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souliebird · 11 months

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[[and then i met you || ch.1]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary: A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s.

a/n: Reader is an extremely anxious person. That’s the note.

words: 5.6k

You hope Matthew Michael Murdock is a good man.

You tried to research him online, but you didn't find anything that could sway you one way or another.

The news articles say he's some sort of local hero - not only for being a lawyer who does a lot of pro-bono work but for saving a man from being hit by a truck when he was a kid. They all give his tragic backstory before praising him and his law partner for helping the underprivileged and going after some big shot corrupt businessman - twice. The comments are mostly from people he's helped, singing about how Nelson and Murdock saved them in their times of crisis.

You want to trust them, but you can't.

The news also claimed Hitler was Person of the Year and deserved praise, too, and you know how that turned out. Not that you think a blind lawyer from Hell's Kitchen can be compared to a genocidal leader, but your mental point to yourself still stands.

You know nothing about Matthew Murdock except he's blind, he's a lawyer, and his dick changed your life.

You doubt he even remembers you - a one-night stand from years ago, before his name even started appearing in the news again, and to be fair, you didn't remember him at first, either. Not until four months later when you went in to get your anxiety medication adjusted and the doctor made you take a routine pregnancy test. Then you remembered the handsome blind lawyer who flirted with you at a friend's holiday party you had gone to. You could remember the silly conversation you had about white elephant, that he had the most charming smile, and he could do things with his tongue that made you moan just thinking about, but you could not remember his name.

You had tried to find him, you really did, but your energy and attention was quickly needed elsewhere and the search for your daughter's father lost steam.

Until you saw him on the television while at the local diner, giving an interview with his law partner.

That was yesterday and now you are standing outside the door of his firm, trying to work up the courage to go in.

There's too many scenarios in your head, all of them bad- he's not going to want anything to do with you and your daughter, which you can deal with, or maybe, just maybe, he'll try to take her away from you. He's a lawyer and you work in billing for a transportation company. There's no doubt who the courts would choose and it wouldn't be you.

The thought makes you want to turn and run but you know your daughter deserves the chance to know her father - and he deserves to know she exists. It's his choice, once he knows, if he wants to be in her life or not, not yours.

It scares you so much it's not your choice.

You scrub at your face, trying to work up the courage to actually open the door in front of you when it does just that.

A kind looking woman with strawberry blonde hair is standing in the doorway and you recognize her from the firm's website - Karen Page. She's the third partner in the firm and you didn't really look into her in your hunt for information.

She offers you a smile before speaking, "You look like you're debating coming in." You shrug, unsure what to say because that is exactly what you were doing but don't want to admit it. She looks you over without it feeling judgmental before focusing on the manila envelope in your hand. She steps back slightly and gestures for you to come into the office. "You made it this far. Whatever it is, we'll do our best to help you."

The sentiment is so kind and you know she means well, thinking you are a potential client, but it just causes your throat to get even tighter.

It has been you and your daughter for so long, is this really the right path to take?

You hug your file to your chest and take a hesitant step forward. Then another and another until you are in the office. It's not big or fancy and you didn't expect it to be. There's a little waiting area in front of the reception desk, with another desk shoved against a wall, and on either side of the room, doors leading to what you suspect are the private offices.

Karen goes around to the back of the reception desk and picks up a clipboard holding some paperwork and offers it out to you.

You take it and stare down at it, unsure if you would fill it out or not. When you look back up, Karen is still smiling at you and you don't want to come off as a problem, so you take a seat in the waiting area and start filling out the requested information. As you write out your address, it finally occurs to you that you have no idea how to have the conversation you need to have.

Do you ease into it or drop it on him like a bomb? You had only ever thought about finding him and never about what you would say when you did.

You should have taken more time to plan this out. You're such an idiot - you just jumped right into running towards him like you might lose track of him if you took so much as a second to think. You know his name now, who he is, you can take time to get things sorted out properly.

Would it be weird to leave in the middle of filling out paperwork you shouldn't even be bothering with?

Probably not, but you're already here. There is no point in running.

This is for your daughter, not you. You have to keep telling yourself that.

You don't fill out the information asking about your 'case'. It honestly makes you panic a bit if you start thinking about it all in a legal sense - you know nothing about law and the man you're meeting with graduated at the top of his class from a top law school. Your hand is shaking as you add your signature to the bottom of the page and date it. Reviewing everything takes just a moment, since there's barely anything written to begin with, and your eyes drift up to the logo at the top of the page.

Nelson, Murdock, and Page.

You trace it with your finger.

Matthew Murdock has to be a good man. This firm helps people and he wouldn't be here if he didn't want to help people. He graduated top of his class; he could work anywhere he wanted to. The papers said he is good, too - they win most of their cases.

Unless it's all a weird front to hide something like money laundering.

But if they were money launders wouldn't they have enough money to afford an air conditioner?

"All done?"

Karen is in front of you, smiling politely. You are surprised by her appearance, but you don't feel pressured. It's like she's checking in so that she can break you out of your thoughts and you appreciate that. You nod and hand her the clipboard. She takes it, giving it a once over.

"Foggy will be out in just a minute."

Your head jerks up at that.

"No, I need to see Mr. Murdock."

You can tell Karen is surprised by that and her eyes narrow just a fraction. She searches your face, then she looks towards the door on the left.

You turn your head to follow her gaze.

"Matt!" Karen calls out.

A few moments pass before the door opens and you feel like you're going to throw up.

The cameras don't do him justice.

Matthew Murdock is gorgeous. He was handsome before and somehow, he just got hotter. He's a little taller than you, still as lean as you remember, and looking crisp in a gray suit - like some model walked off the catwalk and into a sweltering office. His hair is shorter than you remember it being. You have the distinct memory of being able to grab onto it, but it's too cropped to do that now.

But the thing that catches your attention the most is that in person and in the light, you can see Matthew's hair has an auburn tint to it.

Just like Minnie's.

The realization shakes your entire world.

This man is the father of your child. He's real. He's no longer a concept of a person, who you knew nothing about, who just existed somewhere in the world.

You have to look away before you start to cry. You don't know where this surge of emotion is coming from - it feels like this wave of relief. This question you have always had finally has an answer.

You tell yourself to take a breath, you know getting overly emotional isn't going to help anything. It might actually make things worse and spiraling into a meltdown is not a good first impression.

You can see Karen in your peripheral vision, and you look up to her, trying to regain your focus.

It's Matthew who speaks first, "Yes, Karen?"

"We have a walk-in who is hoping she can speak with you."

You introduce yourself, standing up as you do. You know he is blind, so you don't offer your hand. Instead you clutch your folder to your chest.

He doesn't seem to remember your name. He turns towards you and gives a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Matthew Murdock, but you seem to know that. I have some time right now, please come in. Karen, can you grab us some water before you join us?"

"Yeah, sure," Karen says as she turns to do just that.

Your throat gets tight again.

You don't want to have this conversation with someone else there. It's already going to be hard enough. You'll definitely start crying if Karen is in the room. You cannot deal with two people's reactions. The mere thought of you having to do that is making you sweat.

Matthew's voice breaks you out of your panic. "If that is okay?"

You rush out your response, "I would prefer to speak alone, please." You're too panicked to feel embarrassment.

Karen doesn't seem phased by this. She is still grabbing a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and offering one out to you. You take it.

"Not a problem, let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Kare. Please, come this way," Matthew motions for you to follow him into the office.

This is it.

Once you go through that door, you aren't leaving that room without telling Matthew Murdock he is a father.

You surprise yourself by not hesitating and just charging forward into the office.

This isn't about you or your fears.

This is for Minnie.

You keep your gaze forward because you can't bring yourself to look at him. If you stop and look at him before you tell him why you are here, you will just start over analyzing everything once again. You silently beg to whatever gods will listen that everything will be okay, and this man won't destroy you.

He doesn't look like he is going to break your heart.

But you know that looks mean nothing when it comes to pain.

He closes the door behind you with an audible click and the weight of the moment starts to come down on your shoulders.

You take the seat in front of the desk quickly, worried your nerves might catch up with you, placing the water on the ground beside you with your purse when you sit. Matthew doesn't rush, he walks to his desk with an air of quiet confidence and if you were a client, it would be comforting, but you aren't and all it does is remind you why you fell into bed with him.

"What brings you in today, Miss..?" He trails off, prompting you to say your name again. As he reaches his desk you watch as he trails his fingers along the edge, using it as a guide, before moving his hand to brush over the back of his seat before sitting in it.

You chew your bottom lip, wishing you had taken a second to actually plan what you would say instead of jumping in. As far as you know, there isn't a step-by-step guide on how to tell a one-night stand that he's the father of your child - not that you actually looked into that in your desperate research the night before.

Matthew doesn't push as you gather your thoughts. He moves some paperwork away from the center of his desk, then folds his hands there, waiting. You keep your gaze on his hands, needing something to focus your eyes on while you force the truth out.

"I saw your interview last night," you say, deciding to start there, as it seems the most relatable.

Matthew's brows knit together and he tilts his head to the side and you are one again reminded of Minnie. It's a gesture she does often, tilting her little head left and right as she tries to understand something. It always reminded you of a dog and now you wonder if it's not a learned behavior, but genetic.

His lips turn down into a frown and his head stays cocked as he asks, "Do you have information about the Lynch case?"

Heat rushes to your cheeks - of course that would be the question to ask after bringing up the interview. The whole piece was about a specific case they were working on and how it would affect Hell's Kitchen and you hadn't paid any attention to what was said - not after you realized who was on the screen.

You shake your head, resisting the urge to look away and you curl your fingers tighter around the manila folder in your lap. "No, I'm sorry. I saw you and…recognized you."

He straightens up and his demeanor shifts to something less…friendly. It's minute but your messed-up brain screams at you about body language - his shoulders have squared up and you can see where he's clenching his back teeth. You quickly continue on, wanting to get through with your explanation before your anxiety makes you clam up.

"We met nearly five years ago," your voice is firm and factual and you're proud of yourself for that, "at a holiday party."

The words leave your mouth and you know he knows. Every part of him seems to go still - even his breathing seems to stop. The crease between his brow smoothes out, like he's gone from squinting to wide eyes behind his dark glasses. Your heart is pounding in your ears and your throat is getting stiff, but your voice remains steady as you push the words out.

"I think you are the father of my child."

All the color seems to leave Matthew's face and he looks nearly as gray as his suit. The reaction makes your stomach turn. He looks like he is going to throw up.

You bite into your lip, waiting for Matthew to do or say something. All you can do is mentally chant to yourself: he's a good man, he won't take her away.

You know it's probably just seconds, but it feels like hours pass before Matthew moves.

He leans slowly back in his chair, reaching up with one hand to rub at his mouth.

"Are you sure?"

He doesn't sound upset, at least to your ears. His words are cautious - tentative - and it makes your heart go tight in your chest. You don't know if it's fear or hope or everything crashing into you at once now that he knows.

You force out a nod before you remember that the man in front of you is blind. You find your voice and words creep out.

"I'm pretty sure," you start. Your eyes drop away from his hands back down to your lap and you have to lick at your lips to wet them before continuing, "I didn't go out much after that party, I got so busy with work. I didn't…find out until the first trimester was over. By then, I couldn't remember your name. My friends who I went to the party with didn't know you either. I tried to Google you with what information I had, but 'blind lawyer' just got me a lot of disability lawyers." You take a shaky breath, "I understand if you want a paternity test."

You know Matthew is probably taking everything in, but now that you've started talking, it's like you've lifted the dam on your anxiety. You squeeze the file in your lap - just because you hadn't known how you were going to tell Matthew the truth did not mean you hadn't extensively thought about the consequences. Words start to spill out of you.

"I also understand if you don't want anything to do with us, I get it's a big shock. I'm not looking for anything from you." Matthew drops his hand to the desk and if you didn't know better, it would look like he was staring at you. "I just wanted you to know and I thought it would be good for her to know you, but if you don't want that, I get it. All I ask is you fill out some paperwork, medical history mostly so I know if there's anything I need to look out for. I printed it out for you, it's all in braille."

You get up just enough so that you can place the manila envelope on the desk, then sit back down. Your throat is getting so tight and stiff you feel like you're struggling to breathe.

Matthew runs his hand over his desk until he can feel the envelope. His fingers move along the edge and you stare at them, like they are going to be the one to reveal what Matthew is thinking instead of his mouth. He finds the lip but doesn't open, instead flattening his palm against it.

"...her?"

His voice is so quiet you barely hear it. You lift your head to finally look at him and your heart skips a beat.

Matthew looks so soft. The corners of his lips twitch a few times before a smile slowly spreads across his face.

And you know.

You know without a doubt he is your daughter's father. They have the exact same smile. You can't help but to grin as well.

This is good, isn't it? He looks Happy.

"I have a daughter.."

"Winifred.. Winifred Love," you offer. Matthew lifts his head and tilts it towards you, brow wrinkling slightly.

