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lambilegs · 3 months ago

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SEEP THROUGH THE GROOVES AND CALLUSES OF MY FINGERS (LEE HARKER X READER)

✴︎・contains: bodyguard!lee harker, mentions of violence, reader is a little bit of a spoiled brat, no nsfw content (but, there will be in part two), slowburn af, smoking, reader's body is referred to with the term "breasts," reader's eating habits monitored by parents, overbearing and strict mother

soundtrack: falling - jin and taka; small talk - MALIA; her - the american dawn; crush - ethel cain; 505 - arctic monkeys; sarah smiles - panic! at the disco

divider by: @/daddldee

tag list: @abbysunderwear (to anyone interested, comment if you wanna be tagged for pt. 2 <3)

When your parents told you that you would have your own bodyguard assigned to you, you envisioned someone larger than life. Someone like one of those people in the movies – huge, strapping, a beacon of light and strength in the midst of chaos and troubled times. A soldier, a fighter, someone wound up with veins of thrumming strength and a body of bulging muscles.

Instead, you got Lee Harker. Lee Harker, who looks less like a boulder of strength you can use to protect yourself with, and more like a lithe shadow who can quietly slither into the shadows upon a moment’s notice. She’s quiet, unassuming and will barely even look at you the first time you two are introduced. The most she gifts you with is a small, pointed nod, eyes briefly flicking up to you, wide and doe-like, before shifting back down, eyeing your boots.

During the introduction, confined to your family home’s library, you stare at your parents imploringly, eyes wide with the question – Her? This is the woman meant to protect you from threats, from harm, from scars and bruises? She is the person whose graceful hands will extract self-reliance from your sense of safety, while being entrusted with the whole of it? You don’t know how you feel about this. If it’s even safe, really.

When you bring this up to them privately, your father’s words nearly spark an eye roll from you. Discretion is a necessity here. She won’t draw attention. You know he’s right, but still, he could be a bit more understanding of your concerns considering it’s your safety and wellbeing hanging in the balance. But, you probably shouldn’t push. He already seems to be feeling guilty enough as is, based on the purchasing of your favourite for dinner and the way his gaze skitters around before meeting yours. You can read him like a book, and frankly, these pages are scrawled with one word: Regret.

You’re certain that when your parents began running a museum, known for its politically charged and controversial pieces, they didn’t expect that their family would one day be under threat for it. After all, art is just the tangible evidence of thoughts and feelings pre-existing. How could anyone fault them for giving home to a piece that contains the thoughts people are thinking, anyways? How could an art piece, nothing but a physically crafted image, only made to mean something because of thought and society, be a threat to someone important as a senator?

Clearly, you underestimated the power of your parents’ profession too much. For on opening night of the newest exhibition, a bullet when zooming between you and your father’s bodies, barely grazing your shoulder and teasing out a warm, thin stream of blood. You had immediately dropped in shock, your body frozen on the ground as chaos erupted through the room, people flapping about and wailing, flutters of fabric and smacking of skin mixing into the commotion and sending your head spinning.

The person in question had been detained, of course. But, your parents had been convinced that it was only a matter of time since another event like this occurred. Hence the hiring and arrival of Lee Harker.

You’re not exactly fond of this idea. It feels stifling, to know that there’ll be someone always lingering on the sidelines, eyes on you and watching your actions, close enough to hear your words. It’ll add a heaviness to every interaction with your friends, and drain almost every private moment of its peace. You don’t want it. And what worsens it is that you never got to mentally prepare for it. Without your permission or okay, your parents had thrusted the idea on you one day, without asking for your opinion, and by the next morning, they announced they had found someone and intended to bring her over today.

“Just talk to her,” your father whispers with quiet urging. “See if she seems nice, and if you feel comfortable.”

You sigh, eyes flicking to where Lee is on the opposite end of the library, eyes roving over a shelf of books and thumbing along the spine of one. She’s totally ignoring your mother, who is standing nearby, wringing her hands together as she seems to be tentatively asking some questions and attempting a conversation. Your lips nearly crack at the sight, finding a twisted sort of satisfaction in the scene.

“I’ll talk to her.”

You two are left alone in the library, sitting on either end of the wooden coffee table. On an automatic instinct, you nearly flop into the velvet, plush sofa on one end. But, then you see how Lee neatly sits on the opposite side of the table on the wooden chair, legs pressed in and hands folded in her lap, her posture impeccable. And so, you lower yourself carefully, trying to match at least a twinge of the grace and rigidity her body possesses.

Now that you two are alone, you expect something, anything, of her. A friendly chat, a careful greeting, maybe even a handshake. But, no. She seems utterly content in the silence, eyes focused on the table, a sort of glazed look in her eyes, as though her consciousness has been seized by a dream that she’s weak to resist.

Eventually, it gets too much for you, your body on its fifth shift from pure discomfort in the unsettling silence.

“Hey, so, um, my parents are kind of new to this whole bodyguard thing. So, like, what exactly does it entail?” Just to somewhat lighten the mood, you crack a smile and drawl out, “Is it like the movies?”

“Um, no, not at all.”

You shakily laugh in response to her tentative response, eyes flicking down to how her hands squeeze and twirl together before she proceeds, not once meeting your eyes. “It’s not as… intense as films make it out to be. It’s a lot more practical. Checking over venues and locations you’ll visit, remaining nearby to ensure everything is safe. Making reports, looking over clients’ connections.”

“Like, my connections?”

“You’re the client, so yes.”

Your eyes flicker about, reeling from the news. “So, you know about my friends and that kind of stuff…?”

“Friends, relatives, um…” she trails off, her dark eyes flashing up at you before moving back down, “ex-partners.”

You feel your face warm at the revelation, wondering just how much she was able to discover in all those capacities. “Yeah, that must’ve been a, uh, rollercoaster.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Yeah?” You decide to prod at the opening, hoping it’ll make way for more light-hearted conversation. Maybe all of this could be a lot more bearable if the two of you can be friends. “Who’s been your worst client?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Oh.” Okay, well that’s that, you suppose. In a way, you should be comforted, since this shows that she won’t ever expose your own secrets to some future client. But, still, you wish she would let up a little. Once you found out that she was near your age, you thought this meant the two of you could fall into a friendly, comfortable dynamic. But, based on her stiff body language and flat tone, you doubt that’ll be happening soon.

“I understand these conditions aren’t great. But, I’ll try to give you your space. And, um, keep you safe.” The last words are said with some small pauses, as though it’s embarrassing for her to admit the goal of her job. At least, the one that sounds a bit more intimate. God, why did your mind go there? Now, you, too, are thinking of the meaningfulness of her words, and it’s making an acute sense of bashfulness worm its way through you.

As well as a comfort, too. Despite how serious and levelled she is, she’s now staring right at you with a fixed jaw and bright eyes, determination laced into every twitch. She seems to truly intend to secure your safety, and is even willing to give you the privacy you need so it’s not too stifling. Despite the tight ball of discomfort still webbed into your guts, knowing she cares enough about your privacy to remark upon it makes a tiny flutter spread its wings and fly past the confines of anxiety.

In other words, it makes you feel comfortable. And the more you look at her, the better it feels that she actually isn’t a brawling man who looks like he can snap you in half in half a second. It makes her feel more approachable, more easy to be around.

With a sigh, you make your decision. You’ll give your father your okay for her.

–

“I just want you to be careful, alright?”

“I know, Mom,” Lee sighs, her fingers rasping along her thigh. She’s suddenly regretting having told her mom the new number. But, anything else wasn’t an option – she knew her mom would be terrified if Lee suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth for two months.

“You did your research on the family, right?”

“I did.” She pauses, mentally running through the week of looking through newspaper clippings and magazines. “They seem… normal.”

Her mother pauses for a few seconds, the silence lingering between them thick, before saying, “What did you find?”

“I–I can’t tell you, Mom,” she mutters, part of her paranoid that you can hear her. “It’s not allowed.”

A flicker of nervousness is set alit in Lee when her mom releases a resounding hum. After more silent passes, she says, “I gotta go, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

That’s not the truth. Lee, in fact, has nothing to do.

Except wander around her new bedroom for a half hour and just… observe. She’s not used to a space with this level of decor, filled with trinkets that serve no purpose other than looking nice. Even the knobs of the dresser are fancier than anything she possesses at her cottage, which is nothing but solid, neutral colours and objects that fulfill nothing but necessity. The idea of clutter is a bit too close to home for comfort. But, at the very least, this bedroom isn’t packed with it to the point of overwhelming her, so that’s a silver lining.

