionel greets them at the door with his usual flamboyant attitude. Inés and Deandra are greeted with aggressive cheek kisses, a firm handshake is reserved for Kylian.

“When we said catch up, I was expecting brunch or something.” Inés hurries to chime in. Kylian still doesn’t know that they’re here under the guise of being interested in buying the theatre and his mother had let the Italian man know. Everyone from the outside assumes Inés runs every aspect of Kylian’s life, so Lionel didn’t even question her wanting to buy the theatre without Kylian’s approval.

“Ah, I thought it would be best to really show you the full experience of the theatre without the noise and buzz. You always just pop in to perform then leave.” Lionel shoots her subtle wink that Deandra manages to catch. She rolls her eyes.

“Come come.”

Lionel spends the next 30 minutes giving them a tour of the space before he seats them in his office-like space where they’re served a spread of food.

“From the chefs here. They’re good, you wouldn’t have to source other talents if-”

“Um… could I speak with you about something you were pointing out about…” Deandra gestures carelessly over her shoulder, trying to give him a look that screams ‘be quiet.’

She’s playing into the fact that Kylian shouldn’t know but secretly, she also has other plans.

Understanding dawns on the older man; “Ah, of course!”

Lionel places an arm on her upper back; Deandra immediately breaks out into cold sweat. She ignores the way Kylian’s gaze burns her back while Lionel leads her out of the room.

“How stupid of me, I can be such a blabber mouth.”

Deandra forces a giggle while they walk side by side. There are a few men scattered about, arranging wires or moving things around. Presumably readying the place for opening in a few hours.

“I wonder why Inés suddenly changed her mind.” He ponders out loud. Deandra follows as he leads her around a corner that leads to another hallway.

“I may have something to do with that. I… Kylian and I are getting a bit serious so I suggested to Inés that it sounds like a good investment. And what can I say? My mother in law listens.” She smiles at him with all her teeth.

Lionel chuckles; “I see.” His hand finds the small of her back again.

“You know… that almost sounds believable.”

His hand shifts lower until he feels the outline of her pistol.

“I found it funny how you suddenly came into the picture and his security detail… dispersed. Made everything harder. But what’s funny is that a few weeks ago, the guy I sent to do a little… job just disappeared. And no one was there that evening except for the both of you.” He chuckles without humor while her blood freezes in her veins.

“I’m no idiot… uh… what’s your name again? Eh, doesn’t matter. Point is, I know when people can’t stand me and Inés and that weird man she has for a son? They hate me. Inés wouldn’t just change her mind about taking this dying theatre off my hand, she’s a smart woman. People here don’t care about the arts like they used to— this would be a loss for them both. Means only one thing…”

Sweat beads along her temples as she subtly reaches to squeeze the singular button on her watch.

“Kinda obvious too… him with a girlfriend?” He snorts.

“You’re onto me, dear. And you’re really perceptive, I’ll give you that.”

Before she can reach for her pistol, a cold barrel presses to the back of her head.

Lionel smirks from his place to her right; “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, right?”

Lionel removes the gun tucked into her jeans and passes it to one of the men behind him.

She takes a second to breathe and assess her position. The men who were posing as workers all start bounding in their direction. Lionel leads her into a room filled with electrical equipment thrown down haphazardly. She does a mental count—six including Lionel.

“So, here’s what you’re going to do, little undercover bodyguard; you’re going to go out there, pretend we had a nice long talk, then convince Inés to write me a nice half a million dollar cheque. Then you’ll allow me to leave or… well you can figure out the rest.”

While Lionel was busy talking, Deandra was assessing. Only one of the stoic looking men has a gun out. That’s all she needs, she’ll only need to be quick. Quick enough to catch them off guard.

“And what’s the rest?” She makes her voice shaky.

“Aw, are you scared? Don’t worry, darling. You do exactly what I tell you-”

The man with the gun completely drops his guard. He keeps the weapon lowered. When she moves, his eyes widen but he reacts too late. Deandra grabs the pistol with her left hand and snaps his wrist upright with her other hand. He yelps, grip loosening on the weapon. Deandra disarms him. She doesn’t even aim, she starts firing in their general direction. She hits three targets blindly before the gun sticks. Empty. Blood roars in her ears when she notices the fourth brandishing a pistol; without thinking, she throws her body into his. The collision knocks the wind out of her. The man recovers faster, landing a punch square on her mouth. Deandra feels her lips split under the force of his blow but adrenaline rushes through her veins like a potent drug. It keeps her alert enough to kick the gun further out of his reach. He scrambles for it while her fingers reach for the dagger in her boot. She manages to sink the knife into the man’s neck ruthlessly just before the other with the broken wrist moves in a blur then Deandra’s vision swims— her ears whistle. She blinks in a desperate attempt to keep herself alert. But another blow to the side of her head renders her momentarily breathless. He picks up the gun she notices is hers with his healthy hand then stumbles to stand beside Lionel.

“Cazzo! Fucking bitch!” Lionel’s voice sounds worlds away. She feels like she’s under water. Both men start sharing harsh whispers; Deandra hears pieces of the conversation: what to do about the bodies, what to do with her, how they plan to move with Kylian and his mother. But she isn’t worried, she knows Mr. Grandison has already dispatched agents. They’ll be here in minutes. If everything stays the way it is, it’ll be fine. But Deandra should’ve known better than to think it would all be so easy.

wc: 2.4k

Warnings: mature themes, smut (18+)

A/n: Two more chapters left tops, I hope I do it justice. Thank you for your support and as always, enjoy?

<- Previous chapter. Next chapter->

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Unsurprisingly, Kylian becomes insatiable. He has a two week break before his next scheduled performance, although her boss is working on an excuse for them to take an early trip to London to learn more about Pelosi. In the meantime, there’s nothing much to do except-

“Can we try this?”

Deandra goes cross eyed as his phone is shoved into her face. When her eyes adjust to the screen, she sputters over her bowl of yoghurt.

“Kylian!” She chastises with an awkward giggle and cough.

He looks every which way but directly at her, almost fidgeting in place.

“Was that rude? I’m sorry, I just saw it and thought…”

Deandra’s eyes find his screen again watching as the man presses the woman’s arch deeper while he fucks into her from behind.

The apology is ready at the tip of his tongue, but Deandra, as always, settles his insecurity.

“My room this time, I was planning on changing the sheets soon anyway.”

His heartbeat settles into something less chaotic than anxiety but still knocks against his ribcage in a way that makes him pant. Deandra stands with a smile and leads the way upstairs. Never demanding to touch him first, never being afraid of taking the lead. It’s not that he needs direction or leadership, but he loves her bold nature. And in situations like these, he appreciates that. Sarcasm flies over his head sometimes, he misses subtle social cues and he’s not particularly good at reading between the lines. Deandra makes sure he never has to second guess or decode her messages— intentional. Straightforward. It’s part of the reason why he trusts her so much. The other part is her accepting him for who he is. She doesn’t expect more than he has to give; unlike Sierra who’d subtly demand he let her hold him. Or grab him without permission. It’s why they never got to progress too far whenever they met. It’s also why his confidence was shot when he tried with others. His insecure thoughts would get too loud— his fear of being pushed beyond what he’s comfortable with would cripple him. He couldn’t get past foreplay with them before he’d send them on their way.

Deandra did not make him feel pressured at all. After she almost re-wired every single neuron in his brain, he could only collapse on top of her. She was toeing the line of sleep when he couldn’t bear it any longer and untangled their limbs. She didn’t protest or reach for him, just rolled over and hugged one of his pillows and went to bed. That’s it. She wouldn’t know it, but he was so overcome with emotion that he had to hide away in his bathroom to cry a little for the first time since he was 12. Not because he finally got his dick wet—simply the feeling of being accepted just as he is by someone who’s not his mother. Last night was even more intense than the first time because that possible pressure of what happens ‘after’ was completely erased. Again, Deandra rode him until he wheezed while he could only gawk at her like something precious.

“Lights on or off? It’s still a little light outside?” Deandra queries calmly as she steps into her room.

His heart squeezes in his chest again at her consideration. “Off please.”

“Aye aye captain.” She folds her lips to hide the very amusement that shines in her brown eyes. His fists clench by his sides simply because he has the urge to squeeze her. Not really in a hug, but just to hold her. But his thoughts scatter the moment she starts stripping her clothes off.

*********

Deandra’s hands scramble desperately across the sheets. Her teeth come together harder than intended but she doesn’t have the capacity to care. She just grits them, trying not to scream for the entire Silicon Valley population to hear. In all her years of having sex, Deandra has always prided herself in not being a runner. She takes anything men throw it at her and sometimes they’re the ones begging her for mercy. But taking Kylian in this position? Nothing could’ve prepared her for it.

“Kyky, what the fuck?”