"Love…?" He asks, no judgment in his voice, only curiosity.

You close your eyes in a bit of embarrassment, as you always do during the story, "I meant to put Grace, but I was out of it. I even put a big heart next to it on the paperwork." You aren't ashamed of the story and you love your daughter's name, but it's always a 'oops I was high' moment, even if it was done with the purest intention.

If possible, Matthew's smile gets even bigger.

"Winifred Love," he says, his voice dropping back down to the barely there whisper.

"She goes by Minnie. Like, um.. Like Minnie Mouse," you say. That gets an amused yet fond chuckle. You find yourself relaxing at the noise - like some of the pressure squeezing on your lungs has been lifted and you can finally breathe.

He repeats her nickname and you feel your lips start to turn up.

"How old..?" His voice cracks with emotion and Matthew has to clear his throat before continuing, "how old is she?"

"Three and a half," you answer quickly, "her birthday is a few months away." You bite your lip then hesitantly add, "She wants to go to the zoo. It's all she talks about."

"Yeah?" Matthew prompts. His smile is so so soft and it makes your stomach turn in this pleasant way. However, you were expecting him to act, this is not it. In your heart, you think the best you were going for was acceptance, but this seems much more than that. There is a stinging in the corner of your eyes and you have to take your own steadying breath continuing on.

"Yeah, um.. She…likes maps right now. I got her a map to the zoo and she's got the whole day planned." Which is very much true - your coffee table has been the home of a makeshift zoo diorama for a little over a week now and the itinerary has changed about twenty times.

Matthew ducks his head and nods a little, taking all the information in. You squeeze your fingers in your lap, needing a way to release the nerves still buzzing inside you.

A few moments pass before Matthew clears his throat again, "What else does she like..?"

The question makes you chuckle just a little bit, only because gushing about your daughter is something you're very good at. Since you work at home, it is just the two of you ninety percent of the time, you don't get to coo over her very often.

"She loves arts and crafts - anything she can get her little hands on. Right now she loves pipe cleaners and paper, things she can bend and fold, you know? I set her next to me while working and she'll just fold paper into little shapes. Not origami or anything, just abstract things, she doesn't plan it. She always wants to help, too, whatever I'm doing. Cooking and cleaning. She is the best helper for grocery shopping." You pause, looking over Matthew's smile for a moment before continuing on, tears starting to gather in your eyes.

"She looks just like you," you admit, fondness clear in your voice because it is so so true. Now that you are properly looking at him, Minnie looks just like Matthew, and telling him that makes him light up even more. "You've got the same smile. The same hair. Hers is a little more red, but it's definitely from you."

You watch Matthew lick at his lips and you want to know what is going on in his head. You think everything is going well, even if you are on the verge of crying. They are tears of relief - relief you weren't told to fuck off or to go get your own lawyer. You don't fully know if Matthew Murdock is a good man, but you're over the first hurdle and the prospects are looking good.

Matthew leans back into his chair, inhaling deeply, as if centering himself, then asks, "Why now? Why find me now?"

"Like I said, I couldn't find you, I didn't know anything about you, really, except what you looked like and you were a lawyer. I did try, I really did, but…" you trail off with a shrug, "I had a newborn."

Matthew seems to accept that answer - it is the truth after all - and continues on, "But you saw the interview... Last night?"

You nod, "I was picking up some dinner and they were playing the news at the diner. I saw it and looked you up and now…now you know."

"Now I know…" Matthew repeats slowly, his smile dropping a little and you wonder if is hitting him in different waves, like it did you - the realization he is a father. You know it is an intense roller coaster and you are not going to try to guide his ride, especially after just kind of dropping it on him.

He taps the manila folder in front of him, the crease returning to his brow, "What is this?"

Your cheeks get hot again and you turn your gaze away from him and back to your lap, "Requests for family medical history and information about how to establish paternity, if that's what you want."

"It is," Matthew rushes out. Your head jerks up and his expression looks serious, "I want that. I want to be in her life."

He sounds so sure of himself that it makes your head spin a little. You built up in your mind he either wouldn't want anything to do with you and Minnie or he was going to try to take her away - you hadn't really considered the obvious option that Matthew would just want to be involved. At least, that is what you are hoping he is implying.

"I won't abandon my daughter," the conviction in his voice startles you, but it also makes your heart twist but in a good way because in that moment, you believe him. "And I won't abandon you. I used to question if I had the right to bring a child into my life, but this isn't a hypothetical anymore…. And I can't.." he trails off and leans back into his chair, rubbing at his mouth again. You don't press, you have no right to when you've come out of the blue and changed his entire world. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can't step away now that I know she is out there."

You quickly shake your head at his words, "You don't need to rush into anything, I mean it, I don't want anything from you but for you to have the chance to know her. We can go slow, she's still little, you know? She can't handle a big change. Start small?"

You're more worried about how he is feeling versus what you are. You have at least prepared yourself to have a reaction - he thought he would be having a normal work day and you've given him a lot to process in the last five minutes.

"We can go at your pace, Matthew."

He drops his hand from his face, a smile coming back to his face, "You can call me Matt."

You repeat your preferred name, then apologize, "I'm sorry for coming out of nowhere. I didn't want to lose track of you again, but I could have scheduled an appointment."

Matt shakes his head a little, "No, I get it." His hand goes back to the envelope, like touching it is grounding him like squeezing your fingers is grounding you. "I'm glad you came…I'm glad…thank you. Thank you for telling me."

Part of you wants to reach across the desk and squeeze his hand, to give him comfort and let him know everything will be okay, but you don't dare. He's still a stranger, despite everything. You decide pushing past the emotional to the practical might be the best approach for now. You need to get your anxiety to settle now that you know your world isn't going to end and the best thing for that, in your mind, is getting an action plan.

"I don't know what the steps are for doing this," you start, trying to think up ideas as you talk, "but I think maybe we could…get together again and plan things out? Give you time to adjust to the idea and let you think about how you want to move forward?"

Matt nods along with your words, "That sounds like a good idea."

You bend down to grab your phone out of your purse, "I put my contact information in the packet, but could I get yours?"

He waits until you are ready, then gives you his personal number then the office number. You do the quick song and dance of calling his phone, so that he has your number and you wait patiently as he adds you as a contact. Hearing the voice commands to navigate a phone is new to you and once he is done putting in your information, you let your curiosity get the better of you.

"Do you prefer texting or phone calls?"

"Phone calls would be preferable," Matt says as he sets his phone on his desk, having held it up to speak clearly into it, "I have text to speech but it's not always the easiest for texting."

You nod in understanding, "Got it." You squirm in your seat, unsure of what comes next, so you say the very first thing that comes to mind. "You can call anytime. I work from home so you don't have to worry about interrupting anything…like I'm doing with you."

He hums, then asks, "What does Minnie do during the day?"

"She stays with me, mostly. There's a daycare down the block she goes to if I need someone to watch her. That's where she is now."

That makes Matt frown just slightly and part of you panics that he disapproves. "Is it just the two of you…?"

"Yes."

You say it with confidence. You've worked hard to get where you are alone and despite all you've been through, you are proud of that. "My parents passed when I was in college and I don't have any siblings. We've managed to do pretty well on our own. It's not the biggest, but we have a little place in Chelsea."

The little frown stays and you don't know what it means - you hope it's over you not having a big support system and not something else. Matt looks like he is going to respond but a knock at the door cuts him off. You jump at the noise, having totally forgotten there were other people in the office.

Matt looks slightly annoyed when he calls out, "Yes?"

The door opens and the final partner for the law firm is there. "Pardon the intrusion," he says to you with a nod before addressing Matt, "They've got that guy from last week at the 15th. He's asking for us specifically."

Matt openly scowls before running a hand over his face, "Okay. Give me a few minutes."

Foggy nods before stepping back out and closing the door.

"I'm sorry," Matt says sheepishly.

You cut him off before he can say more, standing as you do, "Please don't be, I really did just barge in on you at work. I can call you later? Or you can call me?"

Matt gets up as well, starting to come around the desk, "I can call you." He hesitates just a second, then ducks his chin, that little smile reappearing and your heart does that funny flip again. "Maybe we can get lunch?"

You smile back, "I would like that. We can start planning." You bite your bottom lip, then add, "I can bring Minnie…?"

Matt's entire face lights up and the awkwardness of trying to end your talk evaporates. "I would like that. A lot." He motions to his desk, "I'll work on getting that back to you. I want to…I want to do this right."

"I do, too."

It feels like a promise. You want to believe Matt - that he wants this and won't disappear at the first minor inconvenience. You've read so many horror stories about bad parents and you don't want any of that for Minnie.

You grab your purse and the water Karen gave you, then finally give Matt a proper look over.

You enjoyed your night together with him. Not only had he been a phenomenal lover, but he had made you smile and laugh. You weren't nearly as anxious then as you are now, but you had been rather nervous being flirted with by a handsome lawyer and he had made you feel at ease. Bringing him home with you had been an easy choice.

He must sense you smiling somehow, maybe you giggled or something, but his smile, which had started to fall, brightens back up.

"Can I ask you something before you go?"

You nod to his question, catch yourself and reply, "Of course."

"Can you tell me what she looks like?"

Guilt courses through you and biting your lip turns painful, "I'm so sorry, of course. Um, I included pictures in the packet with descriptions but, of course." His face drops into something a little nervous so you launch into the description of your daughter, emphasizing how they have the same smile because you can’t get over that. You can't help yourself and start describing some of the pictures you included.

"She has this big noise canceling headband so she can sleep comfortably - she doesn't like loud noises - but because she is three, she refuses to wear it unless it's cute. So we crochet little sleeves for it. One of the pictures is her asleep on our couch, face down, because that's how she sleeps, wearing her favorite sleeve. It's Spider-Man the-"

There's a quick series of taps on the door before it opens again.

"Buddy, we gotta go."

You start to apologize, but Matt speaks over you, his voice a little firm as his expression drops, "I'll be right there, Foggy."

A silent conversation seems to go through them, as Foggy raises his eyebrows at Matt and Matt does the same right back. Foggy steps out of the office, closing the door behind him.

"Let me walk you out?" Matt asks, motioning to the door.

"Thank you."

You let him open the door and you follow him into the reception office. Foggy is looking at his phone while waiting by Karen's desk as she finishes packing her laptop. You cross the room in silence as Matt leads you from the office. Once you are in the hallway, he speaks to you in a soft voice.

"Can I call you tonight?"

"Yes, please."

"Does eight work?"

"That's perfect."

"I'll talk to you then."

You force yourself to be the one to turn away and start walking towards the stairs. As you get to them, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth to try to suppress your smile.

Maybe the papers are right and Matthew Murdock is a good man.

You really hope he's a good father too.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock #fanfiction #soulie writes

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prokopetz · 1 year

Text

I'm not putting this up as a reblog on the post that prompted it because I don't want to derail somebody else's vent post, but the artists among us may find it reassuring – or, at least, a source of schadenfreude – to know that it's not just art commissions: literally all clients for bespoke work are Like That.

As a software developer for a web consulting outfit, I have personally experienced:

A client commissioning bespoke software for their website, using it for several years, going out of business, and trying to return the software for a refund on the grounds that they no longer needed it

A client getting a quote from us, deciding to go with a (suspiciously low) quote from a third party instead, getting screwed over by that third party, coming back to us to have the work down properly, and getting angry when we declined to honour the third party's quote

A client getting a website done by us, making a big show of how happy they were with the work, proposing a second website, going through the requirements-gathering process, then being shocked when presented with a second quote because I guess they thought they were getting infinite labour for a finite amount of money

Multiple clients proposing profit-sharing schemes in lieu of payment, then becoming performatively offended and verbally abusive when we asked to see their business plan

A client arguing that we should perform the work for free as a "public service"

While the parallels aren't exact, I suspect a lot of that is going to be eerily familiar to the artists in the room!

#life #work #business #swearing

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moonchildstyles · 4 months

Note

have you ever thought about doing a third person - not in the relationship - point of view for bodyguard h? like maybe the public's opinion as it becomes clear that they’re together? love your work!

wordcount: 2.3k+

—————

"Dude, shut up. Look."

Winnie swallowed her words, halfway offended that Danni had cut her off so rudely. She was about to fire back at him, remind him that she was the reason they had even been able to secure seats at this place and afford more than a crumb of bread—until she followed where he was suddenly gesturing towards.

Under the dim lighting of the restaurant, shrugging out of her taupe coat with a familiar face holding her chair out for her was (Y/N)—the (Y/N). The most notorious socialite of New York. Winnie had just looked at her instagram on the cab ride over here, and now there she was. With her "bodyguard".

"That's who I think it is, right?" Danni asked from across from her, his voice suddenly hushed.

"That's her," Winnie confirmed, tearing her gaze away from the now occupied table, fearing she would be caught staring. "She just posted on her Insta story in that outfit."