She strokes her thumb along an empty picture frame, filled with ornate graves swirling through the metal. The bedroom is impersonal, too. No frames are filled, all the trinkets are generic and have no personality attached. To Lee, it seems to be a room made to make guests feel comfortable, while still having the detachment of reminding her that she’s a guest here.

It’s her first time with this kind of assignment. She’s never had to actually merge her life this deeply to a client’s before, and she’d be lying if she said it didn't make her uncomfortable. She doesn’t enjoy socializing, and has been lucky enough to work with people who only needed her presence when it came to travelling or certain outings. She’s never been in such close quarters like this before, and it’s already unsettling for her to be away from her home and in a stranger’s house.

Nor does she enjoy the idea of being so physically close to a client. While some people would assume her job entails long-lasting bonds or connections with some of America’s most elite, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. She took her work seriously, and she had no intention of ever letting personal feelings or friendships cause her to become distracted or emotionally invested in a way that could distract her from the hard logic and procedure involved in ensuring her clients’ safety.

But, then, again, it had been easy in the past. Most of her clients hadn’t seemed all too interested in pursuing a bond with her, anyways. At least, not after they saw how resistant she was to it. She didn’t come to work to talk and bond, she came simply to protect as best as she could.

She’s broken out of her thoughts when she hears the padding of footsteps in the bedroom next to hers. Because, yes, in addition to moving in, your parents had stationed you in a bedroom that shares a wall with hers. Probably why your footsteps sound fast, antsy. That room isn’t yours, so you must feel uncomfortable in a way not so different from her current position.

You seem alright, so far. She feels a twinge of embarrassment now due to her rejecting your request to divulge information on her past clients. But, she couldn’t – her own sense of promise wouldn’t allow it. Yet, still, the more she reflected on the interaction, the more convinced she became that you had probably intended that question as an olive branch of sorts. Something to crack the hard ice of unfamiliarity between you two. It’s a tad uncomfortable now to know that she shut you down an offer of freer conversation on it without realizing it. Then, again, even if she had figured it out on her own, she still would’ve steered away from that line of discussion. But, maybe, she would’ve done it with a bit more grace – or at least, however much of that she possesses.

You don’t seem totally comfortable with the idea of a bodyguard, either. Not that Lee could blame you – she, and her mom, have never been in a financial position to afford one, and the idea itself feels like an absurd, faraway one. But, if in some alternative world, her mother had been able to get one for Lee, Lee probably would’ve despised it. Being forced to spend so much time with a stranger? No privacy, constantly watched over? It sounds like downright torture. It makes Lee feel a twinge of guilt for any clients like you, who clearly had no say in having a bodyguard and were rather subjected to it by paranoid or rightfully frightened parents. She knows what it’s like to have a parent’s control be used as justification for stifling, and she’s painfully aware of the fact that it incites feelings of annoyance over safety most of the time. That’s why she tries her best to give her clients, especially the ones who had no say, the liberty of physical space when she can.

An added bonus is the fact that it means she doesn’t need to provide any breadcrumbs of company that she can manage.

–

The first outing Lee attends with you is a hangout with your friend, and you know what? Something you totally undermined was just how self-conscious you’d be at having a stranger follow you along. Nervous, sure. Uncomfortable, absolutely. But, her presence has a string of insecure thoughts flaring in your head. Will she judge you for your cafe choice? Does she think you walk too slow? Will she judge the way you laugh boisterously with your friend, or how you joke about the filthiest things? The possibilities of a stranger’s judgement are endless, and so is your heightened anticipation of it, it seems. And it’s only worsened by the fact that Lee’s attention is sharp, so crisp, like a whistling gust of wind on a winter day. And so, it makes you all the more aware of your own actions. Even when her eyes are downcast, you can feel her listening to your voice, and every small stumble of your breath or words.

When you reach the cafe, you seat yourselves at the table together while waiting for your friend. Lee, unlike your guys’ first meeting, is clad in a plain, dark red hoodie and sweats, her brown hair tied up. To anyone else, she’d look totally unassuming, but you know that underneath the loose garbs is a gun latched to her hip.

“Will you get something?” you ask idly, eyes scanning the menu scrawled onto the blackboard behind the counter.

“Probably. It’d look odd if I was sitting on my own without a drink.”

“Sitting on your own?” you inquire, eyebrows scrunched together. “You won’t stay with us?”

“No, I’ll sit a bit behind.”

“Why?”

Her mouth twitches at the corner, eyes trained on the table. “I told you I’d give you your privacy. I’m only interested in your safety, not your private conversations.”

You know the sentiment ought to be assuring, but her lack of interest in your personal life has you feeling a twinge of offense. Does she have so little curiosity about you or your life? Does it bear such little significance for her outside of her job?

“Okay,” you trail off, eyes searching through the cafe, your body suddenly tightening in longing for your friend to just finally get here. “So, drink – which will you get?”

“Just a coffee.” Her fingertips rasp along the table’s surface for a few moments before she sighs and mutters, “And you?”

“Just a coffee too.”

She gives her a short nod, standing from her place and wordlessly heading to the counter. You watch her in stunned disbelief, not having expected her to actually get your drink for you. But, there she is, meeting your bewildered gaze with a blank slate of an expression before turning to the front, eyes languidly stroking the chalk streaks on the board. You’ve never seen someone with a gaze as focused and pointed as hers. Eyes like a hazel-tinged candle, they glow under the dim light of the cafe, framed by lovely, gracefully curled lashes that give her the resemblance of a doe. And they don’t seem to miss a thing, tracing over every shape and curve of the cafe, carefully observing every inch.

When her gaze suddenly shifts to you, you immediately duck your head down, a nauseating stream of embarrassment unfolding within you. God, you hope she doesn’t think you’re into her or something. If she’s investigated your past relationships, she must be aware of the fact that you’re into women. She doesn’t seem cocky, but you can’t help but worry over what it’d entail if she thought you were attracted to her. Not that you are. Well, not really. She’s pretty – very pretty, and that’s for certain. But, that’s not the same as really liking a person, you know it isn’t.

Your stream of thoughts are interrupted with her setting down both mugs on your table, her soft voice immediately kissing your ears with the question, “How do you take yours?”

When you answer on instinct, you swallow when she silently retrieves sugars and milk before tending to yours first, then proceeding to dunk two sugars and milk into hers.

“Thank you – you didn’t have to–”

“It’s fine,” she interjects, gently pushing the mug towards you.

Your fingers hug it carefully, leaning down to blow on it, the brown liquid fluttering in ripples. After one too many moments of silence, you straighten up and ask, “So, what made you get into this line of work?”

Her head reels back in a short-lived motion when you speak, as though she’s surprised you actually spoke to her. Her eyes skip to yours before lowering to the table, her jaw working as she seems to mull over your question.

Finally, she says in a hushed voice, “To do what I can to keep people safe.”

You nod slowly, admiration burning its way through you, slow and warm. It’s an honourable desire, to be sure, and to feel it so intimately that you actually pursue a job out of it is impressive. “Well, I mean, why bodyguard in particular?”

“I, um… I guess I just think it would help to give people a direct sense of safety. So that they don’t have to feel unsafe in their own residence or day-to-day life.”

You find your chin naturally resting upon the opening of your palm, sinking into her quiet, but endlessly earnest words. She doesn’t exaggerate, she doesn’t flourish. She simply states her intent, true and to-the-point. And what’s left is a very considerate reason for a job you can imagine is quite gruelling and pressure-filled. All done for the sake of helping others. It reveals a depth to her you honestly hadn’t anticipated with how little she speaks – but, in a way, it makes her even more impressive. She doesn’t care to flaunt her kindness, and even now, seems partially embarrassed at admitting her mindset to you – in addition to everything, she’s very willingly humble. Impressive, indeed.

“That’s really nice, actually,” you mutter, picking at a napkin, feeling a bit bashful to compliment her since she herself seemed so reluctant to reveal her good heart. “I mean, yeah – I just, that’s really decent of you.”

She hums, giving you a tight nod. Your lips twitch at the sight – oh, yeah, she’s for sure uncomfortable with praise.

“And, you – do you, um, want to work in art?” she asks, taking a slow sip of her coffee.