She can’t hide her genuine shock. Deandra has long learned to stop underestimating him, but this is something else entirely. It’s not just the size of him, it’s the measured movement of his hips. The fluidity. He sinks forward again and punches a tiny whimper from her throat. He chose to stand on the floor instead of kneeling on the bed. Deandra should’ve known she was in trouble since then. Her stomach plummets like it would on a downward dip on a roller coaster ride every time he rolls his hips forward. She’s sure his fingers will leave indents in her skin for hours after. His harsh breaths fill the room accompanied by the loud squelch of his dick digging deep inside. Too deep. On a particularly harsh thrust of his hips, Deandra moans wantonly.

“Ky- I- fuck!”

Her knees scramble further up the bed. He slips from her body and Deandra sucks in a deep, shuddering inhale at finally getting some respite. It’s too good. Her body is being pushed just beyond the limit of what it can take and she fears it might break her fucking mind.

Kylian grunts in frustration; “D-did I do something wrong?”

Deandra quivers in the middle of the bed, eyes fluttering. Her pussy pulses, close but unsatisfied.

“No.. I just.. too good— too much.”

Her gaze falls on him standing at the edge of the bed. Every single inch of his length is coated with her essence. It’s no wonder it felt like he was rearranging her organs if he fit all of it inside her. They’ve chosen to skip the condoms. Kylian absolutely hated the way it felt on him yesterday when they tried and looked to be in genuine distress. She figures maybe the size was too small so they agreed to try larger ones in the future. His fingers tap against his thighs restlessly, eyes darting from her head to her curled toes.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head weakly; “No! I just… fuck this position is… I feel you all the way here.” Her fingers caress her lower belly softly.

His nostrils flare; his dick twitches but his shoulders curl in slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby. I was… unprepared. I’m ready now.”

Deandra pushes through the shakiness of her limbs to return to her hands and knees. They lock gazes briefly when she looks over her shoulder. His eyes lower to where she’s presenting for him in a perfect arch. Kylian doesn’t hesitate to ease his way back inside. They both moan breathlessly. Pleasure crawls through her veins like sludge: thick, suffocating and slow.

“You feel so… fuck. Good.” Kylian mumbles something in French as he angles his hips just right to start fucking into that spot deep in her body.

Deandra’s body begins tensing from neck to toes. Tears roll down her cheeks freely. It’s so overwhelming that she feels helpless to everything.

“Huuuhn, Kylian I’m so s-”

She wants to warn him that she might scream but her brain blanks because the tip of his length keeps touching that spongier spot over and over and over—

Deandra can only bury her face in the mattress as her mouth pops open and her eyes roll. She’s quiet at first; the sensation builds until it steals her breath, then the pressure snaps until she’s screaming her throat raw. It’s muffled and that seems enough for him or maybe he’s too focused on his own pleasure. He keeps going until Deandra is tempted to use the last of her bearings to run again. His pace grows erratic; Kylian’s groan shakes his entire frame as his hips stutter. His thighs quake against the back of her legs when he throbs and twitches deep inside. Kylian folds over her back with airy little moans. Deandra grows lightheaded— a combination of lack of oxygen and the pleasure still clawing at her body. She twists her head to the side to finally catch a proper inhale, trying desperately not to pass out.

“Are you- are you okay?” Kylian barely gets the words out through his panting.

“Uh-huh.”

“Was it… did you like it?”

Deandra snorts; “Like it? Are you kidding me, Kylian? Best fucking sex ever.”

************

Deandra gets her period the next day. Two days earlier than projected and she has a feeling it has something to do with the fact that Kylian has been prodding at her cervix for three days straight. She had planned to run some errands today in preparation for it. Usually, she needs to start taking her painkillers two days or a day before to make it manageable. Or it feels like this— crippling. Kylian finds her curled into a ball on her bed after one firm, impatient knock. His brows raise in alarm.

“What’s wrong?”

Deandra breathes through the stabbing pain in her lower belly; “I’m in pain.”

“I hurt you. I’m so sorry—”

“Not you.” ‘Not really.’

“it’s… I got my period, Kylian.”

His shoulders lose the tension; “Oh. Okay.”

Then he leaves, pulling her door gently closed behind him. Deandra only snorts before rolling over to curl into herself tighter. She’ll get up. Eventually.

Her light slumber is interrupted by Kylian barging into her room again an hour later.

“I asked Samuel to take me to get you stuff.” He grips the paper bags in his hands tightly.

Deandra blinks at him in confusion; “You aren’t supposed to go outside without me, Kylian.”

“But… you’re in pain.” He reaches into one of the bags and presents a square packet;

“The pharmacist says this will help best but you have to eat first. I did some reading and the meals recommended during this time are iron and magnesium rich ones. So I got you steak and eggs with fruit and vegetables. And dark chocolate, you like chocolate, yes?”

Deandra will blame her hormones for the immediate tears.

“Kylian, that’s so nice of you.”

He frowns deeply; “Why would I not be nice to you? You’re nice to me and I like you. A lot.”

Oh.

“Come eat please.” He commands impatiently.

With a tight swallow, Deandra nods before gingerly standing to her feet.

**********

Their trip to London happens four days after. Kylian doesn’t have a show, but after lengthy discussions with Mr. Grandison, he came up with a plan. They had a chat with Inès over the phone informing her of what they found on Pelosi and that they needed more evidence. They’re traveling to London under the guise that Inès and Kylian suddenly changed their minds about buying the theatre. Kylian knows that they’re going to London to see Pelosi, but they thought it best to keep their suspicions from him. The man is too brutally honest and Inès voiced her concerns about his impulse control. Things between them have changed; there’s something a lot more charged that lingers even when they separate for brief moments to go about their own devices. Deandra knows she’s probably overthinking what he said but she can’t help it. Not only that, but Kylian never leaves her side unless he has to: gym, bathroom or when it’s time for bed. And on a few occasions, he hovered by her bedroom door, fingers restless and throat visibly bobbing before ultimately leaving with an air of frustration leaving a sour trail behind him. He made her meals, reminded her to take her painkillers; he even got her a fucking hot pack. It’s making her freak out. Fucking her client is one thing, the possibility of feelings coming in? Too messy. Too chaotic. But what’s making her more frustrated is that she can’t confidently deny that she has developed more than a crush on Kylian.

“Where are you coming from?” The receptionist’s eyes twinkle.

Deandra returns his small smile; “Somewhere warm and sunny.”

The man snorts; “then I apologize for this weather.”

The rain continues to pour outside the hotel as if adding insult to injury.

“Apology accepted.”

Their fingers accidentally touch when he hands over the room keys.

“Enjoy your stay. Hope to see you around.”

She playfully rolls her eyes at his wink as they make their way to the elevator. Kylian storms ahead, pulling at his suitcase angrily. Deandra frowns, thinking maybe he’s feeling a little overstimulated. The ride up is tensely quiet while she informs her boss that they’ve landed and are about to head up to their rooms. Mr. Grandison informs her that agents are stationed at the hotel and demands she gives him a call once she’s settled.

“Alright, not a bug in sight. Safe hotel room. Want to watch-”

“No. I’d like to shower and go to bed please.” Kylian keeps his gaze pointedly on the bedside table.

She mirrors his frown; “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Curt.

“Oh, I guess you’re tired or overstimulated-”

“Do you like the receptionist?” He blurts the question out.

Silence.

Deandra’s mouth stretches in a small grin as she puts the pieces of the puzzle together. He doesn’t move as she inches closer until she’s invading his personal space.

“Are you jealous, Kylian?” She questions with a smirk.

He shrugs in response, frown deepening at her amusement.

“No, Kylian. I don’t like the receptionist. He’s a flirt and I was just being nice.”

Tentatively, she reaches up to touch her thumb along his jawline. He doesn’t shift. Lifting to the tip of her toes, she presses her lips against his cheek.

“Do you still want to be alone later?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second; “No.”

Deandra almost cackles; “Okay baby. I’ll freshen up and come right back. We’ll order food and watch documentaries.”

********

Inès confirms that she’ll be landing tomorrow in a text. Deandra acknowledges her message with a simple ‘okay’ before dialing her boss’s number. She’s freshly showered and ready to fall into bed with Kylian but duty comes first.

“All is well?”

“Yes sir, checked in alright and his hotel room is clean.” She paces along the plush carpet beneath her feet.

“Good. His mother will be there soon, yes?”

“Tomorrow, 11 am.”

“Good. Remind me of what you’re supposed to do, Smith.”

Deandra automatically grows somber, her pacing ceases.

“Keep Inès and Kylian safe and out of the loop; Get Pelosi alone and get him to talk. By any means necessary.”

Pianist Kylian x bodyguard black oc.