Danni obviously shared none of Winnie's qualms with the way he craned his neck, attempting to get a better view around the table sitting between their booth and the now high profile one stationed behind it. "Who is she with? Is it that same guy from the 132 Gala?"

"I think so," Winnie muttered, chancing a glance in their direction, "She says he's just her bodyguard, though."

"That's the bodyguard?" Danni blanched, a pinch appearing between his brows with an incredulous look on his face, "There's no fucking way. They're obviously on a date."

Feeding off of some of Danni's confidence, Winnie pinned her gaze on their table. It really did look like they were on a date. Maybe it was just the lighting of the place or the fact that she is (Y/N), but the way he looked at her couldn't just be that of a man whose job was to be around her. Since when did bodyguards share a table with their client, anyway? Even from where their booth was situated, Winnie swore she could see the hooded set to his eyes and every soft edge to his features as he gazed at her.

It was the way he looked at her in every photo of the pair of them together, every picture that was posted to the feed with articles dissecting everything about (Y/N) and whatever it was that had transpired the night before at whatever party she attended. He was always right there, at her side with something more than professionalism guiding him.

"You think so?" Winnie asked, canting her head as a bottle of wine was delivered to the spotlighted table.

Before Danni could make any kind of argument, they watched as (Y/N) had poured herself a tiny glass of the red wine and took a sip before passing it across the table to her bodyguard. They saw him take a drink from the same spot she had pressed her own lips without a thought. Apparently he must have liked the wine seeing as (Y/N) ended up pouring another glass for him.

"Obviously," Danni said, no room for argument.

Just then, their waiter came by with his hands loaded with plates. "Is there anything else I can grab for you tonight?" he asked as he passed out their dishes, a pleasant smile on his face. He was the same one that had dropped off the wine at (Y/N)'s table—Winnie almost wanted to ask if he thought the pair of them were on a date, too.

"I think we're alright, thank you," Danni spoke up, fluttering his curled lashes up at the waiter.

Once they were alone again, Winnie couldn't help herself, she had to take another look at their table . She caught (Y/N) letting out a peal of laughter, her bodyguard looking at her with dimpled cheeks and a smug smile.

"I just read something that said she was hooking up with this F1 guy, though," Winnie prattled, recalling the professional photos from the speedway and the grainy pictures from the private afterparty where she talked to one of the racers. Now thinking about it, she could remember some of the shots with her bodyguard hovering just out of frame or right at her side—as per usual.

"Maybe, they're open," Danni shrugged, twirling his pasta around his fork, "I don't know, but there's no way they haven't at least slept together with the way they're looking at each other."

Winnie couldn't argue with that. The evidence was right in front of her. She wished she was a little bit closer, just so she could hear what they were saying.

"Maybe," Winnie settled, letting the subject go to focus on her own dinner.

Despite Danni distracting her with another avenue of conversation, Winnie couldn't help herself but to look over every now and then. It was like cinema, a scene in a film she didn't want to miss if she didn't have to.

More than once, she caught (Y/N) laughing with her inhibitions thrown out, her bodyguard looking on with affection in his eyes. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting, but there was a moment Winnie swore she could see (Y/N) leaning across the table and touching his hand or nudging his foot just under the hem of the tablecloth. By the time their meals made it to their table, she and Danni were almost done with their own dinner, but she still caught the way bites of food were shared upon the same fork.

They were doing everything just short of kissing, it seemed like: sharing food, sharing glasses, leaning across the table, whispering as if there was no one else in the restaurant.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom before we leave," Winnie said, excusing herself from the table once their plates were clear and the check had been taken.

"Okay," Danni acknowledged, barely looking up from his phone as he calculated the tip.

While she definitely had to use the restroom, there was a bit of strategy in wanting to pass by their table on the off chance that she might be able to overhear anything. Was it a bit nosy? Sure, but it wasn't like she was planning on tweeting or posting anything she might glean from the moment—Winnie just liked knowing things.

Stepping away from the booth, she took the long way around, passing by the table with distractedly slow steps as she pretended to be on her phone.

From the corner of her eye, she could see (Y/N) toying with the small dessert menu. "Did you want to try the strawberry shortcake, mon amour?"

Winnie's steps almost faltered. Was that French or something? Despite the little knowledge of language outside of her own, even Winnie knew that amour had to be something about love. She was calling him her love?

As much as she wanted to stick around and see what he had to say, there was no way she was blowing her cover any more than she probably already had. Heading to the bathroom, Winnie had to leave her curiosities behind.

After using the restroom, she didn't linger for too long before she was venturing back into the dining area. Passing by (Y/N)'s table, she couldn't help but minutely slow her steps.

By now there was a small tower of strawberry shortcake in the middle of their table, replacing the candle and votive that had been placed there before. A spoon with the perfect bite of a bit of sponge cake, strawberry slices, and whipped cream was held aloft in the bodyguard's hand.

"Y'have the first bite, sweet girl."

Winnie's eyes widened as she kept her pace and passed by. There was no way to misunderstand that. The friends she knew didn't call each other such affectionate names.

Hurrying back to Danni, Winnie was almost bursting with her newly gleaned information.

"Danni, Danni—" she started, only to be cut off by his own bursting tone.

"You missed it, I can't believe it!" he stage whispered, gaze locked on her as she slid back into the booth.

"No, seriously, guess what I heard when I passed them," Winnie started, attempting to hook his attention though Danni didn't seem to be taking the bait at all.

"They kissed," Danni interrupted, his voice considerably lower than before, "Literally right before you came out of the bathroom, they kissed. They're totally fucking."

Winnie sat back, almost cursing herself for missing out on the perfect moment. Glancing back to their table, they were engrossed in one another while sharing their dessert. The longer she looked at the bodyguard, she couldn't blame (Y/N) at all. Even with whatever billionaire or celebrities were knocking on (Y/N)'s door, she doubted there were any that could compare to the way that man looked at her. (Or just looked in general).

"When I was walking past them, she called him love in, like, French or something, and he called her his sweet girl."

Danni followed her line of sight and saw them share another whipped cream filled bite of cake. "That's actually really cute. I really hope they're dating, otherwise that's kind of a bummer for him because he's clearly in love with her."

The longer they looked at them, Winnie had an idea pinging in her head. "Do you think it would be weird if we went and said hi or something?"

Waving her off, Danni shook his head. "No, she probably gets it all the time."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, Winnie wasn't completely convinced. "I don't know, though. She's supposed to be kind of mean, sometimes."

"Who cares," Danni answered with a shrug, "If she is, at least we know that's just how she is and that it isn't us."

While this wasn't usually something Winnie liked to do, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to at least say hello. It was too surreal of circumstances to pass up on—she had been browsing (Y/N)'s Instagram and story on the way to this restaurant tonight, and now she was right there. She had probably learned things tonight that the media had been itching for, for months.

"Okay, let's do it before I get too nervous," Winnie pushed, picking up her coat and bag just as quickly as Danni had his phone put away and was sliding out of the booth.

Danni took the helm as they approached the table, the bodyguard's eyes catching them long before (Y/N) had.

"Are you (Y/N)?" Danni asked, ducking down enough so that he didn't have to speak too loud in the middle of the dining area.

Perking up in her seat, (Y/N) turned around with a swish of her hair. A pleasant expression was stitched on her features with a quiet smile and soft eyes.

"Yes, hi," she greeted them, looking up from where she was seated with the center of her lips tinted strawberry.

"Hi," Danni smiled, turning on the performer persona he had been honing since his NYU days, "I hope we're not interrupting, but my friend and I wanted to say hi before we left for the night."

"Oh no, you're totally fine," (Y/N) chirped, casting her gaze across to take in Winnie as well, "What are your names?"

"I'm Danni, and this is my friend Winnie," he introduced, gesturing to his side where Winnie could see the less than impressed expression worn by (Y/N)'s bodyguard—boyfriend.

"Nice to meet you guys," (Y/N) smiled, engaging with her full attention, "Are you having a good night so far?"

Taking the opportunity to pipe up given the fact that this was her idea in the first place, Winnie gave her own grin to the woman she had only ever seen this close up on Instagram. Weirdly enough, she was one of those people that looked better in person as opposed to photos, which was insane given just how gorgeous she was in photos, too.

"This is our first time trying this place, but it was really good," Winnie said, catching the assessing glare from across the table as she shifted her weight, "This is so weird, honestly. On the Uber ride over here, I was just looking at your Instagram and looking up the blush you were wearing in your story."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, not at all perturbed by the admission. She actually seemed to brighten at the new avenue of conversation, her lashes fluttering with her posture straightening. "It's a Charlotte Tilbury blush one of my friends is letting me borrow! I can't remember the name, but it's this really pink one with this shimmer circle in the middle. It's super pretty, I'm probably going to have to get my own."

This was going better than almost every rumor Winnie had ever read about (Y/N). Her smile widened.

"Thank you! I might get one, too. Then, we'll match," Winnie said, beginning to edge away from the table, not wanting to overstay their welcome, "We have to head out, but thank you for talking for a minute. I hope you guys have a nice rest of your night."

Winnie shot her smile towards the quiet boyfriend across the table, hoping to soften him some now that they were leaving his girlfriend alone. It didn't appear to work, mostly because he had his eyes on (Y/N).

"Of course, thank you guys for being so nice!" (Y/N) beamed, wiggling her fingers in a small wave "I hope you end up getting the blush! Have a good night."

With that, Winnie started heading towards the restaurant's entrance with Danni at her side.

Once they were far away, underneath his breath, Danni muttered, "You don't even wear blush."

"I know, but I didn't know what else to say."

"It was your idea to go talk to her," Danni laughed.

Winnie only shook her head, feeling a bit rattled at the swift meeting. When she moved to New York, she knew there was a high chance that she was going to run into celebrities here and there, but she had always said she wouldn't be able to handle talking to any of them. This experience only proved right.

Now she had to go out and buy an expensive blush.

—————

thank you so much for reading the first elan blurb! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas to share please send them in!

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azsazz · 7 months

Text

Midnight Muse (Part 3)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: Mentions of how Azriel got his scars, burning.

Word Count: 3,528

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Notes: This one is a hum-dinger.

_________________________________________

The party is in full swing. Music beats loudly through the apartment, and the rumbling of voices trying to shout over it crams the room, bouncing off of the walls and down the hall. There are people everywhere, crowding the space. The furniture has been shoved aside to make room for dancing and there’s a beer pong table set up between the fridge and the counter that’s plastered in bottles of beer and liquor and red cups. Someone’s standing on the countertop pouring a beer into a luge with a frat bro on the other end, chugging. Azriel doesn’t know how the fuck he got in.

The air is thick with over-sprayed perfumes, body odor, weed, and alcohol. Azriel watches from his spot by the window as he preps his latest victim. He’s working his hands into a second pair of black latex gloves, fresh for the girl sitting in his chair. It’s one of the rickety ones they had at their dining table, but they don’t eat there anyway, so it’s mostly used for this. She’s excited, wearing a skimpy dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. There’s a group of guys standing nearby, watching her with glossy eyes and beers in their hands, half hard at the prospect of watching the girl get a tramp stamp.

“A little purple unicorn,” is what she’d requested, and Azriel didn’t ask why. He pulled out his sketchbook and took his pencil to it silently, sketching a few options for her to choose from.

Azriel isn’t proud of the set up he has currently; tattooing drunken college kids whenever Cassian throws a party. Usually a weekly occurrence. He is completely out of his element, but he needs the practice, should he want to open his own shop someday. The only reason he doesn’t have his headphones on, blasting music a little more to his own taste, is so that he can hear what’s going on, and tend to his client’s needs should anything happen. He’s perceptive, and will keep an eye on the hiccuping girl with her dress pulled over her ass, only because he cares more about the tattooing than whatever else is going on.

He preps her skin, taking a clean razor to remove the area of any hair. The girl scoffs when she sees it, but it’s protocol for him, and she is happily distracted when someone shoves a drink in her direction. The liquid spills over the rim a little, and Azriel grits his teeth, but continues to focus on his preparations.

She keeps squirming, shouting in the direction to the dancefloor where her group of friends can hear her. Her long, red hair that she persistently sweeps over her shoulder when Azriel tucks it back keeps brushing the area he’s just taken an antiseptic to. He sighs when she does it for the third time and sits back in his seat in frustration.

“Get out of my chair.”

His voice is a low rumble, and she doesn’t seem to hear him. She’s too busy trying to call her friends over, to brag about what she’s doing. It’s incredibly annoying, and Azriel’s already had a hellish day.

He hates knowing that the girl he’d met in the lobby lives next door. You’re infuriating, aggressive with your words and actions, pounding at both the elevator and their front door, demanding he move his motorcycle.

You may have been arguably as drained as he was, with your unruly hair and tired eyes. He’d come straight home after hearing the news that he hadn’t gotten the apprenticeship he’d wanted at Mystic Mark Tattoos. He thought he’d shown an incredible portfolio of work, both drawings and tattoos done in this very living room, without the distractions of beer, girls, and weed. They thought he was too young, that he needed to work on straightening his lines and that maybe a different style would suit him better.

