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insomniasymphony · 1 year

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Pariston Hill x Female Reader [His self-made present]

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Constellation: Pariston Hill x Female Reader Words I got: Christmas, Present, Underwear Rating: Mature Requested by: @Arisu

►►Look how pretty he is Getting his own present ready To drop on its knees when necessary.◄◄

[Picture is from a card collecting game]

The time moves steadily forward while the mountains of paper in front of you don't seem to diminish in the slightest – even though you've been working on them for hours. In a few minutes, it will strike midnight and your first day off in months will begin in your office. Christmas will start, the streets will rest quietly between the concrete walls of this city and maybe you'll treat yourself to something good to eat.

It is hard to keep concentrating on the letters and lines of the documents. Your head is already in the mood for closing time. Everything in you wants to relax, enjoy your holiday and do nothing at all for a fortnight – except maybe think a little about Pariston Hill.

He went home hours ago because his work is basically melting off his desk like ice cream. His cheerful mood has somehow kept the office alive. But staying behind alone quickly stifles joy and the ghostly mood wears on your nerves.

Again and again your gaze slides to the clock hands. They drag out every second and yet they are getting closer and closer to the full hour. You can count the moments on your fingers and when the hand finally moves past midnight, you drop everything and sit back.

“Merry Christmas to me.” You stretch your arms above your head and hear the crack in your shoulder. The rigidity at your desk has forced you into an uncomfortable position for far too long. Then you close your eyes, enjoying the silence in which no letters crash down on you and try to swallow you up. It's pleasant, peaceful, and for the first time in a while, you don't think anyone can spoil your end of the day with more work.

Pariston himself has always made it clear you will be on holiday for the next two weeks. And this despite you thought he found pleasure in flirting with you a little now and then to keep his day lively.

Perhaps you are just imagining his smiles for and his behaviour towards you. He is, after all, a desirable man and the women in his office are, mostly, much more beautiful than you are.

The atmosphere in your bureau lulls you to sleep. The tension finally falls away and your desk chair comfortably cushions you in leather. You keep your eyes closed, enjoy the blackness behind your eyelids and let yourself be carried away by unsteady thoughts. For half an eternity, until you hear the click of a lock and laboriously open your eyelids.

Fatigue has taken over your entire body, making it difficult to sit halfway upright in the chair and receive your guest. You realise too late that Pariston Hill has sneaked into your office.

“Mister Hill!” His presence, the mere sight of him, sends a lightning bolt through your body, making you jump up all at once. “How can I help you? What are you doing in the office so late? Haven't you already gone home?”

“I did.” The joyful smile on his lips makes you swallow. Of course, he was home. His suit isn't the same one he wore all noon. The yellow fabric on his body was missing. Instead, he had changed into a white suit, the hem of the collar and sleeves shimmering in dark green.

His gallant steps to your desk hold you captive. It is only when he sits down amusedly on the work surface and his red shirt gleams clearly in your eyes that the situation seems to take shape. Out of nowhere, he pulls a small red packet from the inside pocket of his jacket to set it down in front of you. Then he adjusts his white tie, which partially disappears under his green waistcoat.

“I thought I'd bring you a present before you go on holiday.” There is a serene joy in his voice that you would like to share with him, but the day has been too long for that. Instead, you accept the package with raised brows.

“Thank you. I wasn't expecting to get anything from you.” Slowly, you push yourself to your feet. It's time to go, so you don't actually fall asleep in the room and be overwhelmed by extra work the next day, despite being on holiday.

But Pariston raises his index finger as if you don't meet his requirements and it actually makes you hesitate for a moment.

“You should definitely open it.” His suggestion is the closest thing to an order. “And try it out. I won't look either.”

Once again, he gives you a bright smile that settles some of the amusement glistening in his eyes. Then he looks away, but remains seated at your desk. You have no idea what he is thinking or planning. The only thing anyone knows is that Pariston sometimes likes to joke with others to drive them up the wall. He is the most popular man in the Hunter Association and yet he is probably the most hated guy on the top floor.