Wc:2.5k

Warnings: There will be violence, mentions of autism, mentions of mental health issues, smut (18+)

A/n: Kylian has been moving me for a while so I’m finally doing an AU for him. First chapter just to set the tone and I don’t intend to make this long at all. (And no, I’m not using his momma’s real name I’m sorry lmaoo) Let me know you guys think, enjoy?

Next chapter->

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Her sweaty palms leave behind an obvious trail on her light blue jeans. Each step closer to her destination makes her heart shake so hard in her chest that she’s forced to pause and take deep breaths to quell the palpitations. She knew it was only a matter of time; you don’t get away with careless behaviour in her line of work. Deandra knew what was next the minute she was pulled from the assignment a week ago. ‘You fucked up, you’re too rash.’

She has no time to think of a plausible retort for the voice in her head before she’s standing in the doorway of her boss’ office. Mr. Grandison is as stoic as they come. She has his number saved in her phone as “Mr. Humorless.” Almost two years at the agency and she hasn’t seen him smile once. It’s unnerving. He’s brown skinned, towering and has the kind of mustache they add to cartoon characters for comedic effect. No one has dared to comment on it to his face though.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Grandison?”

The aircon is off in favour of a small desk fan whirring despite the California heat in the height of summer. ‘Very telling of the kind of man he is’, she thinks.

He gestures at the chair across from him. Wordlessly, she takes a seat trying not to fidget as the silence stretches. He busies himself with typing something on his opened laptop that’s silver and sleek. Absolutely spotless.

“I’m assigning you to someone else.”

Deandra is rendered speechless. She blinks owlishly, mouth agape.

“Sorry?”

“Have you suddenly lost your hearing? Because I’m afraid this line of work would no longer be suitable for you.” He says in a matter of fact tone.

“No, sir. I just thought… I shot someone. I… I messed up. I thought this was…”

They’re a private security agency under a branch of the government. The best of the best. Deandra herself is trained in five different kinds of martial arts, can wield any weapon in sight and can pick out a target from almost any range with a gun. Only the elite can afford their services. They pride themselves on being discreet, alert, effective and methodical— clean. No unnecessary drama, no casualties.

“You thought, what, that I’d fire you?” He finally fixes her with his hard gaze.

A pregnant pause; “Yes.” She whispers truthfully.

“Do you think you deserve to be fired?”

Deandra observes his body language long and hard. She tries to gauge if he’s testing her. What was she supposed to say? What does he want her to say?

“No. But-”

“But?”

Sweat trickles from her temple down the length of her cheek. Belatedly, she realizes that even her upper lip is wet. She licks at it instinctively.

“I shot someone. A bystander.”

“Was it fatal?”

“No. A shoulder wound.”

Silence. Her hands ball into tight little fists in her lap.

“Was it intentional?”

Her heart stutters to a stop. Deandra contemplates. She feels the answer to this particular question decides her fate.

Her mouth opens, then closes again. She stares. His brows furrow in impatience.

“Yes. It was intentional.” It feels like the words leave her mouth without her permission. She decided to be honourable. It may cost her job but Deandra has always been somewhat of a terrible liar.

“Why?”

“My client’s life was in danger. If the man had escaped, he would’ve surely returned to finish his attempt. He tried using the crowd to get away; I didn’t want him to. I had the chance to take him out at the expense of inconveniencing someone for a few months so I took it. Straight through the deltoid muscle but right in the heart for my target. I knew it would cost the agency but I had to.”

They don’t encourage murder, but in some cases, when the criminals are especially heinous or the clients are too important… it goes unsaid but understood.

Mr. Grandison keeps his steady gaze on her face looking for a slight crack in her facade. Except it isn’t, because that’s the whole truth. Deandra keeps her spine straight and her expression neutral.

“As I expected. Why would I fire you for being good at your job? You weighed the options and made a decision; and it was a good decision. Becker had plans to take out Mr. Thatcher and his entire family for testifying against his brother. Now they’re safe at the cost of a lot less than what they paid us.”

Her exhale is subtle but full of so much relief that she physically feels her lungs expanding to their full capacity again.

“Back to your new assignment.” He turns the laptop screen in her direction.

Deandra couldn’t contain her gasp even if she was forewarned. Sure, she’s confident in her abilities, but she would expect someone with a lot more experience to be assigned to this one.

“Kylian Mbappé.” Mr. Grandison states coolly.

“The pianist?” She balks dumbly even though she’s staring at his picture on screen. The caramel skinned man on screen is, in fact, the famous piano prodigy. Born in France, he took the world by storm at a young age. Now, he’s probably the wealthiest musician alive. A savant they call him. He plays the piano like he had lifetimes to master it; he tours often in grand theaters and is even responsible for musical scores in some of the most popular films. On screen, Kylian’s brown eyes stray from the lens of the camera. He looks off to the side at nothing in particular with a pair of glasses resting on his prominent nose. His hair is in a neat low fade, a black turtle neck showcases his broad upped body and strong biceps. Deandra wills her gaze to stay observational rather than admiring.

“The one and only. His mother is worried. After a few threats since he moved here a year ago, there was actually an attempt to kidnap him. That happened a fortnight ago. He has been holed up in his mansion since. But he has to start playing again.”

Grandison pauses to retrieve a cigar from the drawer of his desk.

“He needs security, but not any kind of security. We want to catch whoever this is. They won’t try something if they see him surrounded by obvious guards. We need one person: capable yet very subtle.”

Understanding immediately dawns on her. Kylian being spotted with random men is always too obvious. It makes it harder for them to get closer— to get careless. And that’s what they want. A woman though?

“You understand, yes?”

She nods.

“You conceal your weapons. You accompany him to shows in lovely dresses and play the role of a damsel. But you’re there for one reason only. Do you accept?”

Her eyes drift to the man on the screen again. This is a man beloved by many, with a net worth beyond her imagination. This is her biggest assignment yet. It’s terrifying. It’s daunting. But Deandra has never been someone who’s easily intimidated. Determination makes her expression steely.

“I accept.”

*******

The drive to Silicon Valley takes thirty five minutes. Deandra pulls into the cobblestone driveway with her jaw practically in her lap when the house comes into view. She drives around the fountain in the middle of the property, eyeing the well kept lawn and towering palm trees by the black metal gate that slowly swings shut behind her. The exterior of the house is made from cool, creme limestone. With black and gold accents around the transparent windows. There are four guards total, clad in suits with earpieces. Two are stationed by the gate and the other two by the front door. Her eyes do a quick sweep of the perimeter of the house that’s surrounded by a chain link fence concealed by vines and shrubbery. She hopes the guards at least take turns patrolling the entire perimeter; the fence can be scaled if the person is determined enough. She catches the cameras and sighs.

“They should’ve hid them a little.” She grumbles to herself. One of the guards approaches her as soon as she steps out of her car.

“Good morning. You’re Ms. Smith, yes?”

She nods, flashing her I.D to be cooperative. He nods, clearly appeased.

“She’s waiting for you.” He gestures towards the front door.

Her bob is already sticking to her neck with how humid the air is. Deandra almost skips over to the front door, ready to escape the heat. She can almost feel her brown skin bronzing from the sun’s glaring rays. Her boots eat up the distance within seconds. The door is swung open before she raises her fist to knock.

“Sorry. I was… expecting you.” The older woman says bashfully.

She’s a few inches shorter than Deandra with hair streaked with white strands. A pair of round glasses is perched precariously on her nose. Even without saying, Deandra knows this is his mother. Their resemblance is uncanny.

“No worries, I’m Deandra Smith.” She offers her hand and the woman accepts eagerly.

“I’m Inès. Please come in.”

Deandra is immediately enveloped by cooler air as she steps into the foyer. Inès closes the door behind her then leads her further into the house. There are abstract paintings on the walls along with awards dated as far back as 2006 for her son. The living room is nothing short of a life sized scrap book of his achievements.

“Do you want something to drink? It’s scorching outside.” Inès radiates warmth. So much so that Deandra finds herself relaxing her shoulders, something she hasn’t done in a while. Her accent loops over every sincere word in a way that’s endearing.

“It’s okay.” She wants to get to the meat of the matter but she doesn’t want to come off as insolent. Inès notices anyway.

“Okay, let’s sit down and talk.”

The plush creme couch beckons her to recline, so she does. Deandra can tell the furniture alone is probably more expensive than a year's rent for her apartment.

“Well, Mr. Grandison says he’ll be in safe hands with you. I hope that’s true.” The woman says with a wry smile, hands twisting anxiously in her lap.

“I’ll do my best to keep him safe. You have my word.”

Inès nods, shoulders losing some of the visible tension.

“Kylian is… he’s special. He’s quiet and… people think that's an open invitation to take advantage of him. He’d give the shirt off his back if someone asks for it. So I can’t for the life of me imagine why someone would want to hurt him.”