And then there were no parking spots when he’d gotten home. Normally, Azriel parks in front of Cassian’s enormous rust bucket of a Bronco, his sleek motorcycle teetering on the white painted line just before the tow zone. But there had been a moving van jammed there instead, which meant more noisy neighbors moving into the already packed building. He doesn’t need to meet more people at the mailboxes, fight them for the one slow-ass elevator that might crumple if more than three people get on it. He doesn’t want to fight for a spot in the parking lot, either.

In his haze of annoyance, he’d parked in the small space between the front of the van in the no-no zone and the car bookending it. He hadn’t given much thought to the blinking hazards on the van, hoping he’d be in and out of his apartment to drop off his art supplies and portfolio, then be right back outside for a long ride to clear his head of his failures.

You had changed his mind on that, with your stupidly good-looking face and snippy attitude. He knew he’d caught you off guard, waltzing into the building like that. He’d even stopped to get his mail, something he should’ve walked right past to avoid more contact with you, but even he couldn’t keep his eyes from your backside as you stalked past him through the door.

Your question had been his aggravating final straw.

No, his final straw was finding out you were his neighbor, most likely the one next door. You’d shown up with fire in your eyes and pink cheeks, and he was hardly able to keep his surprise locked away at the sight of you and your roommate, angrier than all hell. That same surprise you weren’t able to conceal nearly made him smirk, but your taunt of towing his beloved motorcycle sparked something almost deadly in him. He wanted to grab you, force you down the stairs with him to see if it were still there, maybe press you up against it and—

“What?” the girl asks incredulously, craning her neck over her shoulder.

“Get the fuck out of my chair or I’ll put a dick on you,” he grunts, already packing up his things. He ignores her spluttering confusion, the red to her cheeks that looks nowhere near as pretty as it had on you.

“Fuck you,” the girl screeches, stumbling to her feet. The group of lingering men watch on, one even stepping closer to help steady the poor girl. Tears prick her eyes but Azriel doesn’t feel bad in the slightest. If she really wanted a tattoo, she would’ve acted properly, not fucking wasted his time. He’s done. He’s so done.

She whirls, wrenching her arm from the other boy's grasp, and tosses her drink right into his face. Azriel winces, the juiced-down alcohol stinging his eyes. He licks his lips and cringes. It’s as fruity as it smells. Vodka, it tastes like.

He swipes his wet hair out of his face so he can use his best glare that makes anyone cower from him, but she’s already dragging the boy into the throng of people on the dance floor. Azriel takes the loss, peeling the black gloves from his hands and shoving his things under his arms.

“Woah, dude,” Cassian says when he stumbles into Azriel on the way to his room. His locked room, because he doesn’t need anyone touching his things. Being in his apartment is already enough. They can fuck in the stairwell for all he cares.

Cassian’s pants are slung low off his hips, button and zipper both undone. His shirt has been shucked off, either because he’s spilled beer on himself or because he’s about to get lucky, Azriel doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. The music is too fucking loud and too fucking poppy, and the air is thick and hot. His skin is sticky and he just can’t take this day anymore. “What the hell happened?”

“You invited a bunch of assholes to your party, Cass. What the hell do you think happened?” Azriel bites, pulling his key from the keychain in his pocket. He doesn’t even have the temperament to deal with his roommates right now. He wants to be left alone.

“So she denied you Azzie,” Cassian teases, slurring a bit. The hazel of his eyes is bright, and normally it’d help Azriel’s mood, to joke around with his best friend like this, but he’s itching to get clean and get out of here.

He really should’ve started drinking.

“Don’t start with me,” Azriel sighs, twisting the key in his lock and shoving his way into his room. His shoulders loosen a bit when he steps inside. His own space, decorated how he likes. It’s dark, moonlight streaming through the open curtains, and he likes that.

“Hey,” Cassian pouts, following him. The door shuts softly behind his friend and the noise of the party dims a little, but not enough for him to want to stay. Azriel drops his tattooing supplies on his desk, eager to take a shower and clean this day off of himself. He’ll organize it all later, rip out the page with the unicorn drawings on them out of spite. “You’re acting as grumpy as our new neighbor,” he continues, and Azriel really doesn’t like being compared to you. He’d rather call that drunk girl back to finish her tattoo. “What’s going on with you?”

Azriel sighs, tearing off the shirt that’s plastered to his body with alcohol. He swipes at the remnants before tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner. “Just a rough day, man. Nothing to worry about.”

Cassian frowns and tries to catch Azriel’s eye, but his friend refuses to meet his gaze, rooting through his dresser to find a clean shirt. He’s come to the realization that he isn’t going to be able to take a shower in the only bathroom they have without people trying to knock the door down, trying to pee.

“It’s not like…” Cassian trails off like he doesn’t even want to ask this. “It’s not like last year though, right?”

Azriel’s body stills, spine going tight. His muscles constrict and he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to breathe, fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt. Last year, when he’d been forced to go to his father’s home for the winter break. He had wanted to make sure that his son was doing something with his life, going to school for accounting instead of art like he’d wanted since he was a child.

So, Azriel pretended. He’s a smart man, and with a little help from Google and his memory, he played off the business student his father could only dream of. It hadn’t stopped his step brothers from finding out the truth, though, pinning him to the ground when their father was out for a business dinner later that evening. They’d taunted him, spat at him, and poured gasoline over his hands, setting them alight. They’d laughed while he screamed, struggled. They thought they were doing proud by his father, he couldn’t really become an artist with fucked-up hands.

And he’d fled as soon as he was released from the hospital. He didn’t go back to his fathers for his things. He’d had someone help press Rhysand’s contact on his phone since his hands were in too much pain to do so himself. Rhys had called Cassian, and both of his friends had flown down within hours.

“No,” Azriel answers shakily. He can still hear their ugly words sometimes, how they made his hands as brutalized as their insults. He can still smell the burning of flesh. Beach bonfires are a no go anymore. Azriel can hardly sleep most nights, terrified of closing his eyes and reliving the night over and over again, even a year later. “No, it’s not like last year.”

It’s both better and worse, somehow. Better, because no one is assaulting him, and his father is no longer reaching out, but worse because maybe his father had been right. Maybe his artistic abilities are not good enough to be where he is right now. Maybe the tattoo shop denying his apprenticeship only confirmed that.

“We can ditch this party right now,” Cassian says, and he sounds closer. A little more sober. “Let Rhys deal with it. We can go on a ride and talk if you want to, Az. I’ll even let you drive Cherry.”

Azriel shakes his head. Cassian doesn’t let anyone drive his beloved Bronco, painted cherry red, faded from years worth of sun damage. He doesn’t want to talk at all, really.

“That’s alright, man,” Azriel answers, turning to face his friend. Cassian’s eyebrows are furrowed deeply, and now Azriel feels bad that he’s ruining his friend's night. “Grab those condoms you came in here for and go bag your girl.”

That seems to distract Cassian enough, the boy cursing and eyes going wide. “Oh fuck! Sage! Or is it Paige? Shit, man, I don’t even remember her name.” He’s frantic, catches the box of condoms perfectly when Azriel tosses it his way.

“Just call her baby or something,” Azriel claps Cassian on the shoulder, guiding him towards the door. “They love that.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

The wind in Azriel’s ears drowns out all of the bad thoughts.

This, this is what he loves, thrives off of. Roads untraveled, the night and wind his only caress. Shadows chase his route, and the silence rights his presence. The darkness takes care of him, feeds his weary soul. The thrum of the bike between his thighs is exhilarating, especially when he climbs to speed that makes his heart race so fast in his chest he’s afraid it might burst.

He’s alone in the world right now, just him, his bike, and the moon. No one can catch him, taunt him, insult him, hurt him. The night would never treat him as others do.

Gliding around a curve, he comes to a slow stop. He’s arrived at a hilltop, one he’s found while biking through the town on another night similar to this. It overlooks part of the town, and he likes being able to see the lights of the city. It’s also far enough to get a good view of the sky, and he counts what constellations he can. He cuts the engine, shoves the kickstand down, and pulls his helmet off, breathing in the scent of night.

He hangs the helmet on the handlebar and unzips his coat, peels his gloves from his hands to stare at them under the moonlight. They’re fucked beyond belief, red and puckered with marred flesh that will never truly heal. They shake sometimes, when he’s sketching or trying to tattoo. Cassian has three or four jagged tattoos because he’d offered his body for Azriel to practice on after they’d healed enough to where he could hold a tattoo gun again. He’s lucky to have such a friend, even if the tattoos he requested were dumb. He hasn’t convinced Rhys to get one yet, though. Soon.

They’re unlike the ones scattered around his own body. Mythological stories inked into his tan skin, each with their own story. Icarus on his torso because when he’d truly begun to reach out for what he wanted in life, he was burned. Psyche and Eros intertwined on his forearm because he too should only be loved in the dark, where no one can see his flaws. Large bat-like wings that cover the expanse of his back because he’d always wished that he could just up and fly away from here, all of his problems in life. Many others line his skin, each one curated to perfection, no matter what anyone else has to say. He adores each and every one of them.

The breeze blows some of his flopping hair in his eyes and he brushes it away. He should get it cut soon, he thinks.

Azriel slides from the bike, digging into the inside pocket of his jacket for a small notepad and the pencil he’s brought. He keeps the headlight to his motorcycle on, and goes to sit in front of it, letting the light wash over his sketches.

Turning to a fresh page, he puts the tip of the pencil to the pristine paper, and begins drawing, ignoring the slight shake of his hand. He has to get used to it, relearn how to make crisp, straight lines if he wants to go into tattooing, but right now, in the middle of the night, none of that matters.

He draws until his wrist hurts and he can hardly hold the pencil, and then he sits back, looking at his work. He swears he loses himself in it, not really thinking about what he’s drawing, but allowing the pencil to guide his movements. There’s a scratchy sketch of legs, the tops of the thighs covered by the fitted hem of a large sweatshirt. He’s drawn another unicorn, this one a skeleton, the black of it’s eye sockets reads “fuck you.” There’s a cerberus showing a full row of sharp teeth as it growls, two of the canine heads gnashing at each other. Azriel thinks this might be his next tattoo, actually.

It isn’t until the early hours when he’s sure his apartment has cleared out that he returns home. He takes his time, enjoying the little time to himself he has left. He doesn’t need to go back home, because he knows he’s not going to sleep, but he wants to be in his room with easy access to the rest of his supplies and the comfort of his belongings.

He’s not expecting to run into his new neighbor, but it's inevitable, the Mother playing tricks on him. You’re walking back from the parking lot as he’s getting off his bike, removing his helmet as you walk, head buried in your phone.

“Finally got that truck moved, huh princess?” Azriel comments, and watches you startle. You spin on your heel and he can’t help but take in your appearance. Your clean hair is brushes, no longer curling and knotty from your day spent moving in. Your eyes are wide, but he can see the tiredness lacing the color. You’re wearing a large hoodie despite the balmy summer night, but he can’t judge because he’s strapped up in his leather coat. He can barely catch the hemline of your shorts, peeking out from your top, and his eyes drag down your legs before climbing slowly back up.

“No thanks to you, asshole,” you mutter, trying to avoid crossing into his space. He’s massive, and you have to lift your chin to talk to him. You’re trying not to admire his stature in his leather jacket and dark jeans. Warmth spreads across your cheeks.

Azriel tuts. “So rude.”

“Why would I be a peach when you’ve been nothing but a jerk?” you cross your arms over your chest and he kind of likes this look on you. You're easy to rile. “I’ve had a hellish day, and you didn’t help. Then you go and slam doors in people faces and play your horrendous music as loud as fucking possible. Some people want to sleep, you know.”

Azriel wishes he could sleep, too.

“Still salty you weren’t invited, princess?”

You scoff, stepping around him, ready for this conversation to be over. “As if.”

You stalk for the building, trying to get away from him, but his strides are long and he can easily keep up. “Think I might catch the elevator with you,” he says. His rough voice sends shivers up your spine. “Since we’re going to the same floor, and all.”

He doesn’t know why he’s egging you on. He’s had a nice ride, gotten his head clear, but he finds himself enjoying your sharp tongue and dark glares. He enjoys your attention, the way you stubbornly have to have the last word.

“No, thanks,” you respond, all but ripping the front door off its hinges. Maybe it will hit him on the backswing.

Azriel’s large, gloved hand catches it in time, much to your dismay.

“More of a stairs kind of girl, I presume?” He asks, referencing your little trip to the fourth floor by stairwell after he’d taken the only elevator up. You grit your teeth, trying not to take the bait as you jam your finger into the button. It’s still on the ground floor from the few minutes you’d left to move the truck, finally noticing the stupid dickhead’s bike no longer blocking you in. You couldn’t sleep due to the party waging next door, but Feyre had been able to, snoring softly on the couch.