You blink in surprise, not having expected her to actually ask you anything back. But, based on how forced the question sounds, the words stifled and unnatural, you highly doubt she’d be posing the question unless truly interested..

But, still, just as she was polite enough to answer your question, you’ll do the same. And so, you linger on the question, rolling it around your mind before saying, “Well, I don’t know. It sounds nice, to pursue it, keep it in the family. But, I don’t know, my parents have always considered art a statement, rather than something to do for idle enjoyment. They’re not the hugest fans of my sketches that are really, you know, fuck all.”

Growing up with attending exhibitions and galleries, it’s only natural that you had grown to develop a reliance on art that fulfilled both an admiration of aesthetics and a desire to express. But, your parents didn’t hold the highest approval for the kind of art you did — casual, something for the sake of relaxation. They insisted that if it couldn’t be made into something more meaningful, like a career or form of protest, it was essentially pointless. A harsh take, you know, but learning it early into your childhood had allowed you to cultivate a modicum of peace through keeping your works private from then on.

You burn in embarrassment as Lee seems to mull over the words, her eyes flickering about the cafe, hoping she doesn’t see your hobbies as unserious as your own parents do.

“I mean, I think art is one of those things that can be done for any reason. Because, you know, it comes from the want to make something. And I feel like that want can come from… anything, right?” she quietly completes, bright eyes raising to you as though she’s seeking your approval.

But, she doesn’t need it. For those simple words have already secured your good opinion, and you watch her silently before smiling and muttering, “Yeah, I mean, it has no bounds. Art is involved with emotions, and part of emotional territory is there being no linear cause-and-effect.”

“Probably why I tend to stay away from it.”

That jolts a loud laugh from you. “Awe, really? You never had an artistic streak?”

The corner of her mouth turns up, and you nearly laugh harder in surprise at the sight of the near-smile. “When I was younger. I used to draw. And photograph.”

“What made you stop?”

“Busier. More responsibilities.” She shrugs, the gesture only half-hearted. “It happens.”

“Don’t you miss it, though?”

A small, almost wounded noise comes from the back of her throat and you immediately feel a stab of empathy for her. It’s always uniquely tragic, to slowly watch a beloved hobby shatter and slip through your fingers like sand, aching to catch it from completely disappearing, but duty and obligation tugging on your elbows, holding you back so all you can do is passively watch it happen.

“I do.”

Suddenly, you feel this inexplicable urge to do something for her. You’re not sure if it’s out of a sense of obligation or gratitude in exchange for all she’s done for you, or simply a natural instinct from seeing a soft, malleable opening in her, one that looks like it needs tending. But, still, you go with your gut and say, “You know, if you’re gonna be stuck with me for three months, we might as well make it fun for you, too. Why don’t we, you know, have a drawing night together?”

Her eyes widen, mouth flapping open and close before she says, “A drawing night?”

“Yeah, you know, we can just draw stuff together.”

“I’m probably bad at it now.”

“And you know what would help with that?” You lean in conspiringly, cupped hand raised to your mouth. “Drawing.”

This time, an entire smile splits over her face, and it’s your turn to splutter, suddenly at a loss when she says, “I’m not sure if it’s professional of us to spend time together like that.”

It takes you a few moments to fully absorb her words, your entire face hot and steaming from the sight of her pearly teeth flashing at and nearly blinding you. They’re so shiny, bigger than you thought, and they’re like some hidden treasure she keeps diligently enclosed in the cave of her mouth. Her mouth, which has such smooth, pink lips, and tiny, sprinkling dents at the corner. Laugh lines — Lee has laugh lines. It shouldn’t feel like such a weighty revelation, since it really isn’t. But, it feels like one.

When you finally register the words, your stomach stings with acute humiliation. “I— why?”

“Because we’re technically employer and employee.”

The description, flatly said, makes you deflate slightly, your shoulders sagging. You hadn’t thought of it in that way, for it sure doesn’t feel like an employer-employee. Sure, she was hired by your parents, but you don’t really see yourself as reigning over any sense of control or possession of her. If anything, she’s the one who calls the shots if you’re ever in danger, and if she ever does, you know you’ll obey without a second thought. But, even that facet isn’t a part of your guys’ bond you’re particularly lingering on when the two of you speak like this — casually, as equals, as, perhaps reluctant, friends.

“I mean, I don’t know how many employees live with their employers,” you shakily laugh, hoping to soothe any tension she may feel. Because suddenly, the idea of never being able to have that drawing night with her makes your stomach drop. Maybe you’re just as your mom says, unable to not get your way, maybe you really are spoiled. Or maybe this interaction just ended up being way more enjoyable than you had anticipated.

“Maids, butlers, stable workers, governesses—”

“And now, you know what I mean,” you cut in, rolling your eyes. “Also, governesses? I’m sorry, are we in the nineteenth century?”

“You know what I mean,” she replies dryly, mouth quirking up as she takes a sip of her coffee.

You can’t help but erupt into a giggle from her newfound humour. “Okay, well, still — if you’re gonna be living with me and spending time with me 24/7, we might as well make something out of it.”

She still seems hesitant, mouth twisting in thoughtfulness. “I don’t know. I keep things professional with clients.”

“Fine, you can keep the suit and gun on during it, if that’ll help?” you drawl with a smile, crossing your arms over the table. You try to play it cool, but inside, a desperate patch in you is itching for her to give it some satiation by just saying yes.

She shoots you a narrowed look, shaking her head slightly before sighing. “I’ll think about it.”

Your stubbornness urges you to insist more on the subject until she finally buckles, but you know it won’t feel good at all if she says yes because you pushed her on it, or worse, because she wanted to do something for her… employer. You nearly wince at the word.

“Fine, fine, okay. Just let me know when you decide, okay?”

“Mm, don’t worry, I know where you live.”

You laugh, nearly hitting her wrist in affection, but pull your hand back right before you can. But, doing so does cause your gaze to rest upon her hand, which you immediately note is long, very long, with hard veins that bulge out, her nails short and perfectly cut.

“What is it?”

You snap out of your partial reverence, your stomach flipping for the umpteenth time today. “Oh— nothing. Your watch is just nice.”

Dark, bold eyebrows furrowing, she looks at her watch momentarily before raising her head back to you in clear curiosity.

“Well, I…” you trail off, eyes wandering about the cafe. Anywhere but her, really.

“Did you not see me in the line, man?”

You nearly jump out of the seat at your friend’s voice, her succeeding laughter of satisfaction immediately rising in your ears, her palm coming down on your shoulder in greeting.

“Hi,” you say, your voice sounding a bit too high-pitched for your liking. From the corner of your eye, you can see Lee grabbing her wallet and coffee cup, rising from her seat.

Your hand reaches out, fingertips just barely grabbing onto the plush material of her hoodie. “Lee, it’s okay, you can—“

“No, no, it’s fine,” she murmurs, giving your friend a small nod before slinking away to a corner of the cafe. The sight might’ve been comedic if it weren’t for the surprising sense of longing you feel from her departing form.

“So, that’s her, huh?” your friend whispers, eyebrows wagging as she sets down a sandwich between you two. “She seems serious.”

“Not really,” you murmur, feeling a petulant sense of missing her prickling at your stomach. When you notice her side of the plate doesn’t possess the larger cut, you turn it around, adding, “She’s actually pretty nice.”

You try not to, you really do, but you can’t resist it, your eyes slowly roving along the cafe until they land on her figure. You hiss in surprise when you find her eyes already on you, your head immediately swivelling around.

“Smooth,” your friend dryly remarks.

“Shut up.”

Besides, there’s no reason you ought to be surprised at her already watching you. In all direct terms and meanings, she’s paid to watch over you. She’s paid to ensure she protects you. Knowing that should make you feel well-rested and safe, but it only leaves you with an uneasy pit.

Because now, suddenly, you’re wondering what it’d be like to be under her gaze just because she wants you there.

—

Footsteps suddenly pass by the door as Lee is lifting her weights in her room, her breathing laboured and teeth gritted hard together as she feels the strain in her biceps. She looks to her right, the door next to her bedroom, the one leading to yours, clicking softly.

She bites her lip, her thoughts running through her mind in a flash. She doesn’t want to stifle you by following you around or anything like that, but it’s more than odd to hear you up and about at this time. It’s 11:00PM. 10:00PM is usually the time you settle into bed, since she always hears the creaks from her end of the wall. And in the hours she stays up afterwards, she never hears you depart from your bedroom.