Deandra cringes internally when Inès’ shoulders start to shake gently. She can assemble a gun in seconds, she can take down someone twice her size in hand to hand combat. But comforting people? That’s something she has never been good at.

“People are… cruel.” She finishes lamely.

“Yes, they are, I suppose.”

“Tell me, when was he first threatened and what was the exact nature of this threat?”

Inès takes a few seconds to gather her thoughts before she speaks;

“It was after a show. A note stuffed into his bag that was backstage. It demanded he take a hefty sum of money with him for his show in New York. It had instructions on where to leave it. Obviously, we spoke to the police. They were there for the show in New York so I guess that’s why nothing happened.”

Inès takes a shuddering breath.

“We forgot about it. But then, I noticed he started getting weird emails or messages on his social media accounts that I manage. I brushed it aside as some prankster wanting attention and that was naive of me especially after what happened. He had a show in Vegas and that’s when it happened. They created a distraction for his security by way of a bomb threat. They created enough chaos for his guards to lose focus for a second and swooped right in. Luckily, they got him back before they could escape with him but…”

Awkwardly, Deandra reaches over to pat the woman’s shoulder.

“I just want him to be at peace. He requires it… anxiety and stress messes with his creativity and…” Inès trails off unsurely. She has something else to say but she’s hesitant.

Instead, she takes a calming breath; “How can you help?”

“Listen. We think the problem is how obvious it is. Sometimes the best security is the illusion of none. We need them to get careless. Men in suits and earpieces are walking neon signs. They’re expecting that; they’ll be cunning if they see that. They’ll plan. A woman simply accompanying him to events though? They’ll underestimate me. We’ll use that to our advantage.”

Inès’ eyes twinkle with something that looks suspiciously like hope. It makes the quiet burden heavier, but Deandra breathes through it. This is what she has spent years training for. It will work.

“I trust you. Thank you for even having the… courage to take this on. I love him more than anything and just want him to be safe.”

“And he will be. I give you my word.” Deandra’s almond shaped eyes are somber in her resolution. She’s keeping her client safe even if it means putting herself at risk.

“Thank you. I guess you should meet him.” Inès says with a hint of hesitation before standing.

Deandra follows the woman up a flight of stairs all the way to the last door in the hallway. She hears it then, though muffled. The soft, high tinkles of piano keys. The melody is hauntingly beautiful. She feels his frustration, his anxiety, his sadness. She feels it all as the notes float behind the closed, wooden door. It almost feels criminal to interrupt him.

Inès opens her mouth, then closes it again. It’s clear she wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

“Is everything alright?”

Inès smiles weakly then nods. Her fingers rap against the door firmly twice. She waits a few seconds but the music doesn’t stop. Unperturbed by this fact, Inès twists the knob and swings the door open. And as Deandra stands in the doorway, she imagines this is the equivalent of watching Picasso with a paint brush. Kylian’s eyes are fixed on the window, taking in the view of his backyard while his fingers caress the keys of the grand piano. He plays like it’s second nature; he plays like he breathes: subconscious inhales and exhales. His fingers move over the keys like they’re an extension of him. Kylian doesn’t stop until the song he’s playing builds into a crescendo that makes her heart rate spike; then he stops abruptly. Deandra is almost panting; it feels like a story ending on a cliff hanger. With his fingers still hovering over the keys, he turns his head in their direction like the action is mechanical. He looks at his mother first.

“Kylian, this is Deandra.”

That’s it. It’s clearly something they’ve discussed before. Begrudgingly, he turns his head in her direction. They make eye contact for only a second, before his eyes drop to her neck. Then, he frowns. Unamused.

“D’accord.” One word. His voice is low but his tone is dismissive.

Kylian turns to face the window, and again, begins to play.

Deandra eyes him incredulously and before she can help herself, blurts out;

wc: 3.8k

Warnings: mentions of drugs, smut, mature themes (18+)

A/n: I had this almost complete and sitting in my docs a while and decided to just finish and post. I wanted to try characterizing Virg a little differently here so here we are and idk😅 enjoy?

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The bustling streets of Manhattan is something Virgil loves and hates equally. The city breathes life; people of every race, every background— a melting pot of multicultural heaven that forms something so beautiful when he sits and ruminates on it for a while. A guy shouting in Arabic here, then an older, mature woman responding in some English creole that he uses context and tone to make sense of. It’s truly wonderful to be reminded of how different we all are— of how welcoming the city is. On the other hand, the fact that the big apple opens its loving arms to everyone, means the population is extremely large. Especially during peak hours on Wall Street. Traffic is always at a stand still on his way to the office. He even tried leaving home a little earlier every morning; today, he left home 25 minutes earlier than he usually does. Yet, he finds himself tapping at his steering in annoyance five minutes late while still being minutes away. He has a feeling he would’ve probably been fired by now if he wasn’t COO. It takes another fifteen minutes of slow progression and huffing until he finally parks along the curb reserved in front of the grand office. His eyes flicker to the expensive watch sitting on his wrist— twenty minutes late. With a frustrated huff, he hurries to gather his things from the passenger seat then exits the vehicle. In his haste, he whirls around and immediately starts marching in the direction of the building with his eyes still focused on his watch. Virgil takes three steps before colliding into a much smaller figure. Time seems to stand still at the feel of something warm and very wet soaking into the material of white shirt.

“Owww.”

The woman in front of him rubs at her forehead, fixing him with an annoyed glare. She stands at about 5’7 with glowy brown skin and almond shaped mocha brown eyes. Her plump, pink lips are set in a petulant pout with pink lipgloss smudged around them. Matter of fact, all her makeup is smudged— eyeliner streaks below her eyes, eyeshadow messy like she rubbed at it for hours. To top it all off, she’s wearing the tiniest, black dress he has ever seen. It leaves so little to the imagination that he shamefully takes a few seconds to admire her body.

“What the fuck are you made of? Bricks?” Her palm still rubs at her forehead.

Belatedly, he finally looks down the length of his body. There’s a huge, brown patch on his shirt and the smell of coffee is prominent. A cup with a logo he doesn’t recognize sways uselessly at his feet on its side. Virgil takes an inhale through his nose, rolling the building tension from his neck.

“You ruined my shirt.” He says calmly.

Her brows furrow; “You were the one who wasn’t paying attention! That was my coffee for my hangover!” She stomps her right foot petulantly.

“You need to buy that back! I have no coffee at home and I spent my last $8 on that.”

He can’t help but blink in bewilderment; “You’re complaining about $8 when you just ruined my Armani shirt?”

“I didn’t do shit!”

“Look at you, you’re drunk at 8:25 am in the morning. You could’ve easily walked right into me because you don’t know up from down right now.”

She gasps; “Hey! I’m not drunk! Well, I sobered up like 2 hours ago I think… Also, don’t sound so judgmental about people having fun because you have a stick up your ass.”

Virgil chuckles in disbelief.

“Yeah, I don’t have time for this.” Virgil rounds her sputtering figure and strides straight into the building. He’ll send his secretary on a run for a new shirt later.

*****************

Virgil feels dead on his feet as he stumbles out of the office at 6:30 pm. He’s pretty sure he saw bags under his eyes when he caught a brief glance of himself in the glass windows on his way down to the lobby. There’s a little warning voice ringing in the back of his mind that he has been ignoring: ‘you’re working too much.’ But what else is he supposed to do? His job is his life, literally. His movements halt suddenly, eyes widening slightly at what he finds outside. Leaning against his car, though she’s now free of makeup and looks more rested, is unmistakably the woman he bumped into this morning. The cheetah printed dress is even more risqué than the black one he saw her in earlier. The boots on her feet are chunky and black. Uncrossing her arms, she eases away from his car to stride towards him. Her expression is hardened with determination.

“You owe me coffee.”

“You’re fucking joking…”

“Nope! I want my coffee.” She blows an obnoxious bubble with the watermelon scented gum she’s chomping at.

“You know what?”

Virgil roots around for his wallet in the pocket of his slacks. He pulls out a crisp $100 bill and shoves it in her direction.

“Here. This should cover coffee for a few days, hm?”

Her brown eyes twinkle with something mischievous as she snatches the note from his hand.

“Thanks, but this still isn’t coffee.”

Virgil sputters incredulously; “What?”

Cocking a hip, her eyes do a slow perusal of him from head to toe; “What’s your name?”

Virgil wills his neck to not go pink under her intense gaze. He’s used to being the center of attention in meetings, but getting attention from an obviously younger woman who’s as bold and looks so stunning is something else entirely.

“Virgil.”

“Nice to meet you, Virgil. I’m Angel, and you’re coming with me.”

His brain blanks.

“Uh….”

Angel cocks a brow then grasps his wrist in her delicate hand before tugging him along. For whatever reason, Virgil doesn’t resist.