“More of a ‘don’t talk to me’ kind of girl,” you retort, nearly growling when he shoves himself inside the elevator with you. His presence takes up almost the entirety of the metal box, and you keep your eyes to yourself, staring at the bright green numbers as the rickety thing ascends.

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks. “Feisty, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you scowl.

“Sure thing, princess.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog

#azriel au #azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel/reader #art school az #art school au #midnight muse #modern!azriel #tattoo artist!azriel

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minisugakoobies · 6 months

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BTS Holiday Fics

Tis the season… to reblog all of my holiday fics since I don't have any new ones this year 🙈 Thought it'd be better to put them all into one list rather than rb one by one. Happy holidays! 🎁

❄️ = fluff, 🍾 = smut

Kim Namjoon:

Christmas Confession - ❄️ 🍾, 2.9k - You’re Namjoon’s Secret Santa and you’ve got the perfect gift.

Happy Accidents - ❄️, 2.2k - Sometimes your clumsiness leads to a happy accident.

Kim Seokjin:

All I Don't Want for Christmas is You! - ❄️ 🍾, 23.7k - The holidays are here! But instead of celebrating, you’re trapped in a town called Christmas with your office nemesis, Seokjin Motherfucking Kim, and an unruly band of clients. Can you survive the trip and secure the promotion your boss has promised? Or will Jin take you down?

Min Yoongi:

I Wanna Hold Your Hand - ❄️, 1.4k - It’s hand-holding season, according to your roommate.

Party Vibes - 🍾, 5.8k - Yoongi’s hoping you can keep him entertained at this year’s office holiday party

Jung Hoseok:

After the Party - ❄️ 🍾, >1k - After the party, Hoseok’s not done celebrating you.

Third Time's the Charm - ❄️, 2.1k - After two close encounters with your brother’s best friend, Hoseok, you decide the third time’s the charm.

Park Jimin: see the 12 Lays of Kinkmas below

Kim Taehyung:

Next Christmas - ❄️, 1.1k - Taehyung’s trying to help you get ready for this Christmas, but you’re already thinking of the next.

Jeon Jungkook:

Mugs & Kisses - ❄️, 6k - Jungkook has something he’d like to tell you, but he can’t find the words. So he’s thought of another way.

New Year, New You - ❄️ 🍾, 1.8k - New year, new you. Except here you are, minutes after midnight, already falling back into old habits. You just can’t resist.

Multiple/OT7:

Teamwork - MYG, KTH - 🍾, 1.7k - It’s supposed to be a New Year’s Eve party, but your friends have turned it into an eligible bachelor contest. What are you supposed to do when you’re caught between two men?

12 Lays of Kinkmas - ❄️ 🍾 - 12 fics written based on individual smut prompts (each fic has its own pairings, genres, ratings, summaries & warnings)

Happy Hour - Hyung line - 🍾 (suggestive), 2.9k - You’re home for the holidays, hungover as fuck, and can’t remember what you did last night. Luckily, your little brother Jungkook and his friends Taehyung and Jimin are all too happy to remind you!

Happy Hour 2: The Hyungs Strike Back - Hyung line - 🍾 (suggestive), 4.4k - While back home for another holiday, your brother Jungkook and his friends convince you to go late night bowling with them. Surely this won’t end as badly as the last time you went out, right?

Main Masterlist

#bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #hoseok smut #namjoon smut #seokjin smut

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cameronspecial · 7 months

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Her Protector And His Hubris

Pairing: Bodyguard!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Being Stalked, SMUT, Mother's Death, Mentions of Attempted School Shooting, and Getting Shot.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 11.4K

Summary: Drew's job is to protect her, but he falls for the brilliance of his client and this turns into a whirlwind romance. What can go wrong?

A/N: Damn, this is so long. Also, this is inspired by the Twisted series by Ana Huang, specifically Twisted Games. I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

The sounds of glassware clinking and small talk fill Drew’s ears as he surveys the restaurant. The dim lighting makes him anxious because it impedes his ability to notice any threats. At least, it’s better than when she goes to those ridiculous house parties. Those were not only a safety risk, but irritating to the thirty-year-old man. Her laughter draws his eyes back to her. Ugh, she’s laughing at something he said. Drew doesn’t know what Y/N sees in Sean. This is her third date with him and Drew can easily see that they wouldn’t make it far in the relationship. Sean doesn’t give a tip when they go out to eat. Volunteering in any capacity would be beneath him. And she seemed oblivious to the way he would ogle at her breasts. Drew’s fist tightens as he observes Sean reach over and take Y/N’s hand. Sean brings it up to his lips, kissing up her wrist to her elbow. Drew wants to take Sean’s hands and crush his fingers for the way he touches Y/N. Sean’s touch is consensual with the girl, yet it isn’t welcomed by her bodyguard. Drew knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way about her as her protector. It’s not his place.

Drew is supposed to be a professional. He’s a bodyguard for heaven's sake; one wrong move and she could be in danger. But what is it about the way her eyes sparkle when she eats those incredibly expensive macarons? What is it about the way her hips move in a teasing manner as she walks ahead of him? What is it about the way her nails glide across the table that makes him wish they are scratching down his back? What is it about her that drives him crazy? Y/N Y/L/N has been his client for a year now and it hasn’t been easy. Not because there are constant threats against her, but because she makes him want to throw away any sense of duty to the job and ravage her. At first, he thought it was just his primal sexual needs that attracted him to her. However, over the year of getting to know her, he realizes he genuinely loves and admires her.

He began working for Magnus Y/L/N after one of Magnus’s competitors threatened the CEO’s daughter. Magnus didn’t waste any time in hiring Drew to protect Y/N. Drew thought that Y/N was going to be like all his other clients. Spoiled. Rude. Self-centred. Greedy. She was none, but one of those things. Being spoiled by her father her whole life engraving the trait into the twenty-three-year-old woman. She was spoiled in the sense she could get whatever she wanted, not in the sense that she would demand the riches of the world. He was pleasantly surprised to find she would always use please and thank you with everyone, even those far below her social class. She would volunteer to read to children at the library purely because she enjoyed the company of the kids. She would not hesitate to help her friends out with money for rent if they needed it. So far, Magnus’s rival has yet to act on his threat; nevertheless, Drew would be there to protect her if he does. It is not only his career; it is his life purpose because he has fallen in love with the young socialite he is tasked to protect. He would lay down his life for her.

The bubbles of jealousy in Drew’s stomach start to subside when he sees Y/N’s face fall at something Sean said. Irritation replaces her smile and Drew feels satisfied with this turn of events. He can see she just wants to get away from the man ahead of her and Drew wants nothing more but to take her back home. Y/N calls over the waiter asking for the bill. Drew knows she will pay for the cheque. She is all for taking turns with paying for dates. Sean never pays though and she is too nice to point it out. It’s not like Sean can’t afford it. He works at the most prestigious corporate law firm, which happens to be his father’s. Drew isn’t going to complain if it’s the reason why Y/N no longer wants to be around the man.

As the waiter approaches the table with the chequebook, Drew heads over to the table, ready to escort Y/N out of the restaurant. She pays for the bill, standing up with a glare at Sean. “I wish I could’ve seen what a pig you were before I went on two more dates with you,” she snarls at him. Drew helps her put her coat on and hovers his hands over her lower back to guide her toward the front door. Sean scoffs, “Whatever. You wouldn’t have been that good of a lay anyways.” Y/N doesn’t so much as look over her shoulder at the childish man. She refuses to let him get to her. Drew’s hand turns into a fist and he leans closer to her. “Do you want me to take care of him?” She shakes her head, “No, it’s fine. He doesn’t deserve any more of my brain space. He’s a pig.” The only thing that could stew Drew’s anger is the need to comfort Y/N. They walk towards her car and Drew holds the passenger’s side door open for her. She whispers a thank you as she slips into the seat. “Home?” he asks once he gets behind the wheel. She nods, letting her attention be drawn out the window. His lip tightens at her upset look, “I’m sorry he was a jerk. He doesn’t deserve you.” She keeps the silence going, only returning with a hum in thanks.

When they get back to Y/N’s penthouse, Drew opens the door for her and does a quick visual sweep of the living room to make sure nothing is amiss. He is satisfied with her safety and holds her hands as she takes off her heels. She walks to her bathroom to get rid of her makeup and change into more comfortable clothes, while Drew heads to the kitchen to take out the dulce de leche ice cream from the freezer. He finds her waiting on the couch in sweatpants, an old t-shirt and a claw clip in her hair. She holds out her hand for the ice cream and he hands it to her, joining her on the couch to view whatever show she chooses.

He isn’t surprised to hear the familiar jingle of Bob’s Burgers’ theme song. She has been re-watching the show recently on Disney+. This tradition has been a part of their daily schedule since she made him crack nine months ago. During the first three months of his employment, he would listen to her beg him to join her nightly unwindings. Drew refused, stating it was unprofessional of him to do so. He gave in after three months when he saw she had a hard day and she needed some comfort from someone. She had been late for work because the car wouldn’t start. Her lunch, which she had packed and was looking forward to, was dropped on the floor after an idiot bumped into her. And to top it off, she got into an argument with her father about a charity she wanted to support. Drew knew she needed someone in her corner, so he didn’t even wait for her to ask to sit down beside her on the couch with a pint of ice cream he knew she loved.

They spend the night in comfortable silence, laughing at the Belcher family’s hilarious hijinks. He can speak up and ask her what Sean had said, but he knows all she needs right now is something to get it off of her mind and Drew would give her that. He would do anything for her.

———

Drew hates it when Y/N goes to parties. They are loud, crowded and dark. It makes his job ten times harder. Add the fact that he has to deal with a drunk client and he dreads the times when she announces she is going out for a party. Y/N doesn’t normally get drunk. She rarely drinks more than two drinks at any event because she hates the creeping headache that happens even as she drinks her first one. However, tonight, Drew can see she just needs to let go of everything just for a night. He stays close behind her, towering over everyone in the party, which gives him an advantage in terms of her protection. His eyes are caught by a commotion in the room. It looks like a fight is breaking out in the other corner and Drew wants to get Y/N out of here before it can escalate to harm her. In the split second, he turns away from her, Y/N has managed to get up on the table behind him and is now dancing without her shirt on.

The party people’s cheers draw Drew’s attention back to his charge. His eyes widen at her drunk dance and he tries to ignore the aching strain in his pants. The swell of her breasts is on full display thanks to her lack of a shirt; her skin pressing against the lacey bra that she wearing. He looks around the room to see the arousal of the other men in the room and all he wants to do is punch every single person eyeing her. He needs to get her down from there; if not for her safety, then because he doesn’t want to get in trouble for causing a scene at the party. How is he going to get her down from there safely? “Y/N, Precious. Please, come down from there,” he pleads, holding his hand out for her to take so she can get down. He can hear the boos of the drunk boys around them. He shakes off his annoyance at them and looks back toward her. Her arms cross, “No, I like it up here.” She turns her back to him, continuing her dance for the crowd.

Drew sighs, knowing that was probably the answer he was going to get. If he pulls her down by the arm, he risks dislocating her shoulder or her falling and hitting her head. So he only has one choice. He hops up on the table and sweeps her off her feet. Now carrying her bridal style, Drew gets off of the table and walks toward the front door. The men in the room yell at him for stopping her show; he couldn't care less. He looks as she comes down from the excitement of the party and relaxes in his arms. His heart flutters when she lets out a soft breath, resting her head against his chest with her eyes falling closed. As he heads to the carl, Drew knows Y/N Y/L/N is going to spell out trouble for him.

———

It’s been one week since her drunk performance and everything has been calm in her life. Y/N remembered what had happened the next morning, instantly mortified by her behaviour and thankful Drew was there to stop her from causing even more of a commotion. The party was filled with children of the country’s richest and most powerful people, so she doubted she would be in any scandal tabloids, yet just the thought that she had behaved like that embarrassed her. Y/N knows she shouldn’t look at her bodyguard the way she does. He is there to protect her and he always maintains his work composure, but she can’t help it. He understands her like the back of his hand and can provide her comfort like no one else by doing little things. His contract stipulates he is supposed to cook her breakfast in the morning and he goes one step further by making her favourites. Her father wanted her to have sustenance in the morning because he knew she was one to skip the first meal of her day, so Drew could’ve just made her eggs or microwaved oatmeal, but he didn’t. The breakfast she receives is picture-perfect and tastes just as good.

She gets out of the car, thanking Drew for holding the door open for her. They head to the apartment building’s elevator and wait in silence as they reach her penthouse floor. The note taped to the door is Drew’s first indicator that something is amidst. His hand finds the gun at his side and this pulls Y/N away from her phone. “What’s wrong?” she questions, looking around the room for something she has missed. Her eyes spot the white paper standing out against the dark wood of the floor. He heads ahead of her, checking over his shoulder that there are no threats in the small hallway. No one should have access to this floor. It requires her fingerprint and keycard in the elevator to enter. All mail is vetted before passing on in her mail room and any building updates are left there as well. So there is no regular reason why the paper should be on there.