Deciding to trust her instincts, as she always does, she trods to the door quickly, tugging it open and quietly calling out your name.

You whirl around, your eyes bulging out, lips parted slightly. You glance around the hall before padding over to her, hands twisting into the hanging sleeves of your hoodie. “Yeah?”

Finally under the light hanging in the center of the hallway, Lee carefully takes in your dark under eyes and the pink rims curved along your lashes. She may not be the best at assessing emotion, but she knows the telltale signs of crying when she sees them.

“You okay?” she asks, a wedge of discomfort holding her back from asking the question softly. It feels too vulnerable.

Your eyes flicker over her figure, and Lee straightens up, suddenly cognizant of her state of undress, clad in nothing but a white tank top and sweatpants. It’s the most casual you’ve ever seen her, her usually neat, sleek ponytail lying limp at her back, sweat plastering her bangs to her forehead. When your gaze lingers on her collarbone, she swallows hard, your gaze suddenly feeling like it weighs a ton. It makes her hyper fixate on the spot, which tingles under your lingering stare.

And, painfully, thinking of your observations of her body causes her own eyes to flicker down. When she sees your stiffened nipples poking through the fabric of your hoodie, she feels her face flush, hot and burning. She really did not need to see that.

She’s not the most accustomed to, nor comfortable with, the inner workings of other people’s bodies, especially more intimate parts. Like breasts. And she really, really should not be thinking about the breasts of a client.

She clears her throat, trying to reign you both back into the conversation.

Your head flinches, and you say quietly, “I, um– yeah. I’m okay. I just…”

Her head tilts at you, quietly awaiting.

“I’m hungry. And I wanted some stuff from the convenience store.”

She feels her eyebrows furrow. Okay, well, she hadn’t expected that – honestly, since she had heard your footsteps, the worst case scenarios had occupied the back of her mind. To hear something so tame causes a wash of relief to pour down her body and she can feel her body loosen at the revelation.

“You should’ve come to me first. It’s not safe for you to go out at this time.”

You frown, and she feels a prickle of anxiety at the sight, hoping she didn’t overstep. “Yeah, I know. I just felt bad to wake you at this time. And I–I don’t know, I just wanted time to myself.”

“I understand.” More than she could express in two words, honestly. Solitude was a space she had been encompassing since she was a child, leaving a warm dent that she could always easily slot herself into after work. The only family she has is her mother, and the friends she has are spare and ones she can only see occasionally due to the nature of her work. It’s a life she’s comfortable with, for she’s never been one for company or socializing, really. Every now and then, there’ll be the rare evening where the silence feels too loud and the buzzing of the television isn’t enough to fill it. But, she tries to avoid lingering too long on them.

“But, I’m guessing you have to come with me now, right?”

Lee internally winces at the resignation in your voice, a part of her wondering if her company is that undesirable to you. She immediately stomps out the thought – you’re a client, not a friend, and therefore, how pleasurable you find her presence to be shouldn’t be a concern on her mind. She’s here to keep you safe and devote herself to your physical wellbeing, not be someone fun or enjoyable you want to come back to. Besides, it’s not like Lee has ever been fun.

“Yeah, I do,” she says firmly, a stubborn part of her sparking to life from your tone.

You sag against the doorframe, your bottom lip jutting out. “Really?”

Her eyes skip to the slippery plush of your lip, feeling her body stiffen from the way it shines with your spit. She forces herself to look right at you. “Really. Just let me shower.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, okay.”

Lee doesn’t know why she’s so bugged by the idea that you may dislike spending time with her tonight. As the warm water washes over her, a tender balm against her aching muscles, her mind surges with the desire to find an answer for her conundrum. Maybe it’s due to all the time you two have spent together recently, both for work and otherwise. It’s been a month since your guys’ first outing to that cafe, and since then, you two have engaged in conversation on numerous occasions, during walks you’ve taken or when she’s in the car with you on the way to one outing or the other. And one evening, after a particularly cold walk, you had invited her to share some tea with you. It wasn’t necessary, seeing as you were now in the guarded safety of your home. Lee went, anyways. At the time, she preferred the explanation that she simply wanted to be extra cautious – but, deep inside, she knew that wasn’t true.

And maybe that’s what’s now led to her feeling a sting when she thinks of your resigned, exhausted tone from before. She knows it’s understandable you miss and yearn for time completely to yourself – in your place, she’d probably go insane and find her own ways out of it as soon as possible.

But, still, something in her feels antsy, knowing you may be dreading such a short outing with her tonight. Was it her fault? Did she do something lately? She mentally reviews your guys’ last interactions, analyzing them to the best of her ability. She didn’t think she said anything out of line, but her judgement has served wrong in similar situations before. She supposes there’s no way to know without asking you, a realization that has her sighing in how downright undesirable it is.

Twisting her long fingers into her hair, she reflects on her current feelings for you. She knows she likes your company – that’s the only reasonable explanation for her agreeing to time together that she’s not obligated to. If she didn’t enjoy being around you, she wouldn’t have hesitated to carefully decline your invitation. So, her saying yes only brought to light something she had avoided thinking about for a long while. You were nice to be around – someone who, in different circumstances, she may have tolerated a friendship with. But, she shouldn’t be lured into friendship under these conditions – she can’t afford to be losing sight of what this job is about. Your safety. And a friendship only makes things riskier, since it could lead to her being more prone to distraction or feeling too much ease in circumstances she ought to be on high alert in.

There may be another figment there, too, that’s just as, if not more, concerning her. But, she’s doing a good job at ignoring it. If she doesn’t acknowledge it, hopefully it can just sizzle away to the background.

When she steps out into the hallway, hands in the pockets of her baggy jacket, she starts at the sight of you already there, rasping your foot on the ground.

Before she can get a word in, you blurt out, “Sorry. For before. I shouldn’t have been such a bitch about it.”

She clicks the door softly, gulping down the sudden rise of emotion pumping through her. “You weren’t.”

Without waiting for you to respond, she trods down the hall, twisting around the corner and going down the stairs to reach the front door. She doesn’t exactly want your eyes on her right now, feeling like any lingering looks will make it clear how much your words had really bothered her.

As soon as she’s met with the night’s cool air, her body rumbling with a shiver from the slick hair lying across her back, you’re at her side, grabbing her arm with a loose tug. Lee’s entire body twitches from your grip, and she carefully extracts herself from it. It’s not professional. It’s not the sort of touching she needs to do for you.

“Lee, c’mon, please.” You opt for tugging on the end of her jacket. Lee knows you don’t have enough strength to actually pull her back and keep her from leaving you. But, just as much as she knows she wouldn’t actually leave you to begin with.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just had my parents on my ass lately, and I really just needed a moment alone, so I was feeling annoyed that I couldn’t have that moment. It has nothing to do with you, though, okay? I promise.”

The tension inside of her slowly unfurls from your words, a sweep of relief overflowing her. She keeps her eyes downcast, not wanting to meet your intense gaze in a moment as vulnerable as an apology. She takes a moment to absorb your words, repeating them to herself. Okay, it didn’t have to do with her. She didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not her fault.

“Thank you,” she quietly says, tugging her arm from your pinch on her hoodie. “Let’s go.”

As she walks, you bounce on your feet next to her, asking, “Do you forgive me?”

“What?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, you know – you forgive me, right?”

“That sounds less like a question and more like a proposition.”

You frown, eyebrows crinkled as you scrunch them up. “What do you mean?”

The wisp of a smile curls at Lee’s lips. That’s one thing she’s noticed from spending time with you. Like it or not, you are just a tad entitled, a tweak spoiled. Despite what your parents’ line of work centers on, you’ve grown up reaping the expenses of it, and as a result, you have an impatient quality to you that Lee’s own childhood could’ve never bode well with.

“If you’re apologizing to me, you can’t expect me to give in right away.” She casts a glance your way, nearly chuckling from how your face twists. “Give me time.”

“I–” you start, your voice hard with what she suspects is immediate defense. But, a split second later, you deflate, the slope of your shoulders easing. “Fine. You’re right.”

“Mm,” she hums, continuing to walk. The truth is, she forgave you as soon as the apology left its residence within your mouth. But, your implication that she ought to forgive you immediately is what had her resisting – just a tad.