“My car… I can’t just leave it here.”

“You’re a New Yorker who drives?” She folds her lips to contain her laugh.

“I have a garage.” He mutters uselessly with a shrug, because for some strange reason he feels embarrassed.

“Of course you do, give me the keys.” Angel stretches an open palm in his direction.

He shouldn’t, but he’s attracted. He’s so attracted and really wants her to spend time with him. So though he hesitates, Virgil presses the fob to his Volvo XC90.

“A Volvo…do you wear a helmet when you ride a bicycle?” She cackles at his nonplussed expression before strutting over to the lone car still parked along the curb.

Virgil tries not to let his eyes stay glued to the assured sway of her hips and the plump curve of her ass. He gulps, wiping his sweaty palms along the length of his slacks. He rounds the vehicle just as she gets into the driver’s seat and his car comes to life with a gentle purr. Virgil scrambles with his seatbelt just as she pulls onto the street with tires screeching.

“Please slow down.”

Angel rolls her eyes with an endeared smile;

“Where do you live? Lemme guess, Brooklyn Heights?”

Virgil feels almost disappointed at how easy he is to read.

“Yes. But why do you want to go to my house?”

“Cause I’m taking you out with me and you can’t wear a suit.” She pops her gum absentmindedly, swerving unnecessarily.

“But I…” he trails off as she cocks a brow at him.

Virgil swallows his protest;

“Turn left after the stop sign.”

**************

Angel whistles appreciatively as she pulls into his garage.

“You know, I’ve never really had a lot of aspirations, but owning a Brownstone house? That’s something I want eventually.”

Virgil tries not to show much of a reaction to that.

“You can, you just hav-”

“Please don’t say work hard.” Angel rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“Oh… sorry.” He clears his throat loudly, the sound of the garage door closing behind amplifying the awkward air tenfold.

“Are you gonna give me a tour of your house? Or are we gonna die in this fucking garage?” Angel smirks at him while he fumbles with the seatbelt.

He leads her inside his living room that’s sparsely decorated: a tv that spans almost the entire length of the wall with a console beneath with a few figurines. She recognizes them as characters from Dragon Ball Z. A coffee table and a coach. That’s it.

“Very… minimal.” She drags her index finger along his console while walking further into his home without permission.

“I… uh… my wi- ex- wife handled most of the decorations so it’s…” He shrugs carelessly but avoids eye contact with her.

His words bring her attention to the lighter circular line cutting through the rest of his tan fingers.

“How long?”

“Uh… almost two years.”

“Just recently stopped wearing your ring to keep up appearances at the office?” Her voice is sickly sweet. Virgil pauses, scratching at the back of his neck that’s starting to grow red.

“Uh… yes.”

Angel hums contemplatively before speaking;

“Take me to your bedroom.” She blinks up at him in an exaggerated way that she knows will make him fall apart. She’s right. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily, eyes almost bulging from his head.

“What?”

“Bedroom, for your clothes, silly.”

“Oh! Right…”

He fidgets in place for a few seconds then turns to stride down the narrow hallway. Not before she hears him cursing himself under his breath. Angel bites her lip to keep her laughter at bay.

His bedroom is just as minimal but his scent is concentrated here. It makes something in her lower belly shift. Virgil opens his walk- in closet and steps aside for her to do her perusal.

“So, where are we… what’s the vibe of the occasion?”

She waves him off in dismissal, eyes glued to rows of clothing inside. “Go freshen up, I’ll take care of it.”

He doesn’t protest.

By the time he emerges from the bathroom, Angel is holding a black knitted Polo shirt, a pair of jeans and a pair of black suede Clarks.

“Well, this was the best I could do and woah! You have tattoos.” Angel’s eyes are comically wide at the revelation. He’s only wrapped a towel around his lower half; whatever she expected him to look like under his suit, he surpasses her expectations. Virgil clearly stays active, she’d even say he’s religious with his visits to the gym. But the swirling dark ink that occupies the entire length of his left hand steals her attention.

Virgil, flustered under her gaze, eyes his arm then shrugs impassively; “Yeah.”

“You might be the most uncool person with tattoos ever.”

He frowns bitterly; “You’re really mean.”

She cackles without remorse, shoving the clothes in his face. “Put these on, and I advise you don’t wear any of your watches that cost thousands.”

Angel waits for him in the kitchen, making herself comfortable by pouring a glass of orange juice and snacking on a protein bar she found in his cupboard. He re-emerges after she freshens her makeup and draws harsh, black lines around her eyes in his kitchen using her phone camera as a mirror.

“Ready, pretty boy?” She eyes from head to toe, pleased but keeping it a secret. His clothes look almost custom made the way they mold on to his big frame. His man bun looks refreshed and his cologne permeates the air around them.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Why? You like it too much?” Angel teases.

“Where are we going?” He asks just to change the subject. Angel notices and smirks but decides not to torment him further.

“A club; and we’re taking the train like real New Yorkers.”

*******************

Angel takes him to Gray’s Papaya before they make it to the club. Virgil sticks out like a sore thumb as she greets the cashier she has now grown familiar with.

“Lemme get two Franks, ketchup, mustard, onions and two medium papaya drinks.”

Virgil stays close, surveying the space as if he’s afraid some rodent will suddenly jump at him from behind the counter. Angel pays from the same $100 bill he handed her earlier. They stay by the counter as they wait for their order. Turning to face him, Angel eyes him with amusement.

“I promise they won’t poison our food.”

“I just… why here? I could take you somewhere be-”

“I want a hotdog.” She says with finality.

“Do you miss your wife?” Her tone is conversational despite the weight of the question. Virgil’s eyes widen; Angel’s expression remains neutral.

“Uh… I don’t know. I miss the company, she was my first and only love and I haven’t been with anyone else so it’s a little difficult to date.” He clears his throat in a gesture that clearly shows discomfort.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Angel wipes a small smear of aftershave cream from his goatee with her index. Virgil looks down at her with lidded eyes.

“I don’t. I’ve just been lonely.” He finally admits.

Angel gives a pleased hum just as their orders arrive. Unsurprisingly, Virgil loves the hotdog. He devours it in three big bites, humming after every one. Angel only gloats a little as they walk side by side sipping from styrofoam cups while the city awakens for the nightlife around them.

***************

They get swallowed up in a crowd of bodies in the humid heat of the underground club. Crimson lights set the atmosphere for depravity— for drugs, liquor and lust. Virgil keeps an ironclad grip around her waist, eyes alert and body tense. The bass from a rock song shakes her chest so hard but instead of discomfort, it makes her blood sing in excitement. She lives for scenes like this.

“You already look like I plucked you right off a golf course, loosen up so people don’t think I’m holding you hostage.” Angel yells at him over the music.

“I… this is a lot!” He says with furrowed brows.

With a roll of her eyes, Angel roots around in her purse and pulls out two carefully packaged gummies. One she pops in her mouth, the other she unwraps and stretches towards him. Virgil’s head recoils.

“It’s just an edible. It’ll help you loosen up and have fun.”

He eyes it skeptically for a few seconds before he dips his head lower for her to feed him the gummy. He chews thoughtfully.

“Good, huh?”

“It does taste good. I’ve never been high before, just a heads up.”

She giggles at his somber expression; “It’s not a high enough dose to really fuck you up, you’ll just feel good. You’ll see.” Angel throws her arms around his neck, pulling his body closer.

“Why me?” He asks as he tries to follow her swaying movements.

“What do you mean?” She inquires in faux innocence.

Virgil gives her an exasperated look. With a giggle, Angel laughs freely and concedes.

“You’re handsome. I wanna fuck you.” She says with a nonchalant shrug.

Virgil chokes around nothing, grip on her waist tightening.

“Why are you surprised? Have you seen yourself?”

Virgil gapes like a fish, words seemingly lost to him.

“Want me to prove it?” Angel suddenly steps out of his embrace, whispering something to a woman who looks to be about her age that’s standing next to them. She’s decked from head to toe in black, jet black bang falling into her eyes. Her lips painted with a dark blue lipstick stretch into a smirk and before Virgil can make sense of it, she replaces Angel in front of him.

She introduces herself as Raven, and is just as bold as Angel. She turns to press her back to his front and begins a steady grind against his crotch. Virgil thinks it must be the edible, but he’s suddenly aware of the very blood pumping through his veins. The temperature in the room rises, but he feels immune. He feels emboldened. His hands find Raven’s hips, moving as best as he’s able to with her unsteady rhythm. His eyes cut over to Angel a few feet away. She’s in a similar position as Raven with a different guy; unlike Raven, she flows with the beat. They make steady eye contact across the room while they dance with different partners; for whatever reason, it builds the tension between them despite the distance. Angel pushes her ass back into the guy harder, mouth popping open slightly. Virgil feels the front of his jeans tighten as his blood roars in his ears. He needs Angel. He manages to restrain himself through three more songs before he steps away from Raven with a quick smile of appreciation. Angel smirks as he approaches, as if she was expecting it. Virgil doesn’t acknowledge the guy behind her as he pulls her into his body. Angel smiles up at him, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Did you mean that? What you said earlier?”