As their feet reach in front of the door, she is finally able to read the words scattered across it. I saw your little dance, last week, doll. You really should be more careful with showing people what is mine. A picture of the scene in question is printed below. She lets out a terrified gasp, covering her mouth with her hand.

Violated. She feels violated by what she has just read. She may have been okay with the idea of feeling shirtless in front of everyone at the party in her own intoxicated state, but having someone speak about her in that way feels is a violation. Couple that with the fact the speaker had the guts to put the thought on her door and it is an invasion of her privacy. The picture is the cherry on top of the unsettling cake. The person, who dared threaten her, must be someone in her inner circle. Why else would they be at the party? How else could they have gotten into her heavily guarded apartment building?

Drew can see the panic and fear in her eyes. He turns her away from the door, pulling out his phone to call for backup. She can hear him ordering the police to be called and his security company’s tech analysts come down to sweep the whole building. Her mind goes numb with what to do as more and more people arrive to assess the situation. She can only stand there and watch as everyone who comes tears her home apart, looking for anything out of place. When her bedroom needs to be searched, Drew takes the responsibility of looking through it with her cautious eye on him from the doorway. He makes sure to put everything back exactly how he finds it, taking especially care with the notebooks he knows are her journals. He finishes with her room and invites her to sit on her bed while they wait for the rest of the house to be checked. The all-clear is given around eight o’clock and everyone leaves the apartment in search of clues somewhere else, leaving behind a small army of extra security to guard her house. With a new active threat, Drew’s presence alone isn’t enough to keep her safe.

Until they know more about the situation, Drew thought it would be safer to remain in her apartment, where he knew every inch of the building and the security measures in place already. There have been no indications the person, who made the threat, had made it into the actual apartment. Not sure if her cook is the one putting her at risk, Drew takes dinner into his own hands. He isn’t much of a cook, but he finds pasta and a jar of sauce in the pantry. He gets to work, making a note to search up how to make some of her favourite dinner meals like he did when he first got the job and had to make her breakfast.

He finishes the meal and places it in front of Y/N, who sits waiting at the dining room table with a blank stare and her knees to her chest. He sits to her right and pushes the plate toward her to snap her out of her thoughts. “I know it’s scary to be here right now, but we’ve checked the whole house and there is no sign the intruder came into the house. It’s safe. I’m here and I promise I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you,” he whispers. The last part is mostly a silent vow to himself. Her eyes glance upward at him, “I’m not hungry.” The only thing she manages to get out. The unreasonable side of her is telling her the intruder had somehow touched her food. Drew sighs, “Precious, you have to eat something. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning. I let not eating lunch slide, but I really need you to eat dinner. Do you want me to make you something else?” The care in his voice causes her to pull the plate closer to her; she can feel his eyes on her as she brings the fork to her food and then her mouth. He gives her a smile before digging into his own food.

She follows him into the kitchen after dinner and watches him do the dishes. He doesn’t let her help out, so she leans against the counter. Once he is done with the chore, she heads to her bedroom and listens as his footsteps stay close to hers. She starts going through her nighttime routine, getting her pyjamas and heading to the master bathroom to change. She can feel his eyes on her the whole time and she is comforted by the fact that he is still taking care of her. He should probably leave her alone. They’ve checked the whole apartment. No one is there and his room is down the hall, so an invader would have to go past his room first without his notice to get to her and that is impossible. He doesn’t want to leave though; he wants to make sure she is okay.

The door to the bathroom creaks open and she walks out in light pink sweatpants and an old white t-shirt. He knows she is getting ready to go to sleep. He is about to leave the room when her voice calls out. “Can you stay please?” He turns back to her with knitted brows. She points to her bed, “Can you stay with me in my room?” “Y/N, I don’t think that’s wise,” he advises, leaning against her door frame. She steps closer to him, “Please, I’m scared to be alone. I don’t think I’ll get any sleep if I am.” This hits a nerve in him. Drew is always caring for her well-being. Telling her to eat. Reminding her to go to sleep. Little things like that. Drew lets out a loud breath, nodding his head. “Let me just go change my clothes and I’ll be back,” he notifies her. He leaves her room and she settles herself into her bed. For tonight, she has to stay in this house, but tomorrow, they’ll be able to get their barrings and maybe find somewhere else to stay. Her skin crawls at the idea someone thinks she is their property and they went through so much trouble to let her know.

He returns in a Western Carolina University t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The sweatpants may be a little baggy on him, yet it doesn’t leave anything to her imagination and she feels her thighs clench together. She shouldn’t be imagining how good it would feel to be stretched out by him. He’s her bodyguard. He must have a partner of some kind. A girlfriend. A boyfriend. A spouse. He’s too good-looking and sweet not to. She may have been living with him for a year now, but she knows nothing about him. He doesn’t really talk about his personal life. She’s only been able to pick up a few things about him over the year. His favourite book is East of Eden; she’s seen him read it about three times since he moved in. When he misses home, he goes to the grocery store to buy the ingredients for his mom’s chicken casserole. And now, she knows him or someone he knows went to Western Carolina University.

He sees her on the bed and his footsteps bring him near her. She swears it’s like there are rocks in his feet because his steps are heavy and slow. He hesitates as he pulls the sheets back and causes the bed to dip as he lies down. The covers are pulled against his chest when Y/N turns to him to place her head on his chest. He doesn’t say anything. They can both feel they need this physical contact to be soothed. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is a little shaken up by the whole ordeal like Y/N. What would have happened if they had been home? What would have happened if they got home earlier and had run into the intruder? It doesn’t sit right in him as he listens to her breaths fall shallow and sleep comes over her. Drew is not lucky enough to fall into the same state as her. His insomnia and need to protect her will keep him up for most of the night.

———

Drew is surprised when he wakes up from a five-hour sleep. Normally, he sleeps no more than two hours a night and that is if he is lucky to get any sleep at all. Something about having her in his arms while he lies in bed must bring peace to his insomnia. He looks at her with a sleepy smile. His eyes fall on the clock and he should probably get up to make breakfast so they can get their day started. He needs to come up with a new protection plan and assess if she is still safe in her apartment. His limbs untangle from hers; he does his best to not wake her up as he gets out of bed. He’ll get hot while cooking, so he slips off his shirt and leaves it on his bed before going to the kitchen. He pulls the door closed but not completely, leaving a little sliver open for him to be able to come to check in on her.

She wakes to an empty bed and she wishes it isn’t. Panic fills her, thinking something has happened to Drew. The sounds of pans hitting each other fill her in on where he is. Her heart swells at the thought that he is still making her breakfast after last night’s scare. She is about to leave the warmth of her bed when her eyes fall on something on her bed. The gray shirt once on Drew’s chest now rests on her blankets. He was so gracious to her last night and took care of her. He didn’t have to stay with her the whole night; he could’ve sneaked out of her room as soon as she fell asleep, but he didn’t. Solely the thought of him brews something between her legs that needs to be fixed before she goes down to eat. She should have enough time while he is cooking.

Her hand reaches out for the shirt to bring it to her nose. The smell of his Versace cologne and the smoke from the cigarettes he sneaks fill her senses. He has been hiding that he smokes ever since he found out she isn’t a fan of the tobacco-filled sticks. She shouldn’t like the smell of the cigarettes, but she can’t help that it reminds her of him. The shirt falls to the side of her head; she uses her hands to pull down her pants and underwear, leaving her shirt on for some warmth. One hand goes up underneath her shirt and the other goes up to her mouth. She puts her fingers in her mouth before bringing it down to her weeping pussy. A wet finger plunges into her hole, causing her to cry out in pleasure. She had failed to see her bedroom door was not completely closed.

Drew stops his movement as soon as he hears her scream. He shuts the stove off, moving the pan off of the hot burner. He runs upstairs to her room. He stops just short of the doorframe when he hears her pants. It is obvious what she is doing by how breathy they are. It’s wrong to keep listening, but he hopes he can get a hint as to who she fantasizes about while she satisfies herself. It takes every bit of self-restraint he has not to pull his penis out of his pants and jerk himself off to the sweet sounds coming out of her mouth. “Drew.” His name falls off of her lips; this has to be a dream. There is no way the woman he loves, his client, is masturbating to the thought of him. He peeks his head through the door and suddenly his dick starts pressing against the fabric of his pants. While her hands are placed on her vagina and breast, her face is to the side, burying itself into a gray piece of fabric. He recognizes it as the shirt he left here before he went downstairs to make their breakfast. What he is about to do is inappropriate; nevertheless, he needs to be the one drawing those sounds from her.

“You made me think you were in danger, Precious. Instead, I find you touching what should be mine,” he snarls, taking a step into the room. The use of the word mine should cause turmoil in her stomach; however, she knows he isn’t using it in the same sense as the note. Drew uses mine to mean an exchange. Whereas, the note made her a possession of her writer and that doesn’t sit well with her. If Y/N gives Drew a piece of herself, then he will give her one right back. She would be an object to whoever wrote the note. He stalks closer to the bed, getting a better look at her soaked pussy. She feels the bed drop under the weight of his upper body; he stays kneeling at the foot of the bed. His hand wraps around her ankle and she yips as he pulls her closer to him.

He takes a chance to glimpse up at her face, which is staring down at him with want. She gives him a minuscule nod and tries pushing his head toward her aching heat. His neck resists her force, chuckling at her actions. “Aren’t you eager, Precious?” he teases, smothering his head between her legs. He laps at her folds like a man who hasn’t drank water in years. Her hands grip the sheets beneath her, creating waves in them. Drew’s eyes narrow at her hands and he brings them to his hair. Her nails graze his scalp as she throws her head back with a moan. He pauses for a second, wanting to appreciate the look of bliss on her face and the symphony coming out of her mouth. His mouth continues to work against her, making her feel incredible in ways no man has before. “Drew, please. Keep going,” she begs. Her fingers bring his head closer to her, clenching around his tongue. He pulls back with a smirk, “You like this, huh? Do you like being eaten out by your bodyguard?” Her head bobs, wrapping her legs around his head. She grinds her hip into his face.

His tongue darts into her vagina bringing her to her climax. “Hmmm. I love the sounds you are making for me, Precious. It’s my favourite sound in the world,” he mumbles, cleaning her up. He stands up and admires her body twisting to the side in contentment. She sits up, eyeing the way his pants aren’t hiding anything at all. She scoots to the edge of her bed and brings him in between her spread-opened legs. Her hands meet the skin of his bare chest. She points a finger against him, tracing down the middle line of his abs. She reaches his lower abdomen and slips her hand inside of his pants. “Now, it’s my turn to hear the pretty noises you can make,” she instructs in a sultry voice.

Her hands shove him back a little, so she has enough space to sink to her knees. She grips his dick with her hand, rubbing up and down. It drags out the most amazing groan out of him. She can the wetness pool in between her thighs again. He spots the way her legs come together and it makes him even harder. “Precious, this feels so good,” he pants out. She needs something to loosen the friction, which means she opens her mouth and brings his length into it. She sucks at the tip. Her tongue swirls around the head of his dick, tasting his precum. “You taste amazing,” she praises before shoving herself further down his cock. He hits the back of her throat and she stays there for a second until she needs to pull back for air. She lets the air into her lungs before taking him into her mouth. Her head moves on his shaft and she continues to repeat the routine for a few minutes. He starts to feel a tug at the pit of his stomach, causing him to twitch in her mouth. His hips start to move back to meet her in the middle and unleash the tightening in his belly. She eagerly swallows everything he gives her.

He pries her head off of him, gazing at the way a string of his cum connects his tip to her lips. “Get on the bed,” he orders. She climbs onto the bed and looks at him through her eyelashes. Her lustful stare hardens him again. She removes her shirt while he takes care of his pants. He dives into bed beside her and twists them both to their sides so her back is pressed against his chest. Mimicking the positions of her hands when he caught her, his fingers play with two of her buds. She can feel his hot breath on the back of her neck as he twirls her nipples to arouse her. He is satisfied by the dampness between her legs and grabs his dick instead to guide it into her pussy.

His thrust brings her hand to his bicep over her shoulder and she digs her nails into the skin. The slight pain it brings is worth it if it tells him how well he is doing to make her feel good. “You are clinging to my cock so beautifully. I think I might cum right now, but lucky for you, I have better stamina than that,” he groans, continuing the bring his hips against her ass. His hand on her breast goes to her hip to help keep her in place. He finds her G-spot, making her curl in on herself a little. His back follows her shift forward and his lips find her neck. She feels his teeth squeeze her skin between them, throwing her head back to give him more access. The grip on her hip is so strong that she is sure there will be a bruise later on. Eventually, she starts needing more out of his pace, so she propels backward to meet him. With both of them now working together, a knot starts to build in her lower abdomen. “Drew, I’m about to come,” she cries out, tensing her hand around his bicep. As her walls start to clutch around him, her face falls forward and he can no longer see her face. He focuses on aiding her in her climax.