You rush to meet her pace, hand raising to her before flinching back and lowering.

Lee feels a pang at it. She knows you shouldn’t be touching her so informally, nor should she welcome such a show of unprofessionalism. But, she can’t help it. Your hesitancy to touch her, probably rooted in her own visible resistance to it, strikes her in the chest.

“I’m sorry, Lee,” you mutter, eyes widened and peering up at her with the innocence of a child. “You can take your time to forgive me. I won’t rush it.”

She swallows hard at the sudden burst of vulnerability, feeling admiration warm her body from how earnestly and straightforwardly you do it. Even accepting her criticism and immediately acknowledging your wrongs – she’s not an idiot, she knows how much self-awareness it takes to do that.

She finds herself wordless for a few moments, mind wrapped in the goodness and purity of your actions, before stammering out, “I, um– it’s fine. We’re okay.”

When your eyes squeeze at the corners, she can’t help but smile back.

At the convenience store, you’re bubbling with questions for her, asking her what kind of food and snacks she likes, which she ate as a child. Though she’s usually not one for sharing, not that she’s ever really on the receiving end of questions that aren’t work related, she pushes herself to humor you, answering and expanding when needed. After careful consideration, rolling over the professionalism of doing so, she shoots you a question right back. And listens attentively as you tell her about the snacks you were never allowed to try as a kid, the pantry one of the things under strict surveillance from your mother. How you used to smuggle cheap bags of chips and chunky brownies into your bedroom, your friends sometimes bringing them into school for you.

Lee absorbs it all, her mouth pinching together in both confusion and a flicker of sympathy. She could tell, since a while back, that your parents were quite stern, but she supposes she hadn’t realized the extent. Actually, she definitely hadn’t realized.

A revelation that’s thrusted at her face when you two return home that night, and your mother, whose face is stormy and tight with disapproval, sends Lee a curt nod before excusing her. Immediately, you object, but your words are firmly cut off, and Lee finds herself tiptoeing the line between proprietary and protection. The rules and regulations of how much she can protect you warring with how much she wants to throw those away because her protection of you is dangerously teetering off the edge of her job’s obligations.

When she remains frozen, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her sweats, your mother’s smooth voice rolls back into the room.

“Miss Harker, I’d like a moment alone with my child.”

Lee doesn’t bother sparing her a glance, her eyes sliding from the patterned, bleeding red rug to your eyes, urgent in their silent question.

“Miss Harker, I just asked you to leave.”

Lee clears her throat, blinking hard, debating if it’s a good idea to resist, before finally landing on the firm, quiet words of: “Sorry, but I don’t report to you.”

She can hear your mother’s sharp intake of breath, but can’t find the courage in herself to look up and meet her gaze. She supposes the woman has enough money to find a new bodyguard with the snap of her fingers, and wouldn’t hesitate before calling Lee’s agency and reporting her. And while those worries thrum in Lee’s mind, sending her fingers twisting into the scratchy fabric of her pants, she pushes them aside. She’s always been good at doing that.

Tension rings through the room like a rope slowly looping around everyone’s neck, unbearably tight.

You finally speak up, nodding at Lee. “I’m okay. You can go up, Lee.”

She draws in a deep breath, not wanting to push you even more in this moment. And so, she returns a tilt of her own head then silently slinks off up the stairs.

The rest of the night is spent in regret for having left you in that moment, not an inch of the floorboards left untouched with her pacing. She listens to her walkman, lies in bed, anything she can to take her mind off the tight expression on your face. Because she absolutely should not be this concerned. She knows it’s not wrong, per say – most people would insist it’s proof that she still has a heart, despite it all. But, she knows it’s a bit more than just a baseline level of empathy.

Her shoulders only loosen up when she hears the familiar creak of your door opening through the wall. But, even then, her mind is whirling with questions. Are you okay? Are you crying? Do you need her?

Is it her place to be needed in this way?

–

The following days of tension are only shattered into blissful little pieces when you scream in your bathroom one night.

Which, yes, sounds odd and slightly concerning, but it makes sense.

Lee comes rushing in through the connected doors, and you hear the pound of her quick footsteps before a rasp is quickly skittering on the door.

“Yeah, yeah, come in,” you shakily say, your voice hooked onto an embarrassingly high pitch, your arm jolting out to twist open the lock.

Lee immediately barges in, her arms raised upright as her sharp eyes scan the bathroom, her veins bulging out as she tightly grips the gun. Her hair is drenched, lying on her back in dark ripples, like a river creased with gentle waves. It leaves the sweater she’s wearing clinging to her back, and you watch the wet patch as she walks past the corner you’re tucked into, paying you no mind as she checks over the bathroom.

She does it so fast that a few seconds have barely passed before her eyes dart to you, wide and alert. “Who was here?”

Immediately, humiliation floods you, sending your face stinging with heat. “Um…”

Your arm raises tentatively, a meek finger pointed at the green wall. Lee immediately spins around, her gun pointed to where a large centipede is crawling.

Eyebrows furrowed, she observes the spot for a few seconds before her arms lower, her face relaxing into a deadpan expression, which she shoots at you mercilessly.

“Really?” she mutters, blinking hard at you.

“It’s huge,” you cry out, your voice bordering on a childish wail.

“It’s–” she starts before breaking into a sigh. She glances down at the gun in her hand, her shoulders sagging.

Your face breaks into a smile, cheeks aching. “At least you were prepared.”

“Overly so.”

Your mouth quivers before breaking into a loud laugh, cupping your mouth. “You–You pointed your gun at it so ferociously.”

Her mouth twitches, folding in together until they’ve thinned out. “That’s my job.”

“And you do it very well, I promise,” you blubber through your near-hysterical fit, clutching at your throbbing stomach.

Moments later, her slow-spreading smile breaks into a low laugh. The sound is deep and wrinkled, like creased velvet, and your stomach flips at the way it rumbles. Does it come from her chest or her stomach, that low, lovely sound?

Shaking her head, she sets the gun down to the counter and silently bends down to retrieve some toilet paper. She grabs the mug of water you had brought into the bathroom, emptying it out before using it to efficiently capture the creature.

You watch in stunned silence as she exits your bathroom, the noise of the window opening meeting your ears before she returns, disposing of the tissue.

“Gone?” you ask wondrously. “Gone,” she affirms with a nod. “Probably the easiest task I’ve had the entire job.”

Your smile widens at her dry quip. “Glad to be of some assistance.”

“Well, yeah, especially after the…” she trails off, licking her lips. “Lack of insect help.”

You scoff, sending a light kick to her thigh with your bare foot.

You don’t realize how intimate of an act it is until her warm, rough hand wraps around your ankle on instinct, which causes you to slide a bit off the edge of the counter you were perched against. The movement causes your towel to ride up your thighs, and you immediately scramble to tug it down, which causes the knot tucked into your chest to unfurl. Your hands flounder about, flying up to your chest, clutching the towel close like a lifeline.

The rapid movements cause Lee’s face to flinch up and her eyes seem to finally take in your current state of undress, roving over you. You feel yourself stiffen under the gaze, her brown eyes carrying a weight to them that you hope is at least half, at least a quarter, of desire.

She lets go of your ankle, sharply clearing her throat before grabbing her gun and departing from the bathroom without another word.

More and more each day, you come to crave her touch like someone who's been starved of warmth for decades. Everytime she’s nearby, you long for something to startle you, just so you have an excuse to curl against her body. You wish she was less professional, less careful, and would just press her palm against your lower back in crowds, grip your wrist when you needed guidance in weaving your way through somewhere. But, she only ever touches you on accidents or when you initiate it. You’re not sure if it’s fear, respect or repulsion that pulls the strings of her inaction. But, you wish it could be gone so that you could feel those tight, patchy calluses on her fingertips again.

Those calluses your mouth feels bitterly dry for as you two stop by a field during the drive home one day. You begged for her and the driver to pull to the side, the stormy sky setting every glade to an emerald green and wrapping everything in a pale, low light. After watching you for a few seconds, Lee quietly says to the driver, “Let’s stop.”

As you two lean on a peeled wooden fence, watching over the expanse of the green ocean, you eye her from the corner of your eyes. “Do you want to smoke?”

Her eyebrows draw in together slowly, watching the faraway forest bridging the parameters of the land. “How did you–?”

“Can smell it from the other room.”