Angel grasps one of his hands that’s around her waist and trails it between her legs until his finger tips graze her bare pussy under her dress.

“I didn’t wear underwear, just for you.” She stands on the tips of her toes to whisper against his mouth.

Angel isn’t sure who moves first before they start devouring each other as the club pulses around them. It’s wet, it’s hurried, it’s passionate. Angel lowers from tipping but Virgil folds his body to follow her downward. She suckles on his tongue that tastes like him and the faintest hint of papaya juice and the watermelon flavoured edible. Angel moans at the feel of his chest rumbling.

“Back to your place?”

Virgil nods eagerly.

***************

Virgil thinks he’s dreaming. He must be. He chances a glance at the woman kneeling on his bed between his legs again. The perfect arch showing her narrow waist and round ass, but most importantly, the part that’s making him feel like he has to be gripping at his sanity so it doesn’t completely slip away, is the way she’s staring at him with her mouth stretched around his length. Angel slurps her way upward like she has all the time in the world, eyes locked on his own. Virgil’s toes curl until he gets a cramp in his foot.

“Angel, baby, I-” he can only moan helplessly, mouth agape and eyes disbelieving.

“Hm?” She pulls off him with an audible pop, but keeps her mouth around his tip, spitting and slurping over and over.

Virgil feels his eyes roll to the back of his head, belly spasming. He wants to stop the embarrassing sounds that keep tumbling out of his mouth, but Angel, fucking Angel. She’s so good. Too good. She teased him with her words, her eyes, with subtle touches during the entire train ride back to his side of town. He has been on edge for what feels like hours; hiding his erection was a real pain and she laughed at him for it, though she did promise to make it up to him. Now he knows what she meant.

“Virgil?” She calls him sweetly.

It takes a few seconds for his vision to focus, when it does, Angel sticks her tongue out and slaps the weight of his dick against it.

“Angel, what the fu-” he suddenly chokes because she sinks all the way down his length while her fingers touch at sacs delicately. He’s sure she feels them pull taut under her touch.

Angel hurries to pull her mouth off him and tightens a fist around the base of his dick when she feels him starting to throb.

She tuts softly; “Not before you fuck me.”

Angel crawls up the length of his body to press their mouths together sloppily. She moans in his mouth, pulls away an inch and puckers her lips. Virgil opens his mouth for every drop without complaint, diving back in to attack her soft, plump lips. His breath hitches as she fully straddles his lap and takes his drenched dick in her hand. She doesn’t tease, seemingly as impatient as he feels. Virgil tenses in anticipation as she positions his dick at her entrance and begins sliding down the length of him. They gasp simultaneously.

“So fucking big and perfect, Virgil.” She moans from the pit of her belly, quivering above him when she’s almost seated fully on his lap.

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the sweat trailing down his temples so he doesn’t come prematurely and ruin her night. It has been almost three years since he last had sex. And Angel feels too wet, too tight, too warm. Too much. Her hands settle in the middle of his chest and she raises herself to the tips of her toes.

“You better not come before I get mine, Virgil.” It’s too whiny to be a command but it sticks anyway. Angel wastes no time in riding him with abandon. She bounces along his length, head thrown back and moans pitched high. Her black nails are a perfect contrast against his skin.

“Fuck- I-”

With sweat trickling into his eyes, Virgil plants his feet and starts meeting every downward bounce with a harsh thrust of his hips. Angel screams, nails biting into his chest.

“Yes! Just like that, Virg. Big, fucking di-” Angel grunts as he angles his hips just right.

“Angel, I’m gonna-”

“Not yet.” She whines, bouncing harder, eyes squeezed shut.

Virgil reaches for her breasts, thumb and index lightly squeezing her taut nipples. Angel stiffens with a small cry. Virgil snaps his hips faster, harder.

“Yes, daddy!”

Virgil’s vision goes white. His entire body tingles as Angel milks him for everything he’s worth. He thinks he’s probably crying out, he can’t be sure with all the ringing in his ear. His hips don’t still. He can’t. It feels so good he thinks he might actually pass out or fucking die. Who knows? Who cares? If this is his last experience on earth he couldn’t ever be mad. What a way to go, actually. When he regains his senses, Angel is lying against his chest. Breaths heavy and heartbeat erratic— like his own.

“Angel?” His hand rubs the length of her back.

“Hm?”

“Did I hurt you?”

She snorts; “No. it’s big but I’m a size queen.”

“I don’t know what that means.” He admits truthfully.

This time, she giggles; “You’re adorable, I almost want to keep you.”

He goes quiet, contemplating if he wants to risk shattering his pride. But he decides that he wants to see her again. He needs to see her again. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun, or tried something new and exciting.

“So keep me.”

Tense silence follows for almost a minute before Angel lifts her head to face him with a smile.

“Yeah?”

Virgil feigns nonchalance; “Yeah. I’d take care of you and we could see each other like, a few times a week and I’d buy you things-”

“So you wanna be my sugar daddy?” She smirks.

“No! I’d take you to dinner and maybe give you an allowance and… yeah, a sugar daddy for fuck’s sake.” He admits with a frown.

Angel cackles like a maniac; “Hm, well, I already called you daddy so might as well reap the benefits. Also, you’re taking the day off of work tomorrow, you have dark circles under your eyes.” She says around a yawn. He knows better than to argue.

“Okay.”

Angel gets comfortable on his chest again, uncaring of his dick softening inside her. In fact, she seems to relish it as she subtly rocks against him with a pleased little moan.

wc: 4k

warnings: angst, misunderstandings, smut (18+)

A/n: This chapter turned out sweeter than I initially planned so the smut is also the same🧍🏾‍♀️. So much more I could’ve done with this and I’m so mad I have to wrap it up because I have sooo much work to deal with. Thanks for the support and enjoy I guess 🫶🏾😭

<- previous chapter.

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Anger burns hot and potent under the surface of his skin as he charges his way into Brandon’s room. His vision blocks everything out except Denzel’s nonchalant frame standing close to the bed. Denzel only has a second to widen his eyes before the length of Hugo’s arm is lodged under his chin. Denzel chokes when his back is slammed harshly against the wall. Pictures clatter to the ground; Brandon and Jackson are yelling something that’s drowned out by the loud ringing in his ear.

“What the fuck, Hugo?” He manages to wheeze the words out.

“What did you do to her?!”

“Heki, chill.”

Hugo whips his head in Brandon’s direction after he speaks; whatever expression is on his face is enough to make Brandon take a few steps away with wide eyes.

“I didn’t do shit! I just asked if they could watch-”

Hugo is tackled from behind before he gets the chance to land a blow. He tries to wrestle out of Jackson’s arms like a rabid dog.

“You have a photoshoot on Monday, do you really want to start a fight now?” Jackson yells loud enough for his ear to ring.

It takes a few minutes of heavy panting in Jackson’s hold for him to stop struggling. His friend loosens his grip enough for him to break free. Hugo adjusts his jacket, glaring at Denzel wishing he could shoot laser beams from his eyes.

“What’s the big deal?! I didn’t touch her without consent and we’ve done shit like that before-”

“With girls who- when it’s—” Hugo takes a deep breath to steady himself. He’s so angry that English has completely abandoned him.

“With women who asked for it- who likes it! You know they wouldn’t just want to watch-”

“Hey! We wouldn’t touch her if she said no.” Brandon chimes in with a frown.

“Not the fucking point! We only do that with girls who ask to… get with all of us and you know it!”

“Why the fuck are you so defensive anyway? You don’t even kno-” Denzel trails off, eyeing him intently;

“You do know her… you fucking like her.” There’s a hint of mockery in his voice.

“You do?” Jackson inquires with a raised brow.

Hugo takes a steadying breath; “stay the fuck away from Jordyn, or I kill you.”

“You’re a coward, Hugo; but your little prude is safe, lover boy.” Denzel says with a smirk.

“You want to be funny? I have jokes too, Denzel. I know about the Trenbolone and I have proof. Let’s see if you stay on team when your coach finds out.”

Denzel’s expression shifts to horror- stricken in a second; “okay okay, I’m sorry and I’ll leave her alone, I swear I will.”

Hugo frowns at him in disgust before exiting Brandon’s room, ignoring his desperate pleas. Hugo fishes for his phone in his pocket; he knows the chances of her picking up his call are slim, but he’s desperate so he dials her number anyway. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t. That doesn’t deter him. He calls the entire drive to her house. Denzel’s words ring in his head like a mantra; “you’re a coward, Hugo.” And he is. He has been a coward for years— running and avoiding instead of communicating. He almost completely ruined their friendship because he’s spineless.