The hold she has on his penis hinders his ability to drive forward, yet it doesn’t stop him from hitting the spot inside of her that helps uncoil the formed tangle. He works her through her high, yanking himself out once she is loose enough. She rotates onto her back and smiles at the sight of him. He shifts to be hovering over her on his elbows. His lips connect to hers, separating so they are barely touching, “That orgasm was for you, but do you think you can have another one? This one is for me. I want to see your face while I unravel you.” He places his stiff dick between her legs and looks at her for permission to continue. She feels a little sensitive, except she wants to give him another release like he just gave her. Her skull jerks up and down.

He grins down at her, kissing her as he enters her again. Her slick from her recent orgasm helps him do it with ease. She lets out a whimper because of her delicate state; head dropping to the pillow. In this second round, he is much slower, wanting to take his time with her. There is no guarantee he will ever get to be in this position again, no matter how much he prays to be. He brings her into her arms and buries his head into her neck, leaving prints along it with his mouth. The feeling of her wrapped around him tugs a moan out of him. It encourages him to persist, wanting to be in her vice once more. Another petit mort constructs within him. He desires to hold off a little longer; this must last longer. He can think of one way to be in this intimate moment forever. “I love you,” he rushes out. She looks away with disbelief in her eyes, “You don’t have to say that just because we are having sex.” He freezes, pulling back to see her eyes. His hand cups her cheek; his thumb ghosts her lips. “I’m not saying it because we are having sex. I’m saying it during sex,” he clarifies, searching to see if she understands. Her shoulder shrugs, “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is it means I truly mean the words. I’ve felt it for a long time. There was never a right time to say it,” he spells out. “I love how you ask the cook to buy me uncrustables and leave them in the freezer. I love how you always bring water to your drunk friends on a night out. I love how the universe gave you everything and you still give everyone all you have.” Her heart must’ve beaten out of her chest and jumped into his mouth to his chest because he had her heart entirely. “I love you too,” she confesses, the truth in her eyes. The joy he feels at her words combined with the gripping of her vagina brings him to an early climax. Thick ropes of semen come out of him as he presses forward with his hips again to ride it out.

She follows soon after, pressing his body against hers by wrapping a leg around his hip. Their heaves overcome the room, a reminder of the line they crossed and never want to reverse. He slips out of her, now soft after the exercise they just went through. His body collapses to her side, exhaustion taking over him. She nudges her skull upon his arm, letting him sling it around her shoulder. “Can you carry me to the bathroom, Drew? Please,” she inquiries. He looks down at her with a grin, “Of course, Precious.” His feet plant on the floor, rising to the side of the bed. She gazes at his naked glory ahead of her. He kisses her forehead and assists her in sitting up. Her arms and legs enclose around him, bringing them chest to chest. His hands support the bottom of her thighs as he walks to her adjoining bathroom. He flips the light on and opens the toilet lid to allow her to sit on it. Before removing her from the toilet, she hears water dripping from the shower head. Steam fills the room and he transports her to the shower. Since she doesn’t like baths, she went all with the design of her shower. A room-size stall. Waterfall showerhead. Side jets. A little alcove to sit on. The whole nine yards.

He sets her down on the seat, going to get the shampoo. He returns and starts working the soap into her hair. “Did you really mean it?” she mutters, barely louder than the water. His arms wrap around her shoulders, “Every single word.”

———

They didn’t have a label for what their relationship had blossomed into and they didn’t feel they needed one. She is his and he is hers; that’s what matters. It’s been a month since the stalker incident and there hasn’t been another. Y/N thought she would need a break every so often from seeing the man she loves every single second of the day, except it isn’t the case. It’s Drew’s monthly day off and she craves his company more than anything. He didn’t want to leave her side either, especially with the stalker at large, but it would’ve been suspicious if he had stayed. What they have between them is meant only for their knowledge. Throughout the day, they both found themselves peeking at the clock for a sense of how long until they could be together again. Y/N’s knees would bounce at her desk at work and Drew would wander the streets of New York City, buying anything that made him think of her. As he walks through the front door of her apartment, it’s a real struggle for him to hide his grin from James. James Notting works for the same security agency as Drew and replaces Drew on his days off. James spots his counterpart and his eyebrows connect. Drew is back earlier than normal.

“You can go now. I’m back on duty,” Drew informs, placing the shopping bags on the table. James shakes his head, “Are you sure? You still have two hours left.” “Yeah, I ran out of things to do,” he states.

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Where is she?”

“The kitchen.”

As if on queue, the sound of a pan dropping on the floor reverberates around the apartment. “I’m okay.” They hear her yell from the other room. Drew looks at James in confusion. They both know she can’t cook. “Don’t ask me. She’s been in the kitchen for about an hour and ordered me not to enter,” James explains, grabbing his stuff to leave. Drew locks the door after James exists and enters the kitchen to figure out what his precious is doing. “Precious, what are you up to?” he interrogates. Y/N jumps at the sound of his voice, hiding something behind her back. “What are you doing back home so early?” He chuckles and steps toward her, caging her against the counter and between his arms. Neither of them answers the other’s question. She grins up at him and kisses him quickly as a distraction. His tall stature makes her attempts futile. He glances over her shoulder to see slightly burnt roasted potatoes on a pan. The scent of herbed chicken hits his nose and he scans for the source, finding it on the counter beside them. “Are you trying to make dinner?” Her attention shies away from him, which he returns with a finger under her chin. He can feel the warmth growing on her cheeks.

“Yes, but it didn’t go as well as I thought it would. I thought it would be easier. You don’t have to eat it.”

“Non-sense. It looks delicious.”

Excitement blooms in her and she gets serving dishes out of the pantry. He helps her set the table in warm silence. Everything is in place and they seat themselves at the table. She happily serves him food, waiting for him to take a bite. The first thing he tastes as the potatoes make contact with his tongue is a bitter undertone that overpowers everything. He resists the urge to crumple his face like paper. Her eyes are trained on him, anticipating the review of her cooking. He can’t dim the hope in her eyes, so he has no choice but to lie. She put so much effort into this dinner for them. “This tastes wonderful, Precious. I didn’t know I was protecting such a good cook this whole time. You should help me make breakfast,” he applauds. “Here, let me serve you some so you can try.” He selects the unburnt potatoes and cuts her the chicken thigh before handing her back the plate. It’s not like the meal is horrible, the potatoes are just a little burnt and Drew wants to keep the secret to himself.

She thanks him in a whisper. She digs into her meal and he can see she is enjoying it. He lets out a small satisfied sigh and gets back to eating. Y/N is a slow eater, so it’s not a surprise Drew finishes eating first. His head rests on his chin and he resorts to gawking at her. She can feel his stare on her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Because you are. And I would kill anyone who would dare to hurt you. Your heart belongs to me.”

“And yours belongs to me,” she repeats, leaning over to give him a kiss. She doesn’t have to worry about being safe. As long as Drew is around, she has nothing to worry about.

———

The weekend means they can spend all day in her apartment. Her work week was left behind for forty-eight heavenly hours of the two of them together. While cuddling on her couch with the TV on, he realized they hadn’t checked the mail since Friday, so he went down to get it. He listens to the whine of the metal door opening as he reaches in to take the mail out. He looks through the different envelopes and finds one with his name written across the front. The writing is vaguely familiar. His hand tears open the paper and pulls out the letter. You don’t deserve her. She is mine. Under the writing is a picture of his longing glances at her. It is clear to anyone the feelings held within him. He folds the paper and puts it into his pocket. He should probably send it to the lab for analysis, but it would bring suspicion to his relationship with Y/N. He doesn’t need anyone’s help. He could keep her safe by himself; nothing would happen to her with him by her side. Plus, this is more of a threat to him and he isn’t scared by some loser's threats.

He enters the apartment to find the couch now empty. He can hear the shower running and his mouth turns into a curve. She has been putting off showering while he is around because it always ends up with them having sex. He decides to give her a break and rests on the couch. Something on the coffee table piques his interest.

It’s a thick rectangle wrapped in purple paper and pulled together by a red ribbon. There is no note that he can see. He rips open the gift and finds a special edition of East of Eden. It’s a stunning hardcover copy with golden sprayed edges. He thumbs through the pages and lands on the title page. She had written on it. I hope you like this special edition of the book. It’s just a little gift to show my appreciation for everything you do for me. I love you so much. -Y/N <3. His heart is touched by her actions and tears form in his eyes. The distant sound of water hitting the shower tiles is replaced by her footsteps approaching her living room. Her hair is being held up by a green towel and a white one is wrapped around her breasts to cover her. “You’re back! And you found my gift. Do you like it?” she inquires, joining him on the couch again. He brings her onto his lap; his hand resting on her bare thigh. “I did find it and I love it. Thank you, Precious.” His lips kiss her neck and his hand makes his way to the front of her body. “After I’m done thanking you for the gift, I’m also going to have to punish you for taking a shower without me,” he growls against her skin, plunging into her now-drenched hole.

———

Drew sits across from her at the cocktail bar, enjoying the way she laughs at the stupid joke he made. It is inappropriate for him to be sitting with her in public. No one is around to object to it though. The patrons of the dive bar could care less about who the couple are to each other. This isn’t the type of establishment Y/N could often be found at, except she has a point to prove.

They had been trying to figure out what to eat for dinner when Drew made a teasing remark. “What should we get for dinner? We can order Fortunas, Petite Coquette, or… Why are you looking at me like that?” she grumbled. He shrugged, “Everything you eat is so fancy. Have you ever eaten food that you don’t eat with a fork and knife?” She gently slaps his biceps. “I eat sushi,” she argued. His brows raised, “You use chopsticks for those. Let me reword my questions. Do you ever use your hands to eat something?” “Yes! I use my hands to eat oysters,” she pointed out, continuing to scroll through their food options. “You are still proving my point, Precious,” he teased. Y/N got up from the dining room table and headed to her room. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to get ready. You should too. I’m going to prove you wrong,” she told him.

This is how they find themselves in a dive bar in Brooklyn. The waitress arrives with their food and places it in between them. They both thank her as she walks off. Drew studies the wings on the plate and his eyes fall on her again. “Are you really going to eat those with your hands?” She flicks her head up and down, reaching over to grab a wing. He delights in the way the sauce smears across her fingers. She bites into the meat, humming at the taste. “See, I’m using my fingers,” she demonstrates. Her stained hands are held up to his face. He takes it into his hold and licks a little bit of sauce off of it, “Hmm, you did. You picked a good sauce. I like it.” He picks up his own wing to devour. “How are your siblings?” she asks. He gives her a surprised look, “You remember I have siblings?” “Of course, it’s one of the only things I know about you. I just realized we know so little about each other,” she notes, wiping her hands with a napkin.

“My siblings are good. One of my sisters just had a baby girl. What else do you want to know?”

“Aww, I love babies. You’ll have to tell me more about the baby later. As for what else I want to know… hmmm… When we first had sex, you were wearing a Western North Carolina t-shirt. Did you go to school there?”

“I did. I double majored in English, and Screen and Television.”

“Really? I can see why you did English because you are always reading when we are home, but Screen and Television? If you majored in those, then why become a bodyguard?”

His shoulders shrug and his vision drops to the food. “Yes, screen and television. I’ve always wanted to be an actor, but once I graduated, I realized it wasn’t practical. So I enlisted right after I graduated and after six years in the service, I decided not to renew my contract. It got too much for me,” he recounts. She can see how his tone has mellowed out and she reaches across the table to hold his hand. “It must have been a hard few years. Thank you for protecting our country. In a way, we can technically say you were protecting me that whole time too. How did you get into the security business?” His thumb circles the skin on the back of her hand, “You’re welcome. And I guess you could say I was made to protect you. After I left the army, it just made sense to become a bodyguard. The skills I learnt in the army transferred over quite nicely.” “Makes sense. You are very good at your job. I always feel very secure when you are around. How long have you been a bodyguard?” she continues the conversation. “I’m coming up on two years on Sunday, actually. I did one year as protection detail for a bunch of different clients and the almost one year I have with you.” She takes this information in and files it away for when they get home.

The waitress returns with another plate of wings and this time, there are carrots and celery on the side. Y/N’s face scrunches at the sight of the celery. “Yuck, you can eat all of the celery. I don’t like it,” she imitates like a child. She picks up a green stick and waves it at his mouth. He tilts his head to the side, “How can you not like celery? Have you tried it?” Her head shifts from side to side, “No, but my mom didn’t like it.” The conversation pauses at the mention of Katrina Y/L/N. Drew knows the story of Y/N’s mother.

