Chapter Text
You didn’t ask to be famous.
Well, it was really your parents’ fame, anyways. They were directors for several famous movies, and although you were only a rising actor the media loved you. You were known for your scandals with partners, funny interviews, and how hard you partied. A hot, twenty-something year old nepo-baby with a mysterious love life and fans willing to do whatever for your attention.
Literally: whatever.
After a major stalker incident a few months ago your parents decided it would be best to hire a bodyguard for you. You spent the entire week complaining and arguing with your parents against the idea, claiming you didn’t need a “babysitter”. Unfortunately for you, because you lived in a house provided by your parents, a bodyguard showed up that weekend.
She was tall, muscular, and around your age. One could even argue hot. She always wore one long french braid in her blonde hair and had freckles everywhere she let you see; which was pretty much only her arms and neck. She only let you call her Abby, which you learned after you attempted to give her the nickname “Abs” – because she had abs.
Instead of listening to Abby when she asked you not to misbehave or act out, you ignored her. It was your way of getting back at your parents. When she requested you stay close, you went as far as you could. When she asked you to not drink so much, you got as drunk as possible. You wanted her to be annoyed and frustrated by your behavior, maybe enough to make her quit.
But Abby was resilient, and–unfortunately–not going away anytime soon.
Your friends certainly didn’t complain, though, taking every chance to rave about how lucky you were for a bodyguard that was easy on the eyes. You cringed wondering if Abby heard the comments coming from your life-long friends.
The music was loud, headache inducing, as you took a small sip of expensive champagne. The lights were low, with strobe effects nearly blinding you every 10 seconds. Your friends were seated with you on the sunken couch, all mingling and gossiping as one does. It was hard to include yourself when Abby was standing just 3 feet away, stone faced and arms crossed.
Dina elbowed you in the stomach, effectively pulling you out of your active mind, “I’m sure you know.”
“I know what?” You asked and your friends giggled.
Dina nodded towards Abby, “What the media thinks of your new accessory.” You cringe slightly, thinking back to recent posts about Abby. Sometimes they were nice, but most were just straight-up dirty.
You weren’t going to deny that Abby was attractive and desirable, it just wasn’t in the picture for you. No one except Dina knew you were attracted to Abby, and you wanted it to stay that way.
“They’re only saying that because they don’t have her breathing down their backs,” you reply, coldly.
Nora giggles, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind that, either.”
Your friends are all laughing and agreeing as they move onto their next victim of the night: a girl who decided to wear spring colors in the middle of December. You were no longer interested in the conversation, and decided to scan the crowd.
People were dancing, talking, and drinking all around you. The sound of your friends’ laughter started to get the best of you, and you excused yourself to go to the bar. As you got up, Abby was following behind you immediately.
You walk up to the bar, giving the bartender your order. Abby’s resting against the bar as well, not looking but listening.
“How ya doin’, sweetheart?” you hear a man say, approaching you. You turn to him, giving him an unamused look.
“Fine,” you reply, grabbing your drink from the bar and taking a sip.
The man rested his elbow on the bar, facing you, and continued, “You all alone tonight?”
You sip the drink nonchalantly, not bothering to give the man another look. Abby sits up straight and stares at the man, crossing her arms. Her biceps flex as she does so, and you let yourself steal a glance.
No harm in a peek every once in a while, right?
“Do we have a problem, sir?” Abby asks smoothly. The man is taller, but Abby has twice as much brawn.
He backs up, almost subconsciously, and mutters, “No, geez.”
You attempt to hide your smirk by taking a sip of your drink, the alcohol soothing your worries. Secretly, you enjoyed not having to worry about creepy men Abby scared off for you. Unfortunately, she didn’t just stop at guys, she managed to scare off both guys and girls.
You catch the eye of a girl at the end of the bar. She’s wearing a sleek white button down, and gives you a wink before talking to the bartender. Your eyebrows raise, trying to read her lips, but the music is too loud to comprehend anything.
You’re blushing, obviously. A very attractive girl looking at you was the most “action” you’ve had in months. Suddenly, the bartender hands you a shot.
“From the lady at the end of the bar,” he says, placing the drink in front of you.
You smile slightly, and glance at the woman, “Thank you.”
You take the shot, ignoring the exasperated sigh that comes from Abby. You’re buzzed and feeling good, watching as the attractive woman makes her way around the bar to you.
“How’s the tequila here?” She asks, sitting down next to you.
You smile, “You have good taste.”
“I know I do,” she says, obviously checking you out, “Didn’t think you were into my type.”
You shrug, “Cannot confirm or deny.” You hear Abby quietly scoff at your words.
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Abby’s gestures, but you had the urge to escape to the dance floor and disobey both your bodyguard and your parents. Completely ignoring your father's, and Abby’s, wishes was up your alley tonight.
You take the woman’s hand in yours and lead her to the middle of the floor, towards a crowd of people. Unfortunately for Abby, she couldn’t just follow you into the crowd so she’s left resting against the bar, her gaze like a dagger.
You’re dancing suggestively, showing off your provocative outfit to the woman. Every once in a while you glance over at Abby, her expression a mix of amusement and displeasure. You’re more drunk now, and unaware of how risky you may be getting.
The woman’s hands rested on your hips, swaying with you. She feels down your hips and up your waist, you lean into it, enjoying the advances.
Thanks to that stalker, you haven’t been able to meet anyone in weeks. You were deprived, sexually and emotionally, so you took every chance to be touched again. It was foolish almost how you were acting over a small gesture like this.