Her throat bobs as she gulps. “I– sorry.”

You chuckle. You assumed she hadn’t known – she didn’t seem like the type to smoke near anyone without asking. But, you hadn’t minded the smell much. It was only faint in how it drifted under the connecting door, a comforting reminder of how close she was.

“It’s okay. You can do it now, if you want.”

“I don’t smoke on the job.”

“Why?”

“I do it to… um, relax,” she explains, the last word hanging as though relax isn’t a word in her personal dictionary.

“Are you implying you never relax on the job?” you drawl, the corner of your lip quirking up.

“Considering my job is to ensure people live, not really.” Her lips tilt up as she glances at you, her voice lowering as she adds, “I only sometimes do.”

A spark of eagerness unfolds in your stomach, and you can only hope your response comes off naturally when you murmur, “Oh? Like, when?”

She rewards you with nothing but a sidelong glance, shoulders heaving in tension before she fishes for her pack of cigarettes. After sparking it to life with a simple, silver lighter, she breathes it in, her eyes fluttering close for a moment.

You seize it unabashedly, gazing at her during the rare moment of self-contained peace. She hangs somewhere between her usual reservations and completely rash and explosive freedom. A calm river just barely flowing with the breeze. A leaf taking a break, unrattled for the first time in forever.

Her eyes closed, the cigarette dangling from her pink lips, she’s a vision, wrapped in nothing but her own thoughts. She’s not tense in awareness of people around you, nor focused and alert in her protection of you. She’s released for these few seconds, succumbing to the heady, charged air of the ongoing storm, letting it lull her to some other world for a few seconds.

How badly you wish to be a part of that world.

–

Lee’s not sure how she wound up in this situation, but the last thing she had expected, nor desired, in the duration of this already-exhausting night, was to be on the receiving end of a spat with a client.

It’s not like it’s a new situation, per say. She’s had tons of clients before who found her attentions and diligence to remain nearby irritating, and took it out on her. Usually clients in your position – people who never chose to have such a bodyguard. And she was equipped to handle it. It was annoying, sure, grating on other days, yes, but she understood the root of the problem didn’t have to do much with her. And so, she usually just keeps quiet, only answering back when needed, then silently departing as soon as possible. Just as she always avoided confrontation with her mother, felt her stomach tighten in the anticipation of honesty, her avoidance of conflict with clients was automatic.

But, for the first time, she finds herself wanting to push back, her eyes hard as she gazes at you. You, who’s adorned more than usual, dressed up head to toe in clothes that are completely different from what you usually wear. So different that Lee has to force her eyes to remain on your face as you stare at her with something akin to fury.

“So, what, you’re just going to be a third parent from now on?” you snap, tossing your arms up. “I can’t even go to the club?”

“You have a curfew to abide by.”

“But, the convenience store–”

“Was a half hour outing, tops,” she firmly states. “Very different from going to a club for hours.”

Not to mention that the idea of heading into a club with you makes Lee want to brace her head against the wall. Though, she suspects you’re aware of that.

“It’s my friend’s birthday, Lee!” you cry out, your foot stomping so hard on the ground Lee feels slight concern. “I promised her.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

You flinch, and she watches you, carefully re-assessing her words. She doesn’t believe what she said sounded malicious. It’s the truth of the matter. You know you’re now under certain guidelines in order to ensure your safety, and part of that comes with avoiding outings that place you in vulnerable positions. Such as ones that take place during nighttime, or any that require you to be apart from Lee.

She knows it’s less than ideal for you, but she doesn’t care enough to let you go on your own or disrupt her carefully arranged schedule. A schedule that, yes, her nightly anxieties and bad habits usually prevent her from actually inhabiting. But, still, an outing to the club was not what was planned, and she has no intention of going with you unless you downright refuse her.

Which you seem to nearly do, huffing and whirling around before Lee’s grabbing your forearm, her fingers squishing into the soft skin. It’s softer than she realized.

She shakes her head of the detail, quietly reiterating, “You can’t go. Even if I wanted to, your mom wouldn’t be okay with it.”

“And?” you snap, your eyebrows furrowing, arm tugging hard from her grip but to no avail. “Why are you on her side instead of mine?”

Lee sighs, feeling her frustration flare. It’s not about sides, there is no competition happening between you and your mother. It’s simply about ensuring your safety, something your mother has set guidelines for, those of which you personally don’t agree with. Lee can understand both sides, including your mother’s worries and your lashing out. But, she doesn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. Especially not by you. Your mother, she expects nothing of. But, you, who she’s grown to develop a personal relationship with, she expects some more maturity from.

“It has nothing to do with that. If you and I don’t follow her rules, if something happens, I can– I can lose my job,” she mutters, the admission one that makes her feel painfully ripped open.

“So, that’s why you’re concerned over something happening to me? Because you might lose your job?”

Lee nearly groans, her jaw clenching at your quiet and seething words. She doesn’t like admitting it to herself, but there is a part of her, a part she forces to be small, that cares for you beyond being a client. But, she can’t express that. She barely utters it in her own mind, keeping it stifled and hidden away in a corner she barely spares a glance to. There’s no way she’s admitting it to you. Doing so would crumble the foundation of professionalism your guys’ bond is based on. It breaks all the rules. She can’t afford that.

“No. It’s about keeping you safe, which is why I’m here,” she says, her voice levelled.

“Safe, not stifled, Lee,” you cry out, yanking your arm back. “I don’t need you doing that either.”

Your breaths are beginning to break into an uneven pattern, mouth quivering as you watch her.

Lee inhales sharply, immediately taking recognition of what’s to come. She lowers her arm, muttering, “Okay. Just calm down, we–”

Your little rasps break into a long, shuddering breath, tears beginning to leak from your eyes.

Lee freezes in place, feeling her mind lurch into overdrive. She’s not equipped to handle a breakdown, that’s for sure. She can barely manage her own, that’s why she avoids them so much. But, as you sink down in the hallway, landing on the ground with a soft thump, Lee is slapped with the realization that standing here and staring probably isn’t the correct decision for how to handle this.

She gingerly lowers herself next to you, her head tipping against the brown wallpaper, spotted with tiny flowers. Her hands coil and twine together in her lap – an anxious instinct, one she succumbs to when she doesn’t know what to do. She remembers her coworkers joking about how surprising it was that she managed so well with a gun when she’s such a nervous fidgeter. She supposes they had a point.

She remains silent, keeping her eyes fixed on her lap so as to not make you feel pressured or uncomfortable. If you need time to cope with missing the party, she’ll give it to you. The position you’re in is beyond anything she’s ever dealt with, but familiar, for she, too, has felt the weight and anguish of a parent’s control, no matter how infused it was with care and good intentions.

Perhaps it’d help you to hear that. To know that she doesn’t mean to rebuke or misunderstand you. She didn’t want to make you feel that way, but she’s lived with herself long enough to know that her hope isn’t enough to save her from making an unwanted impression.

“I understand it,” she murmurs. It’s difficult for her to bring these things up. With anyone, but especially with a client. She doesn’t think she’s ever actually brought something so personal with anyone she’s worked with before. It doesn’t, shouldn’t, make sense that she feels so compelled to tell you. After all, it’s only been a month and a half. But, something in her is urging her on, pushing her forward in revealing these things – for the sake of your comfort, for the sake of your sanity. For the sake of ensuring you don’t feel like she’s playing a role in your isolation. Things she never cared much about with past clients.

“My mom was quite protective too. You know, scared of something happening.” She keeps her tone hushed, almost as though if she reins it in, the confession is only half-lingering in the air.

“Why?”

Her teeth clench together. Now, that, she has no desire to divulge. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just – I get it. I get how hard it is to have someone always watching over you.” It feels odd to link herself to you in such a close, intimate way, but she pushes herself on. After all, it’s probably a bigger deal to her than it is for you. “It can be pretty pressuring.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, tipping your head back, your shoulder pressing to hers.

Lee tries to resist instinctively moving away from you, keeping her shoulders stiff.

“I just – I don’t mind that they’re protective, right? I just hate how they use it as an excuse to override my own opinion. They never asked me if I wanted a bodyguard, if I wanted this life. I feel like I had no say. And everytime I’m not allowed to do something else, I feel like it’s just slapping me again – the reminder that I can’t do what my friends do. And, I know what my parents do is great – but, they, I don’t know, they don’t consider me often when it comes to what I want. They just trust that they know better and expect me to go along with it.”