Katrina Y/L/N was a guidance counsellor for a public high school in an underdeveloped part of New York. She didn’t work for the money. She worked to truly make a difference in the lives of children who needed her. Unfortunately, it was what brought her life to an end. One of her students had been expelled and he had returned to the school for his revenge on everyone, who he blamed for his expulsion. Katrina had been able to stop him before anyone could get hurt, except when the police arrived, they didn’t know. One wrong misinterpretation resulted in Katrina falling to the floor and she was bleeding to death. Y/N’s father wanted to sue the police department for all it was worth and obliterate the officer, who had accidentally shot his wife. Y/N talked Magnus down from his vengeance. They had all the money they needed and nothing could bring Katrina back. Katrina had chosen to save the young boy from the bullet and twelve-year-old Y/N had a much better idea of how she could honour her mother. With her father’s help, she designed outfits for a fashion show. Tickets were charged to some of the biggest names in the business and all proceeds went to an organization that helped renovate public schools.

Drew had learnt all of this when he was doing research on Y/N after getting his job. He remembers going through the pictures of Y/N waiting outside of the school for her mom to come back. He remembers the pain on her face when the coroner wheeled her mother out on a gurney. He wished he could’ve been there to keep Katrina safe for Y/N, but nineteen-year-old him wouldn’t have had any idea what to do.

“Well, you aren’t your mother. So you should try it,” he suggests, wanting to ease her discomfort from the thought of her mom. She considers his order and takes a bite out of the stringy vegetable. Her face shows her discomfort at the taste in her mouth. Drew chortles at her expression, taking the stalk out of her hand. “Okay, so maybe celery isn’t your thing. At least, you have me to eat all the mean celery,” he jokes and finishes the rest of the disliked marshland plant. Y/N’s lips don’t rise at his joke, “My mom always used to say I would make an amazing fashion designer one day. She would let me style her outfits for different events with my dad. Could you imagine? Eight-year-old me going through my mom’s closet and picking out whatever I wanted her to wear. I look back at some of her old event pictures and think she really must have loved me to have worn some of the things I chose.” He smiles at the imagery of the girl he loves playing dress up with her mom. “She did love you. You know that right?” he confirms. The corner of her mouth softly raises, “I know. She told me it every second she could. I just wish I could know if she is proud of me. She may have said I would be a good fashion designer, but I want to know if she is proud of my choice to actually pursue it. I’m not doing anything noble like her.”

He can sense the comfort she needs from him and he gets up to head behind her chair. His arms wrap around her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace. His lips meet the skin of her cheek and then the shell of her ear. “She would be so proud of you. Precious, what you are doing is noble. You took what you love and you used it to give back to the community. That is noble,” he reassures. He can feel her breath hitch at such physical touch from him in public. They’ve never been this close to each other in proximity to other people and she is thanking the fact no one in this bar would care about the daughter of a big CEO. Her arms reach out behind her to bring him in closer, “Thank you. You made me feel better. Do you think I can talk to you more about my mom? My dad rarely likes to talk about her.”

“I will always be here to talk about your mom if you want, Precious.”

———

All week Y/N would return home from work and immediately shut herself in her home office, ordering Drew to stay out of the room. He doesn’t know what she is up to. Maybe she just needs some space from him. He starts suspecting that isn’t the logic behind her motives once she demands Drew stay in his bedroom until she comes to get him. He hasn’t stayed more than ten minutes in what used to be his old room following them getting together. Her room has practically become his. He could cheat and look at the security cameras in her living room, but he doesn’t want to spoil whatever surprise she has for him. The sound of the front door opening causes nerves to grow in him, except he trusts she wouldn’t do anything to put herself in danger. He busies himself with reading the copy of The Son by Philipp Meyer Y/N bought him.

About an hour later, a quiet knock on the door captures his attention. “You can come out now,” she announces and opens the door for him. The open door reveals her wearing the pink sundress he loves so much on her. She beckons him to follow with a massive grin. Their feet slap against the hardwood floor and as they round into the living room, he finds a space full of people. He examines the faces of everyone. He recognizes every single one. Her father. James and their co-workers. His friends. Some of his army buddies. And lastly, his family. Hung across the fireplace is a banner that says Happy Two Years As A Bodyguard, Drew! Everyone cheers at his arrival and he searches for Y/N for answers. She sees his face, “It’s a party to celebrate two years of being a bodyguard.” He wants to hug her, except it would be inappropriate in the opinion of the party guests. To them, Drew and Y/N are just a bodyguard and his clients. The only argument as to why Y/N throws a party for him is her personality. She loves commemorating other people’s accomplishments.

“This is fantastic, Y/N. Thank you,” he acknowledges, wishing he could give her a kiss. She casts her sights downward and swings her arms behind her back, “It was nothing. I had fun planning it and making the decorations. It kept me busy.” Drew starts to examine the decorations with a newfound appreciation upon learning she crafted them by hand. “You did all of these. Y/N, these are incredible,” he acclaims. He is impressed by her craftiness.

He recognizes the smell of his mom’s chicken casserole and his stomach grumbles for a taste. The swarming of his loved ones to congratulate him stops him from being able to do it. Drew is catching up with an old army friend when Y/N presents him with a plate of his favourite foods. “Sorry to interrupt. Drew hasn’t eaten all day. I want to make sure he does at some point today,” she explicates in advance of her walking away to chat with Magnus. His world starts to spin on its own axis. One where she is the axis at the center of his earth. Her effort to concern herself with his well-being and to plan a party for him shows her adoration for him. He couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend and he thinks it is time to officially label who they are to each other. Not to the world. Merely for them to know what they mean to each other.

———

The guests left a few hours ago after helping with the clean-up, leaving Y/N and Drew to relax on her couch. The words on the page aren’t being processed with Y/N’s head on his lap. She flips through the pages of her magazine. He perceives the way she halts between articles to write down some notes. His digits drag through her hair in admiration. This moment is perfect to legitimize their relationship. “So,” he begins to fixate her view of him. She drops the magazine to her chest. “I was thinking that maybe I could start calling you my girlfriend. Obviously, I won’t be telling other people, but I just think it could be something for us. To prove our devotion to each other.” She beams at him and sits up. Her lips smack on his. “I would be happy to be your girlfriend,” she confides to him. The pressure in his heart diminishes and beats at a steady pace. He feels like the world is in his hands because she quite literally is.

��——

Drew acknowledges it isn’t logical to keep Y/N from the outside world. She can’t stay in the comfort of their home forever. Besides, he treasures the way her hair is a wave in the wind and her eyes are stars in the sunlight. Freshly cut grass nauseates him and he fights through the feeling to keep doing his job. She wishes he could sit with her during her picnic, yet she comprehends his need to stay vigilant. The wine glass in her hand meets her lips and she gulps down the aromatic alcohol. She takes a bite of the brie from the charcuterie board. The breeze from the wind almost carries her magazine into the air. He has to hold in his enjoyment of her chasing after the booklet. She approaches him, finally catching it in front of him. She straightens up with a sense of accomplishment; however, her expression plunges alongside her widening eyes.

He can’t ask her what is wrong. Her body shoots around him so their backs are facing each other and then he hears it. The one piercing crack that is so familiar to him. His certainty of what the sound was is confirmed when more booms don’t follow. It’s not fireworks. Her body stumbles into his as he wrenches in her direction. She collapses in his arms.

It shocks her that she couldn’t really feel anything at first. The pressure on her shoulder reminds her of when she got her ears pierced. The bullet breaks through her skin like the puncture of a needle. The next thing she feels is nothing, probably because of the adrenaline going through her body. A crimson stain flowers on her shirt, resembling a rose. As it spreads, the numbness switches to a burn. She starts to think she is being felted into a small wool animal. The whip of another gunshot causes panic to grow in her. What if Drew was hurt? The voices around her start to blur together, becoming one big mush of noise to her. Her eyelids droop like an unsupported bridge, slinging between open and closed until she is kept in a state of unconsciousness. Is this how her mom felt that day, eleven years ago? Is this the day she gets to be reunited with her mother again?

———

Their environment should’ve been under constant scrutiny from him. He shouldn’t have let himself be distracted by her. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be in surgery right now. She wouldn’t have had to save him from that bullet. His hands and shirt are covered with her blood thanks to the disconnect of her right axillary artery. He doesn’t want to chance missing an update from the doctor if he gets cleaned up. The doctors are uncertain about her fate, but they are doing everything they can to help her. He wishes he could say the same about himself.

Drew is aware of his appearance because of the hush that comes over the room. Hospitals are already quiet, but this is different. The silence has a hollowness to it. “Where is my daughter?” Magnus roars as he storms toward Drew. Drew's hunched posture adjusts at the entrance of his boss. He rises to his feet, trying to hide his tears. “She’s in surgery,” he manages to croak out. Magnus’ heart tumbles into his belly, “What do you mean she is in surgery? What happened?” “W- She was having a picnic, sir,” he stutters out. “She was standing in front of me and then all of a sudden she saw something that caused her to put herself behind me. She took the bullet for me.” Magnus’ eyes narrow and his eyebrows form a v, “You were supposed to be her protector. That’s what I hired you for. So how come I’m finding out that my daughter is in a life-or-death situation because of you?”

“It’s my fault, sir. I was distracted and my guard was down. This is all my fault.”

“Of course, it is! I hope you know that you are fired immediately. You failed to keep my daughter safe. Now, tell me you at least caught the asshole, who hurt her.”

“I understand your decision, sir. And I managed to fire a shot to incapacity the assailant. He is in police custody.”

Magnus nods in satisfaction, “At least, you can do that right. Do you know who he is? Do you think he was hired by Demitri to hurt her?” “I do know, who he is. No, I don’t think Demitri hired him. I think he is connected to the note Y/N received a few months ago. I’ve identified him as Sean Cox. Y/N and he went on a few dates. She ended it after the third date and he said crass things to her,” Drew relays to Magnus. Magnus snaps his fingers and his own bodyguard rushes to his side. “I want you to find out everything you can about this Sean Cox guy. Now!” he orders, returning his anger back to Drew. “I want you out of her apartment by the end of the week. You are dismissed.”

———

The doctors were able to stabilize her in surgery and she’s been in a coma for a week. James has been updating Drew on her condition now that his co-worker is her full-time bodyguard. Per his contract with the company, he gets to take a full month off in between contracts that require him to live with the client and if the month is going to be anything like this week, Drew is going to fall apart. His insomnia keeps him awake to ruminate on the possible ways he could’ve saved her. And he keeps coming back to one conclusion. If he wasn’t smitten with her, then she would’ve been unharmed. Not only because he wouldn’t have been preoccupied by her vision, but because Sean wouldn’t have grown jealous enough to want to hurt Drew. His thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

James’ name flashes across the screen and Drew scrabbles to pick it up. “Is she okay?” he worries through the phone. James stops him before he can rant, “She’s fine. She is awake. She actually woke up from the coma two hours ago. I haven’t called yet because I figured you didn’t want to come while Magnus was here. She’s been asking for you.” “She’s awake? I’ll be there soon,” he states, hanging up his phone and getting out of bed.

———

Drew greets James with his head as he walks through the doors of Y/N’s hospital room. He finds an exhausted-looking Y/N, lying in the bed. A smile paints across her face as soon as he sees her and he is pained by the notion as to why she is here. “Hi,” she rasps out. He joins her at her side, “Hey, how are you feeling?” “As good as you’d expect after being shot. The doctors say I should make a full recovery,” she retells. “I was thinking since my dad knows about us now, that once I’m discharged, we can go on a trip somewhere. Maybe Bali or Italy.” He wants nothing more than to agree. To tell her that he’ll go anywhere with her. Apart from the fact that he came here for another purpose. He doesn’t return her grin and she hunts for it. She yarns for him to return the excitement. “Drew, what’s wrong?” she interrogates, reaching out for a hand he can’t bring himself to give. He knows it will be too hard to let go of.

“Your dad fired me.”

“I know. I’m not dating you because you work for my dad. I’m dating you because I love you.”

“I was fired because I couldn’t protect you.”

“Drew, it wasn’t your fault. Sean was the one with the gun. He was the one who fired it.”

The chair scrapes against the floor and Drew rushes to the window. His hands slamming against the sill startles her. “You don’t get it,” he yells. “I can’t be with you. You almost died because of me!” Y/N wants to rush to his side, except the stabbing pain in her shoulder stops her. Drew hears her wince and hurries to her side. “What are you saying, Drew? Are you breaking up with me?” she cries, tears pooling in her eyes. He steps away from her, back facing her. He can’t do what he needs to do if she is looking at him. “Yes.” No more words can escape his mouth; he needs to keep his composure.

“But my heart is yours,” she sobs, trying to hold his hand. Drew needs to get away from her, “Well, you can have it back. I don’t want it anymore.” He hates being cruel, yet it’s the only way this will go faster. “Drew, please. It’s not your fault. Please,” she argues.

Drew doesn’t have anything left to say and he doesn’t want to force her to be in his presence anymore, so he leaves her behind even though it kills him. It kills him to listen to her weep and not do anything about it. He craves to bring her into his hold and kiss her tears away. She may not believe this is all his fault but it is. It was his flaw that sent her to the hospital. His fatal flaw was thinking he was the only protector she needed. It was his hubris.

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