If you were caught doing this with a woman, your family wouldn’t hear the end of it, even worse if someone were to snag a photo of this. Abby approaches quietly and places her hand on the woman’s upper arm, whispering something incoherent into her ear. The woman’s face drops, and she flees the scene, not even thinking twice to say goodbye to you.
You turn to Abby, too drunk to care if anyone heard you complain, “What was that for?” Before you can draw more attention to yourself, Abby grabs your arm and leads you to a dark hallway, grabbing a plastic water bottle on her way over.
She opens the water for you and hands it to you, “Drink. Now.” You reluctantly take the water from her, one of your arms still being held by Abby as if you’ll run away any second. You sip the water, watching as her eyes scan over your provocative choice of clothes.
“I am not drunk,” You roll your eyes, attempting to break free from Abby’s grip, “And you’re not my babysitter.” You’re bitter that she ruined a good opportunity.
“No, I’m not your babysitter, but I am responsible for you,” Abby glances at her watch, “It’s time to go, anyways.”
You groan, “Seriously? I’m not a teenager. I am not leaving now.”
“Father’s orders, princess,” Abby says, practically pushing you to the exit, “Let’s go.”
You groan, the nickname she had given you when she first started stuck like glue, all because of your father’s orders to have you home by midnight. You’re pushing back on her hand, which is gently pushing you in the direction of the nearest exit.
Abby stops in her tracks and turns you to face her, “Listen, the last thing you need is a scandal, and the last thing I need is to be fired. Do us both a favor and behave.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you mock, pretending to salute at the tall blonde.
Abby rolls her eyes and turns you back into the direction of the door. You walk out, paparazzi lights blinding you. Instinctively, you grab for Abby.
Because you’re drunk, of course.
Abby’s strong arms keep paparazzi from getting too close, while also guiding you to the car. The blonde opens the car door and lets you climb in first before closing the door and making her way to the driver's seat. As soon as it’s clear, she begins driving back to your home.
You breathe deeply, reflecting on the night you had. Abby takes notice of this and raises an eyebrow.
“Something on your mind?” Abby asks, keeping her eyes on the road.
Her tone is slightly comforting and you’re too drunk to think before speaking, “I literally haven’t had sex in months.” Abby clears her throat, startled, and tries to reply before she’s quickly interrupted.
“And it’s all your fault, you know,” you continue, turning to face the blond, tears brimming your eyes, “You scare everyone away, like that one hot woman. I swear I would have let her fuck me right there.”
“She was way too old for you,” Abby scoffs, glancing at you then back at the road.
You roll your eyes, refusing to let your voice break in front of her, “She was only, like, 4 years older than me. That’s not even bad.”
“Yeah, well, you still wouldn’t be allowed to have sex with her,” Abby shrugs, “rules are rules.” You groan, looking back out the window, ignoring Abby. It’s silent for a few moments, the sound of passing cars on the highway fills the dark car.
The blonde begins again, “Seriously, though, that’s what you’re upset about?”
“And what is so wrong about that?” You retort, “It’s a need, you know. My fingers can only do so much.” Abby snickers before quickly regaining her composure, her eyes never leaving the road.
You’re drunk-rambling and Abby just listens silently, blushing. You complain about missing life before Abby, when you were free to do what you wanted, when you wanted, with whoever you wanted. She shrugs and agrees that it’s harsh, but still mumbles occasionally on how ridiculous the situation is.
“I just need, like…” you continue to ramble, “I need someone I can have sex with discreetly. Without my dad finding out, you know?”
Abby raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, good luck with that. You realize I can’t let that happen right?” You sigh, thinking about any possible loophole to get your dad to loosen his reins, when you get an idea.
“Unless it was you,” you mumble, looking up at the blonde.
Abby hands you the water bottle, clearing her throat, “C’mon. Drink some water, you’re talking nonsense.” You could detect a slight blush on her cheeks, her freckles blending into the rosiness that appeared on her face.
You take a small sip of water, shrugging, and say, “I mean, my dad wouldn’t find out if it were you.”
“I’m your bodyguard,” Abby laughs, almost in disbelief, and looks at you, “Not a prostitute. I’m paid to keep you safe and follow rules, not to help you with your problems.”
“Oh come on,” you groan, “A transaction. You help me, I help you.”
“I don’t need help,” Abby says, looking at you. She could definitely admit you were her type, and under any under circumstances she would jump at the opportunity. But she couldn’t risk the job, and did not disobey orders to stay away from you. You sat quietly, pondering, as Abby pulled into the gated driveway of your parents house.
Abby parked the car and opened the door for you, “You need to go to bed, your parents have a showcase tomorrow and you need to be there.”
You groan, ignoring Abby and turning away from her. The blonde just rolled her eyes and picked you up bridal style, carrying you inside the house. You wanted to fight, but by the time she entered your dark room you were too tired to complain.
Her arms felt soft around your body, it was attractive how strong she was and you almost wanted to feel more of her. It could be insanity, but you knew you weren’t backing down without a fight.
“You’re awfully quiet for once,” Abby mumbled, setting you down on the bed. Before she can turn to leave you grab her wrist, keeping her in place. She’s surprised, and looks at you with her brow furrowed, but before she can speak you’re talking.
“I’ll be good from now on,” you say, “You know… if you help me. I won’t misbehave. And I’ll give you a good report, and say that I need you for longer. A secure job.” Abby’s breath is caught in her throat for a moment, and you’re just staring up at her.
Abby presses her lips together, thinking, “I’ll think about it. Only if you behave from now on, no mishaps.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
With that, Abby leaves you alone in your room.