‘Almost?’

That annoying voice in his head sneers at him. Hugo seemingly gets to her house before her, expected since he drove her and she probably had to take a taxi or the bus. He dials her number again, pacing the length of her porch as the phone rings. It feels like hours when a taxi finally parks in front of her driveway. His relief is short-lived when her mother emerges from the vehicle instead of Jordyn.

“Hugo? What’s going on?” The woman approaches with concern on her face.

“I um.., I was looking for Jordyn, Auntie.”

Her frown deepens; “Jordyn called to let me know she’s staying with Miranda tonight. She didn’t text you?”

“Oh.” He pauses to clear his throat loudly; for whatever reason, his throat burns in a way it hasn’t since he first realized his feelings for her and spent the entire night crying silently in his room. That was years ago; he won’t cry now, in her mother’s presence at that.

“I guess she hasn’t seen my text yet, I’ll um-” he gestures towards his car and attempts to round her figure to escape the porch. Instead, her hand grips his forearm, effectively pausing him in his tracks.

“What’s going on, Hugo?” She whispers softly.

Hugo blinks his eyes rapidly, looking every which way but in her direction; “I’m a idiot, Aunt Barbara.”

The woman looks up at him in pity; staring into her eyes makes his heart squeeze tightly in his chest at their uncanny resemblance to her daughter’s. The woman forces his taller body to bend to her will so she can pull him in a hug. Hugo melts into her, using every ounce of willpower he has to hold his tears at bay.

“If it’s any consolation at all…”

Hugo cocks his ear, waiting for words of encouragement. But after years of being around the woman, he should’ve known better.

She pulls away to smile at him; “You’re both idiots.” There’s a knowing glint in her eye, as if she has been narrating their story throughout the years.

“Give her some time; the only person that knows her as much as I do, is you. You know what to do.” She pats his cheek gently then enters the empty house while humming softly.

***********

“He did what?! Oh we need to kill him, Jordyn!”

Jordyn shrugs offhandedly at her friend’s outburst while staring blankly at the brown rug on her floor. She feels a kind of dull ache in her chest that she can’t explain; yet, she has an idea why it feels like that.

Miranda observes her with a deep frown on her face;

“There’s something else.” Not a question. A statement. Miranda is sure.

Jordyn’s eyes water when she finally makes eye contact with her friend after coming over. She can feel her face getting hot: a dam about to burst. Not only her tears, because secrets she can’t contain anymore.

“I… Hugo.” Are the only words she manages to get through her quivering mouth before she dissolves into full-bodied sobs.

Miranda pulls her into her arms without hesitation;

“Hugo? The tall skinny French guy who hangs out with them?”

Jordyn nods through her heaving, burying her face deeper in Miranda’s chest.

“Did he…?” Miranda’s voice quivers in horror.

“No… he just… we…” Jordyn lifts her head to take deep shuddering breaths. Guilt weighs her down when she notices the tears in her bestfriend’s eyes for her sake.

“I have something to tell you that I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

*****************

Funny how he managed to go months without talking to her before, but now two weeks away from her presence feels like something gnawing at his chest. She won’t answer his calls, ignores him when he’s knocking her door and he hasn’t seen her on campus even though he actively seeks her out. Twice he managed to catch a glimpse of her friend, but Jordyn wasn’t with her. He wonders if she’s skipping classes and that makes his anxiety skyrocket because Jordyn takes her studies seriously. If she’s missing school then she’s really not doing well. ‘It’s all your fault.’ He doesn’t even try to argue against that nagging voice in his head anymore. It’s the truth. It’s his third time seeing Miranda around unaccompanied, so he decides to take action. He hurries to shove his pencils in his bag, a bit more cautious with the notebook with his sketches. He immediately moves, no apologies or explanations because he’s alone. It has been that way since the confrontation he had with Denzel. Not because he isn’t welcome, but because he wants to be better. For himself. For her. He follows her into the science building, longer legs eating up the distance easily.

Miranda startles at his approach, looking like a cornered animal ready to bolt.

“Please, I just want to talk.” He mutters as soon as he’s in earshot.

Miranda scans their surroundings quickly before giving him her attention.

“Make it quick, I have class in 5.”

He expects to find some level of resentment, instead, she just looks wary of him.

“I… how’s Jordyn? She won’t answer my calls or texts and I’m guessing she has been spending more time with you so she’s away from home.”

“She’s… I was about to lie and tell you she’s okay but that wouldn’t help her. Either of you. She’s skipping school, Hugo. Tell me the truth now, did you know Denzel was going to do that to her?” She glares up at him.

His eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of his head; “What? No! Is that what she thinks?”

“Well… can you blame her? You were doing all… prepping then Denzel tells her that’s something his friends do often and you were suddenly on your way to the room. How else was she supposed to interpret it? She’s warring with herself, hoping she’s wrong but…” Miranda trails off with a heavy sigh.

It feels like there’s a boulder on his chest. He feels like actually murdering Denzel when things start falling into place.

“You… please tell her it wasn’t… Denzel just text the group chat that we were hanging out at Brandon’s. He didn’t mention Jordyn or anything, I just knew about movies. Please tell her.” He probably looks pathetic with how desperate he sounds and looks but he doesn’t care.

Miranda’s expression gradually softens; “ugh, you two are so… I will deliver your message. I’ve gotta-”

“Wait! Can you also tell her I’m not friends with them anymore and also-” he unzips his bag with jerky movements before carefully removing the sketch book and handing it to her;

“Please give her this.”

Miranda cocks a brow but accepts the book with a small smile.

“I will.”

***************

Jordyn ignores her friend’s impatient little huff over her shoulder as she eyes the sketchbook. The cover is a plain brown with a rose etched into it. Her palms are sweaty and her pulse flutters wildly in her throat.

“Ugh, just open it already. If I had known you would’ve taken so long I would’ve flipped through at school.”

With a scoff, Jordyn hurries to flip on the cover. The first page is blank so she flips that too. Her breath hitches. On the left side of the book, it’s a rough sketch of her under the oak tree on campus where she and Miranda like to sit. Her outfit was a purple blouse and a pair of loose pants — he coloured it with pencils, not paint. On the opposite page to the right, there’s a sketch of a butterfly- the purple emperor. Under his drawing is his neat, cursive handwriting in French. Jordyn hurries to grab her phone and translate the words; the translation is rough, but she deduces the meaning:

“Today, she reminds me of the Apatura Iris or Purple Emperor butterfly.”

Jordyn skips through dozens of pages with her heart in her throat, pausing to carefully observe each one. There all of her in different colours and Hugo finding butterfly varieties to match with the same variation of words written beneath. Some days he calls her beautiful, some days he speaks of how he longs to hold her, how he misses her. “Mon papillon,” is frequent.

Miranda whistles by her ear; “Jordyn?”

“Huh?” She calls back absentmindedly, eyes glued to the date of the first drawing again. It was from freshman year. Goosebumps litter every inch of her skin at the realization.

“Are you spending the night?” Miranda inquires though she knows.

“Nuh-uh.”

*************

Jordyn waits patiently in her living room for the knock on her front door. It comes at 8:34 pm. She doesn’t hesitate to let him in. Hugo is stunned for a second to see her actually open the door, then he races inside like he’s afraid she’ll change her mind. But she wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever. Not after what she discovered earlier. The eye contact is electric, a knowing undercurrent to it. His eyes immediately grow lidded. Hugo slams the door shut behind him without looking.

“Jordyn, I-”

She throws herself at him before he can speak. Hugo startles for only a second before he takes control of the fervent kiss. Jordyn moans eagerly, opening up for his warm tongue. Hugo licks into her mouth without finesse, too desperate, too hungry. He rips his mouth away, ignoring her whine in protest.

“Jordyn.” He calls out to her, voice firm and gruff.

“Huh?” She blinks up at him with wet eyes.

“No more practice.”

Her breath hitches; she nods. “No more, this is for us. Because we want to, right?”

“I’ve been wanting this for years, Jordyn.”

They fumble to her room, a tangle of desperate limbs and ravenous kisses. She’s breathless by the time Hugo starts pulling the sweater over her head. Hugo only slows the tempo when he has her completely bare and at his mercy. He presses their lips together again— but slower, almost teasing her mouth.

“Love kissing you.” He pecks her lips, the sound slick enough to make her shiver;

“You’re so eager, and your lips?” He presses their mouths together again to muffle her whimper. He cups her face gently in his big hands;

“Open, baby.”