Still, there's a tingle in your fingers. Opening the parcel has a strange charm, and you can't help but open it according to his wish. What your fingers pull out, however, isn't anything you take as a serious gift. What clings to your hands is soft fabric, Christmas red and forbiddingly skimpy. It is underwear with the Christmas smell of gingerbread clinging to it. Everyone knows they're not sold that way. It also means Pariston must have washed them.

“I ... don't know what to say to that.” The words escape you, but Pariston doesn't respond. He doesn't care if you say anything more. He wants you to try it out – put it on. And you know you won't get away with it. He won't let you go if you don't comply with his demand.

Once again, your eyes wander to the underwear he has brought you. Whatever he hopes to gain from it, it is nothing more than a game. And it's only lingerie, nothing to be afraid of.

So you take off your clothes.

Your eyes remain glued to Pariston's back the whole time. Your hands creep over your body, push aside the underwear and put on the present. The red brassiere tickles slightly at the neckline because white fur adorns the edges. The same goes for the top edge of the panties; the stockings that wrap smoothly around your legs and attach to the briefs with a suspender.

There are no matching shoes, so this sight is all you can offer Pariston, but if that's what it takes to get him to let you go, then it shall suffice.

“Done,” you announce to him. “But what's the point?”

Momentarily, Pariston turns to you before pushing himself off the desk and turning to face you fully. His eyes linger on you, scrutinising you from top to bottom, and when he gestures with a slight wave to come closer, you cannot resist. You obey, put up with it and endure his attention.

“Aren't you a lovely Christmas present?” The bubbling of his enthusiasm clings barely perceptibly to your perception. Only then do you comprehend his words.

“Christmas present? Who should I be a Christmas present for?”

“For me!” Elated, he steps closer to place a warm hand on your back. His closeness nestles almost innocently against your body, if it weren't for nimble fingers that settle on your bottom and systematically make you squeeze your legs a little closer together.

His face comes so close to yours that you are sure his scent is getting to you. So you hold your breath. For eternal seconds, his free hand slips between your legs and the other moves to your face so he can breathe a kiss on your lips. So gentle and unassuming you don't know how to react.

The heat of your body clings to his fingers, overcoming any obstacle to caress your skin. Simultaneously, there are those airy kisses, oddities that cloud your senses and from which you can't break away.

Pariston occupies your senses, gently caresses them and lovingly snuggles against your body while you feel the movements of his fingers inside you and no longer know how to push away the suffocating atmosphere between you. He isn't a man you can rely on, and yet he seems to desire you in his very own way.

His movements send electrifying currents through your body, enveloping you in soft sounds that glide across his lips as his tongue traces a thin line across your neck. All you can see is his shoulder, his suit, a bit of stray hair.

Your fingers claw at his back without restraint, tugging at him as the sigh on your tongue grows heavier and you let yourself fall in his arms for a moment. Heat washes over you. Your perception falters. Your fingers tremble and don't calm even as Pariston's hand dwindles between your legs and he takes two steps back.

It's no big deal to him as he wipes your lust from his fingers with a red cloth. “Looks like you enjoyed your second gift as well.”

The amused yet insidious smile on his part makes you falter as you wrap an arm around your body.

“I assume you have more gifts planned?” Your lips pucker as the warmth on your face refuses to go away. “What are you planning next?”

“A meal.” Instructively, Pariston raises a finger. “After all, it's Christmas and I don't want us to go to bed hungry.” With a shooing wave of his hand, he turns away. “You've got five minutes or I'll have to take you like this.”

You have no bloody idea what's going on in his head, but Pariston Hill wants to spend Christmas with you. The man who can't be caught is taking you out.

And on this night, it shall be enough. It shall be good enough to make Christmas a little more pleasant, even if it is only for one night.

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