Lee absorbs your words, fidgeting with the material of her slacks. She feels a sting of anxiety when you mention the bodyguard thing, hoping her job isn’t too burdensome on you. She wills away the notion, though, focusing on the rest of what you’ve said. While her own mother was paranoid and constantly clung to Lee, she did trust Lee’s decision-making skills. Perhaps she knew it wouldn’t be fair to do any otherwise, when so much of Lee’s childhood was left for her to manage on her own.

“Yeah, that would be frustrating,” she muses quietly. “You should have more of a say. Even if it’s for your own safety, it’s not gonna feel good for you if you’re forced into it.”

When you do nothing but nod, she inhales a deep breath, searching her brain for a potential solution.

“Maybe you should talk to them, figure out how often you need me.”

“I mean, it’s not you I have a problem with. I just don’t want the curfews and all. And the restrictions.”

But, Lee is a restriction. She doesn’t say this, though, not wanting to rebuttal you on your own feelings. She wouldn’t appreciate it if someone did that to her. And it is, embarrassingly enough, relieving to know her company isn’t a complete burden on you. It’s so stupid – she shouldn’t even care about that, you’re a client.

“Thank you, though. For everything. It means a lot to me – it always does.”

Her mouth quivers at that, blinking hard as the words settle in her chest. She’s had clients voice their appreciation for her before, but this feels a lot softer, more heartfelt. Maybe it’s because of the informal position you two are in, sprawled on the floor together, sharing secrets.

“It’s fine,” she mutters, gaze pointed at the wall opposite to you both.

It’s more than that, really. But, she really shouldn’t tell you that.

She also shouldn’t let you place your head on her shoulder, no matter how lightly you keep it there, as though you’re anticipating for her to jerk away any second. She shouldn’t sag further into the wall so that the two of you can be more comfortable. What she should be doing is ignoring the urge in her that’s telling her to secure your comfortability, because the want, the desire for that – it’s not for work at this moment, it’s not out of duty. There is no threat here, nothing hanging above her head.

She simply wants to see you happy.

And that’s why she takes you to the club that night, firmly telling you to stay near a security guard while she takes a smoke outside before meeting you inside. She won’t stay near, of course, planning to linger by a corner for the next few hours and just make sure you’re well-looked after. But, it’s blaring inside, and she needs something to calm her nerves before going somewhere so crowded. With the nature of her job, she’s adept at handling these situations, knowing exactly how to control her breathing and temper the ache in her stomach.

Your eyes glossy, you stare at her with such earnestness she looks away. “You didn’t have to do this, Lee. I know it’s a drag, that’s another reason why I didn’t ask you.”

“I know. But, it’s just one night.”

“A really special one because of your help,” you whisper, your lashes fluttering as your eyes flick over her face, Lee feeling her neck heat up from the attention. “Thank you so much.”

She hums, forcing her stare to rip from the ground and onto you. It takes her only a split second to realize something is off – the lip stain you swiped on your mouth is smudged at the corner.

“You, um– your mouth.” She points half-heartedly to your face.

You bring your thumb up, swiping it at the corner she gestured to, and Lee winces as your stroke along your mouth leaves the colour swiping only more past your lips.

“Okay, that clearly wasn’t right,” you laugh loudly, your eyes shining under the dim light of the street lamp.

She sucks in a breath, her fingers rasping at her thighs, practically tingling with the urge to help. Which is strange, considering she usually hates to touch and be touched – but, perhaps, the casual intimacy you two shared just an hour ago is still lingering in her system, pulling her to the desire to do more.

But, she really shouldn’t. She shouldn’t.

Yet, as you watch her there, your eyes glimmering, skin coated in the blue tinge of the moonlight, she so badly wants to indulge in the pretense that you guys are something different from bodyguard and client. She wants to give you some help outside of necessity, something to show you that you can depend on her again. She probably shouldn’t want you to depend on her as you did tonight – after all, this is a professional bond, not friendship. But, still, she so rarely connects with another person. And the fresh wave of familiarity you both submerged in tonight is swimming in her mind.

Maybe, just for tonight, you two can be friends.

She lifts her hand up, her long fingers cradling your face as her thumb carefully wipes the corner of your mouth, cleaning your mess. Her eyes hone in on you, curiously travelling over your face, trying to piece together exactly what you’re thinking. Your eyes are wide, bulging out in what she assumes is surprise, lips hanging open as she tenderly cleans you up.

She gulps hard. Perhaps this was too forward a move.

Her hand drops, and she clears her throat. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” you immediately say, the string of words almost muddled in how fast you utter them, “It’s okay, really. Thanks for, um, you know, cleaning it up.”

A nod is all you receive from her, for she doesn’t trust that her voice won’t reveal the turmoil raging within her. The kind that’s forcefully thrusting to the forefront of her mind what she feels, how unprofessional this is, how her feelings are tumbling over the boundaries – shattering them, really.

When you’re gone inside and she’s smoking, she simply lets herself rest in this moment, resolving to herself that by the time morning comes, she’ll be back to normal. She won’t be thinking of how good you look tonight, or how she’s praying that no one hits on you there.

She won’t be rubbing the spit you left on her fingers between the pads of them, feeling a nearly feral desire for it to soak through the grooves and calluses until it’s completely embedded and locked with her. She won’t be resisting the urge to raise them to her own mouth, and let herself feel the cool wetness of it.

as per usual, I'd love to hear what you guys think so totally let me know! your guys' words and thoughts always mean the world to me ♡ also, the bug scene was the amazing idea of @threenounname (hehe thank you sooo much)

#s.writing #lee harker #lee harker x reader #ignore me posting in the dead of night LMAO #lee harker fanfiction #longlegs 2024 #longlegs fanfiction

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ruiniel · 1 year ago

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HIIIII! i've been reading a bit through your blog and i've liked it a lot, the way you write for alucard is very sweet and i haven't seen much of him x male reader so could i make a request?

in my mind reader helped alucard along with trevor and sypha, but reader is a magical creature that lives within the forest and takes care of alucard from afar after sypha and trevor left so it was only just the two of them even after the events with taka and sumi. this is just for little context.

so, reader is pretty much very in love with alucard and is always to his disposition, but when greta arrives and starts to notice how happy he looks with her, reader starts to question if he's even good enough for alucard so even if he's at alucard's disposition he starts to drift away thinking that alucard may be better off with greta. that until alucard finds him again and formalize ofc 🥰

thanks for reading allat and if you're not interested feel free to ignore it, bye bye!

Thank you for the prompt, here's a little scene. I took a pre-poly relationship approach here...

For each other

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021) | Pairing: Alucard x male reader | Rating: T Count: 2K | Tags: self-deprecation, pining, angst, feels

A late, sunny afternoon. There is no one but the two of them in the large kitchen: Alucard has her pinned against a counter, his gaze dropping from her warm brown eyes to her lips, leaning close enough to taste—

They break apart at the sound of something thudding onto a hard surface. Alucard turns his head, eyes still glazed and heartbeat soaring from their kiss. He blinks owlishly at the sight of you unleashing a hoard of crab apples on the table.

You’d been gone for some time, and now meticulously catch the escaped apples and gather them back into the large wicker basket, all the while doing a great job of not looking at Greta or Alucard, staring at you. “Don’t stop on my account,” you murmur, leaning over to catch an apple about to roll off the table.

“...?” Greta untangles herself from Alucard’s arms, half-turning.

“Found plenty of these in a glade not far from here,” you say as you arrange the fruit. “Fallen from the trees, just there to rot if nobody uses them. Who would have thought?” You turn away, taking an apple and avoiding their eyes as you make to leave.

Greta calls your name. “Wait,” she tries again, taking a step forward, but Alucard’s hold is tight on her wrist.

As the door shuts behind you, Greta moves to go after you, anyway; Alucard holds her fast. “Perhaps…” he says, turning her gently to face him, “Let me speak to him, this time.”

Greta nods. There are many things to speak of indeed, things long overdue. Knowing what happened and all you’ve been through together until this point, it might be best for Alucard to reach you first. Her fingers graze the side of his face. “Bring him back.”

When the door is closed, you stare at the stone walls of the corridor, your gaze traveling up, up, up, to the high ceiling. Your ears are ringing. There comes a need to be anywhere but here.