Jordyn obeys; her legs come together in a firm squeeze until she’s shaking at the feel of his tongue in her mouth. He licks behind her teeth and suckles on her tongue like she’s something to savour. By the time he kisses his way down her neck, Jordyn is trembling so hard that her teeth audibly chatter in the quiet room. Hugo maneuvers her body onto the bed, dropping to his knees so he’s eye level with where she’s warmest. She eyes him shyly, keeping her legs together.

“Show me, mon papillon.” He begs, eyes wild.

She feels like she has to physically pry them open with how embarrassed she is. But her self conscious doubts dissipates the moment Hugo’s eyes lock between her spread thighs. He moans at the sight she presents him with. Wet and fluttering. Hugo keeps reminding himself that this is all new to her, so he needs to be gentle— he needs to ease her into it. He feels just about ready to consume her whole.

“Beautiful.” He says as if in a trance.

Hugo uses his index and middle finger to spread her lips apart; with his eyes closed, he lowers his head and closes his lips around her swollen clit. He treats like he did her mouth earlier, almost like a French kiss. Jordyn drops her head against her mattress with a soft cry. His mouth on her is another experience entirely. He slurps gently, lips smacking. He hums and the vibrations make her toes curl until they crack.

“Hugo?” She calls out desperately.

“Hm?” He doesn’t let up; he reaches his free hand in her direction for her to interlock their fingers.

His tongue glides over the bump of her nub over and over. Everything feels too wet, the stimulation makes her belly clench and quiver.

“Don’t stop.” Boldly, she reaches her other hand to grip his short curls.

Her heart gallops beneath her ribcage; Jordyn has never done drugs, but she’s sure this is the kind of high those who partake chase. Her blood sings in her veins, she feels like she’s floating. Her mouth pops open as he fits two fingers inside her; she’s so wet and with Hugo’s saliva as an addendum, she knows the wet patch forming beneath her body is not just from her sweat. He crooks his fingers upward and Jordyn absolutely loses it. She rocks her hips against his mouth desperately; with a groan, Hugo lays his tongue flat for her to use for her own pleasure.

“Hugo, gonna come.”

He groans in response and the vibrations send her over the edge. Every muscle in her body seems to spasm then she’s throbbing against his tongue. She holds his head firmly in place to ride the high until it steals her breath. Jordyn releases him when the blinding ecstasy mellows into light buzzing under her skin.

“M sorry, I just-”

“Don’t apologize, I love it, want you to use me. Only me.” He kisses his way up her body before dipping his tongue into her panting mouth. Jordyn sucks on it, moaning wantonly at her taste.

Jordyn helps him lift his shirt over head, mouths only separating to pull his top off. She feels insatiable— she won’t ever get enough of his mouth on hers. Reluctantly, Hugo stands to step out of his pants and underwear. Jordyn is absolutely mesmerized by his length. Smooth, long, thick with the tip blushing red and glistening.

“Want to touch?”

She nods eagerly, sucking her lower lip into her mouth. Hugo directs her hand to grasp him in a loose hold. Their breaths hitch simultaneously. Jordyn never expected the skin to feel this silky; his veins are prominent under her palm. Hugo covers her hand with his own, applying the right amount of pressure he needs. Tentatively, Jordyn tugs in an upward motion; she hopes that all the videos she has been watching in the quiet of her room weren’t misleading.

He groans appreciatively; “Just like that, mon papillon.”

Jordyn moans at the pet name. Both their eyes stay fixed on her hand that just about fits around his girth. Hugo’s mouth pops open, brows furrowed in pleasure. The room is filled with heavy breathing and the slick sounds of her gently tugging at him. Suddenly, Jordyn understands why Hugo was so desperate to put his mouth on her pussy; she wants to feel the weight of him on her tongue, she wants to make him feel how he made her feel. But Hugo has other plans. He rejoins her on the bed, spooning her body from behind.

“I don’t have a condom. Do you still want to?” His voice is a gruff whisper against the shell of her ear.

“Uh-huh.” She’ll think about the consequences later. Right now, she needs him.

Jordyn twists her neck to make eye contact as he hoists her right leg up. Their faces are barely a centimeter apart. Hugo positions his length at her entrance and she holds her breath in tense anticipation. He gently eases his way inside. Jordyn gasps. Hugo squeezes his eyes shut and goes off in a tandem in French.

“You’re so big.” She says around a sob.

“Fuck, Jordyn. I… you feel so…” A moan shakes his chest.

Jordyn feels so full. Full of him. The thought makes her wetter. Having Hugo like this feels like a puzzle piece falling into place. It just makes sense.

“So full.”

Hugo swallows up her whine with his mouth. It’s too messy a clash of tongues to even be called a kiss.

“You’re so good, taking me like this.” He whispers against her lips.

Jordyn quivers beneath him. It’s not quite as painful as she expected, just a bit uncomfortable as she adjusts to having something so big inside her for the first time. Hugo feeds her until she wedges a hand between them to push against his lower belly. He pulls away to gauge her expression, demeanor softening at her slight wince.

“You’re so perfect, Jordyn. You always have been.”

Jordyn’s breath is punched from her lungs at the first proper thrust of his hips. His movements are so fluid that she’s momentarily rendered breathless at the feel of him gliding against her walls. Hugo sinks his teeth into her plush bottom lip so he doesn’t cry out. He wants to strangle himself for even allowing anyone else to almost have her like this. Jordyn reaches a hand over her shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face close. He breathes in her every tremulous exhale. Her pussy grips him, as if he needed anything else to stay. Her pretty face contorts even more; the little whispers of his name; the feel of her; the intimacy of the position— the intoxicating combination makes his eyes well up with tears so suddenly it shocks him. Hugo presses his face into her cheek to hide just in case they spill over his cheeks.

“Can’t believe I… get to have you like this.” He didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Jordyn trembles against him with a sob;

“You’re… feels so good, Hugo, was made for you.”

She’s so far gone that he knows she probably doesn’t even notice what she said, but it shakes him to his very core. Hugo grunts, crushing her body tighter to his.

“I fucking love you.” The words are blurted from his mouth without his permission.

Jordyn’s body tenses with a scream. Hugo grips her tight as she thrashes through her orgasm. She flutters around him, clenching repeatedly until she milks him. His sacs pull tighter, body taut, then he’s rutting into her like a man possessed. Her screams mingle with his grunts and harsh groans. He stays inside even as their movements slow to gentle grinding. Jordyn rubs along the length of his neck, panting into his open mouth with her eyes closed. She’s a vision. And all his. He’ll make sure of it. Silence stretches on for minutes as they bask in the after effects of pleasure still coursing through their veins. He stays close— stays inside, growing soft and a bit overstimulated but he doesn’t care.

“Did you… did you mean that?” She finally opens her eyes, her gaze bashful.

He doesn’t need her to clarify or provide context; “yes, mon papillon. For years.”

Smiling shyly, she buries her face into the crook of his neck.

****************

“Jordyn, Hugo’s here!” Her mom yells from downstairs.

Jordyn hurries to throw her glasses on and gather her tote bag. Downstairs, her mom gives her knowing smile while Hugo scarfs down her mom’s famous biscuits and gravy.

“Mom, stop feeding him before we have to leave for classes in the morning, he always makes me late.” She complains, ignoring him glaring with his mouth full. It’s routine now after two months of dating. Hugo picks her up and drives her to campus every day; no matter if his classes start much later than hers do. The stares the first couple of days were unbearable; but Hugo took it all in stride: holding her hand everywhere, sitting with her and Miranda without a care of campus gossip from the losers who care about other people’s lives enough.

“Look at him, he needs the meat on his bones.” Her mother says playfully while exiting the kitchen.

Jordyn cackles while she removes a bottle of water from the fridge. She looks up just in time to catch him staring with an expression she can’t quite place.

“Uh… sorry, I didn’t feel like dressing up today.” She picks at the waistband of her sweats, insecurity still rearing its ugly head despite his many reassurances.

“You’re comfortable, yes?”

She nods hastily.

“Then good. I’ll be fashionable for both of us, don’t worry.” He stands with a smirk, dropping the plate in the sink as her mother commanded.

Jordyn rolls her eyes with a smile; “so stop staring!”

“I can’t. You’re beautiful and all mine, mon papillon.”

Ducking her head, she smiles shyly at him; “I love you.”

“And I’m sure I love you more.”

Jordyn rolls her eyes in exasperation; “here we go…” Jordyn strides into the living room to the front door with him hot on her heels.

“But I mean it, you can’t possibly love me more than I love you, Jordyn.”

She giggles airily; “why can’t you ever just bask in my affection? Everything is a competition with you.”

“Okay, thank you, my butterfly…”

“Good.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as they get settled in the car. Just as she’s about to relax after the purr of the engine, he speaks again;

“But I’m very serious, Jordyn… like, so sure-”

“Ugggghghhhhh.”