Your body takes initiative before your mind does and then you’re pacing through castle halls, away, away, through tall grass, through dust and dirt until you find yourself…

“I’ll never escape this, will I?” you speak, gazing up absently at the remains of the Belmont Manor. You’re not even sure how you got here but take a deep breath, head tipping up to the sky.

So what? This is a good thing, right? Alucard being less miserable is a good thing. Greta having him is a good thing, and they need more Good Things in their lives. You want their happiness, would kill to see either of them pleased and living out their best days, such as they are. It’s all win-win here.

Then why the moping?

They don’t owe you anything. She doesn’t, Alucard doesn’t. Could you be such a supremely conceited dumbass that you actually thought needing them and being there meant you deserved to be a part of…

They’re your friends, your companions, the only people who ever cared. They’re your only friends, comes that voice within. So what, you love them no less.

You open your eyes, frowning at the clouds as though seeing daylight for the first time in your life.

You... love them.

Both.

You walk the broken grounds, through what used to be antechambers, through what used to be a dining room.

Breathe. Breathe, you idiot.

Fact is, one doesn’t always get what one wants — in your case almost never, which is just the bare truth and not you feeling sorry for yourself.

Well, you are, but that doesn’t make it less true.

Again, so what? So what, so what—the two words churn in your mind, an endless storm stealing your breaths without remorse. You drag both hands over your face. You’ve been out of it for too long, until you’ve stumbled upon Alucard, never lingered on what it entails, but now you know, now you see.

So, then, this must be jealousy. Feels great. Not only does God hate you, God placed a price on your head and sent their rabid revenge hounds with devotion and tenderness and lust crushed between their teeth, smashing inadequacy and resentment together in merciless jaws before biting into your face.

Someone calls your name.

You start, the breaths freezing in your chest. Great. You sigh. “You really have to stop creeping up on people like that.” Can you do this now?

“I’m sorry,” Alucard says, then just. Stands there.

Oh, no. You can’t do this now. You kick the dirt. “What is it, Alucard?” If you felt miserable before, now guilt and shame joined in and are having a day of it.

“It’s Alucard, now?” he asks softly, and you shake your head, avoiding his eyes. You’d slipped into calling him ‘Adrian’ not long ago. “Either way, I was hoping you could tell me,” he continues.

“Look, I’m just out here... for some time to think...”

“... which was so urgent a need, you had to rush out without looking back, despite Greta calling your name.”

You discover: when you’re hurting after someone, it only hurts more if they ridicule you. “Your point?” you pinch your brows, trying very hard not to lash out, not to be an asshole, because Alucard... Adrian doesn’t deserve it.

Alucard tilts his head to one side, takes another few steps, then sits down on the ruins—and doesn’t catch fire, a childish part of you thinks. “I know things between us have always been,” he looks you in the eye, “complicated.”

“Understatement of the century,” you stare up at the broken clock tower. “We’re going back to me asking about your point.” Your heart beats faster, and you know he can sense it.

Alucard watches you closely, kindly. His lips part. “You were there for me when I needed you. When I didn’t even know… what I needed.”

“... we did that for each other,” you mutter. “Alucard, really, you can stop this. I’m not a total idiot. You two are together, that’s great. You’ve been through so much, you deserve some peace of mind,” you say, even as Alucard rises and nears you. “And hell knows Greta deserves it, now would you please, please, leave it?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you’re begging. You never begged in your life, not even when you were held down at knife point, helpless and with your powers snuffed by magic. But now you’re compelled to because, because…

“I only want to remind you,” Alucard follows, looking at you, “that you once told me I wasn’t alone.”

Your eyes widen for a moment. You look away, unable to keep the misery from your voice. “Why are you going back there?”

“Why are you running away?” He is close enough that you’re unable to move. “I am also at fault. I’ve been absorbed by my loss that I failed to see you.”

“You still mourn your family, which is a grand pass in my book. Look,” you stare at Alucard’s genuinely curious expression. “I… you need the time. Take it.”

“You care so much about what I need?” His face is honest as he meets your eyes.

“Does that surprise you?” you ask, crawling beneath your facade, which you get the feeling falls short before Alucard now, anyway.

“I need you.”

You’ve never been the violent sort, unless someone threatened what you cherished. But now you want to punch him, because this… the implication is a joke beyond your wildest dreams, the ones that wake you up in a sweat with your pulse in a rush, where golden eyes turn red, with hot breaths in your ear and you can still taste—“Don’t.”

“I do,” Alucard looks up at the broken tower, then back at you. “And I nearly waited too long.”

He comes closer, a hand on your shoulder. You stare at it, then at Alucard, and you absolutely loathe your body in this moment, for all it wants is closer. “You’re with Greta.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Alucard’s eyes narrow. “Yes, you remembered Greta, gods willing.” His face becomes colder, but his eyes are pleading something you can’t understand. “I love her.”

“I’m … glad for you,” you say, falling apart.

Alucard shakes his head. “I love her, and she worried herself sick over you, stood by you for days and nights, tending to you when you were wounded. She can’t bear the thought of you leaving here, wanted to run after you just now and ask what happened because she can’t stand to always see you unhappy. Do you see a pattern?”

“I just… I care about her very much, as you likely have guessed,” you mumble, “all I want is for her to be happy. For… for you to be… .”

“Then don’t run,” Alucard says. “Not from her, not from me.”

“I never run.”

“Then don’t.”

“I just said—nevermind,” you mutter with a smile, spent and needy and you would just…

“Come back inside,” Alucard urges softly, running those long, nervous fingers along your scalp, forehead pressed to yours.

You shudder, would purr like a shameless cat if scraps of your dignity weren’t in the way. “... fine,” you murmur, lips curving upward against your will, fears dispersing like shadows chased by the coming dawn.

Alucard’s hand cups your head again, but now it’s different; there’s hunger in the touch. You lean forward, helpless. Defeated. Aching.

You’re caught in an embrace, like the Inevitable wrapping itself around you and heaven or hell help you. There’s no escape, for you lack the will to fight this, then wonder why you would—isn’t this what… what you wanted? Didn’t you gut yourself over precisely this, wasting nights away, mind on Alucard and what you share and what you feel, what it would be like, to be close to him… to them?

“You make everything so difficult for me all the time, you know that?” you say with Alucard… Adrian’s breath on your lips.

“I believe I’m actually making it easy.” He’s smiling, pointedly.

You draw back a little and Alucard follows, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. “Are you sure—”

“Are you really going to question me kissing you now?” he admonishes fondly and noses at your cheek, upper lip curling like it does when he’s annoyed.

“Fair,” you admit defeat, and with that, tilt your head just enough; feel Alucard’s soft lips between your teeth, Alucard’s tongue curling around yours, his taste and you’re grabbing onto the collar of his coat with both hands—more to keep yourself upright, in all honesty—remembering everything: the tingling, slow, hard pressure of Alucard’s mouth, the weakness in your knees and the flare burning low in your body. It’s just as… no, it’s even better than you thought, not as desperate but closer, softer, deeper. You can only liken it to drowning on air, on want, on taste and the sweet-heady scent of skin.

When you tug with abandon at his lip, Alucard brings you to his chest, a foot wedged between yours, hands ordering your hips flush together. All you can think of is how you shouldn’t be enjoying the manhandling as much but you desperately do, and would like more but this is too good a dream to switch for gratification now, too eager to feel him and your unspoken needs weaved together like bonds.

You release the collar of Alucard’s coat, thumbs drifting along his jaw, the determined, hard lines and smooth skin, the way his nose bumps into your cheek as you kiss, the way your own body runs hot and melds with his rising heat.

“Am I dead?” you ask, breathless when you slowly break apart. You stare at Alucard with a self-deprecating smile, the longing bare on your face, panting once, twice, only for Alucard to kiss you again.

You give up and hug him tighter, hands roaming and clutching at him, drifting down to his waist as Alucard twists with you and presses forward until your back meets the nearest wall.

“Wait... weren’t we... going inside?” you pant, looking beyond his shoulder. People are still walking to and fro, though for now you’ve been reasonably sheltered from any curious eyes.

“Right... yes... of course,” Alucard answers in much the same way. He wastes not a moment in dragging you after him, his arm tight around your waist.

#alucard x male reader #alucard x reader #ruiniel:fanfiction #castlevania x reader #alucard castlevania x reader #castlevania x you #alucard x you #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes x you #castlevania imagine

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